#tw: complicated platonic relationships.

[anthromimicry]

OH, speaking of misao, while i'm still here... let me talk about how she was introduced to playing instruments + why she still does it often to this day. as you may know, misao's mother — kaiyah — did suffer from mental health issues, and in ancient japan... they were very behind in terms of providing the appropriate care to those who had mental health concerns. while doing research on it, i also discovered that it was also unfortunately HEAVILY stigmatized and thought of to be caused by spirits and/or brought about by spiritual means. and so kaiyah would often have to find ways to try to help herself cope with her symptoms; one of which turned out to be music. and misao remembers which instrument kaiyah used to play vividly because listening to her play music, as well as sing, was one of the ways that they'd bond despite them having a rather complicated relationship. kaiyah used to play the biwa, which is a plucked string instrument that sort of resembles a guitar and whenever she'd play, kaiyah would sit cross-legged. and this wasn't only because that was the traditional way to play the biwa, but so that misao could sit in her lap as she strummed the instrument. and misao also remembers kaiyah just looking at her with this look that was just made up of pure happiness during those moments. which, although they were very ephemeral, kind of helped her pull through her childhood because they gave her hope that maybe she could be like this all the time at first; and then upon discovering that although that might not be the most realistic thing to think... it helped her pull through because she would believed that she rather hold onto whatever scrap of happiness she could get, rather than try to forget these experiences with her mother, because of the fact that they hurt her so badly emotionally sometimes. and this was because she wanted to help kaiyah the same way that music seemed to — she just didn't know how. but as the years passed, misao came up with the idea that maybe learning to play it could be a method in which she could assist kaiyah with feeling more... at peace, i guess you could say, and so she did.

though misao only got to play the biwa for her mother a few times before ryu was born, and whenever that happened, everything changed. but of course... none of it was his fault. all those good feelings that misao had associated with the biwa now had a sort of bitter taste to them because of kaiyah's neglect towards ryu and once more, although this conflict was a lot more nuanced than it might've appeared because of her mother's illness, misao felt this strong urge to just completely smash her biwa into pieces because she felt so bad inside. though, honestly, misao is glad that she didn't today. because it honestly is one of the few things that she still has around that reminds her of kaiyah, and although she literally cannot play it because the last time she did, misao just sobbed all the way through it — she was able to pick up another instrument that vaguely reminded her of the biwa and allowed her to reconnect with that old part of herself: which would be the guitar. but it is a very private part of herself that she doesn't reveal to a lot of people. she'll really only play the guitar around people she really trusts, as whenever she's playing it, it's almost like she's playing to her mother again.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

A Day in Life

Synopsis: A day in the life of Jason Todd. Also, he's a househusband now. Oh, and a little plot twist.

Pairing: Househusband!Jason Todd X Gn!Reader; Platonic!Batfam

Tw: Canon level angst for Jason; Some sexual innuendos; Writer apparently doesn't know how to finish a story anymore; This is pretty slice-of-life so maybe boring?; English is not my first language.

Word count: 3,8k

Requested? No.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Wake up, make out, get up. First steps of your everyday routine. Sometimes making out turns into something more, but not today.

From his past life, as Robin, Jason learned a lot about discipline. As much as he tried to forget everything and everyone from his past before you, some habits die hard, although with time, with you and with therapy, he accepted that not all of his experience was bad or should be thrown away just because of one sociopathic clown who hurt him. Yes, Jason died, came back angry and did a lot of shit. But he was still alive and this could be a second chance.

While you, his darling spouse, get ready for work, Jason gets up, puts on his apron, fills the dog bowl for Daphne — your little brown dachshund that you adopted together four months after getting married —, opens the doors to the garden, so the dog can do whatever, and finally starts making breakfast and lunch. Breakfast so you two can eat together and lunch for you to eat at work. Sometimes you both meet up and eat together at your office or a restaurant. Today, that's not the case.

Simple yogurt with fresh fruits and nuts, coupled with a slice of chocolate cake he baked the day prior, eggs, toast and coffee for breakfast. As for your lunch box, a natural sandwich, salad, fruits and juice. He also fills up your two liter water bottle, so you feel pressured have no excuse but to stay hydrated.

Food. Until he was 12 his relationship with food was complicated, to stay the least. At first, his beloved but troubled mom would be in no condition to cook him three or more nice and fulfilling meals a day for a growing boy, he either had to learn and make do with quick instant food, eggs and old bread, or starve, since money was something he only saw when it was being handled to her drug dealer. His father was even worse. Jason loved his mom. Still suffers for her. He hated his father who was the one making her addiction worse. He’s still happy he died.

Living on the streets, food was a dream. A bad dream. It either came from trash or he had to do things that made him feel humiliated and guilty just to get some. And it was gone in a flash, he was so hungry he devoured it all in a second, and then his belly hurt.

Then he came. Jason loved his new father. Loved his new grandfather. Loved their food. So healthy, abundant and full of taste. So fun to prepare. He learned a lot from Alfred because he loved to spend time with him, play with the ingredients and make everyone and himself happy with the results.

But then he had those memories wiped out of his mind, (un)fortunately they came back, but at that time food was in the back of his mind. Sure, he didn't have to worry about starving, crime paid more than enough for that, but he didn't put much thought into any of it.

Now, with you, he's making new memories with food. He cooked and baked a lot with you and for you throughout all your relationship, and you did the same for him. He loves his kitchen, just like the rest of your house. The pantry and fridge are always full thanks to you. You take good care of him. You make his trust in you be worth it. And he reciprocates it. Healthy and nice food that brings comfort and makes you roll your eyes. Especially after he started frequenting cooking classes as a hobby, again, thanks to you.

After you are gone with a full belly and a pet in the ass (just like him, honestly), he continues his routine. He changes clothes and goes to the gym. Jason never stopped exercising, but the lack of all the activity vigilantism entails and with all the treats you two have, he started getting more soft. You loved it, he hated it. — Okay he didn't hate it, he just wasn't the most happy with it. Roy thought it was kinda funny, until Jason pointed out he also got softer after Lian. You honestly couldn't see why all that softness they were talking about was so bad since they were still very muscular and defined, just less dry and more snuggly. You honestly thought your Jaybird could go even further. — So the addiction of yoga to his routine happened.

After that, he goes straight home, eats, showers, takes care of his appearance to keep looking like a proper hubby that you can shove on your bitter frenemies faces, and makes sure to keep the maintenance of the house, so you can come back tired from work and enjoy a perfect house to rest on.

Hygiene. Another things that was complicated with his biological family. His father wouldn't touch a single plate or broom, and would beat and scream at his mom if she didn't put her high (again, because of him) ass up and did the labor. Most often than not, their house was messy, had a bad smell that his little nose was so used to that it's not like he minded, and had insects around. His clothes were dirty hand-me-downs, some fit him, some didn't, a lot of them had holes. His hair tangled and itchy.

When he went to the streets, it just got worse.

Bruce and Alfred fixed that. He finally learned what stink was because he only knew good and neutral scents. His clothes fit him. Everything around him was clean and well-kept. No holes, no stains. Hair always trimmed, soft and clean. Well maintained.

When he came back, cleanliness was basic. Of course he is gonna keep everything around him clean. Habit and common sense, you know? Clothes his size because why the hell would he use hand-me-downs when he can just buy his own? And they had to be the right size for his new 6’2 and almost 200 lbs body. Hair? Whatever. Always washed but as long as it didn't look ridiculous he didn't have time to put much thought on his appearance. He was genuinely surprised you were attracted to him at first sight.

Being with you, he learned to enjoy the little things in life again. Sometimes he finds himself unmoving in front of a random room of the house, or in front of the mirror, trying to grasp if it's all real, If this is really his life, if that's how he looks. His mind flashes memories of his childhood home and his current home. He ignores the memories of the manor not only because of the betrayal he felt for Bruce, but also because the manor was from the Wayne's. He was a Wayne. He is not anymore. This is him. His new house, with you, is what he wished he had growing up. What he always dreamed of. Love. Company. And comfort. He felt all of that while being a Wayne, until he despised the Wayne's. Not the couple that died decades ago or the centuries old descendants. But his father and his siblings.

On days where he doesn't take care of the house, he practices his hobbies. He now has time to do it all, surprising you, his therapist, Roy, and himself, he did cooking, gardening, pottery, crocheting and of course, reading. You paid for all his classes, praised him on his achievements, added his creations to the decor of the house, accompanied him on any event or place related to his interests, gave him his own library in one of the rooms in the house. He even made some friends between middle-aged women and the only other househusband and stay-a-home dad that frequented those places.

It was very funny and cute seeing rough, huge, leather jacket wearing and scarred Jason Todd telling jokes to 50-year-old white moms/grandmas and sometimes even babysitting their kids, pets and plants. You knew he could be a good dad one day if you decided to have kids. He was also more than happy to have just you, Daphne and good friends. And plants.

Warmth. When he was a kid his parents broke the heater during a fight, he wondered if they didn't have money to fix it, even with his father's activities, or if his father just refused to fix it. Anyhow, it was always cold in Gotham, freezing on winter, his dirty clothes with holes didn't help much. The streets didn't seem much different in that aspect. The manor kept him warm when he wasn't seven feet under the dirt, in a casket. When he came back, Jason always wore the warmest of clothes, even while sweating, he didn't know why. Now he did. Your house is always warm. Your body is always warm. Comfort. Your love gave him comfort. Warmth. A reason to live.

Love. His mom. Bruce and Alfred. You.

After he was done and rested for a little, Jason took Daphne for a walk in the way to the grocery shop. He wanted to try a new receipt you saw on tiktok today for dinner and had to get more flour and something for the filling.

After a few minutes of walking on his perfectly nice looking and safe neighborhood — nothing like crime alley. The type of neighborhood he saw on the television and imagined those other happy kids his age living and envied them. Dreamed of being adopted into one of their families while jumping from orphanage to orphanage. It never happened. He just got more abused. And then the manor was so isolated that you could only see mansions and plants all around. So big and far away that they looked empty of life. — he got there and strapped the dog to a post, next to a smiley golden retriever.

He got in and- fuck it, I'm going home. The empanadas can wait another day.

— Jason? Oh my god. Jason! Is that you?! — The infuriatingly familiar loud voice calls out from the middle of the shop and all heads turn to look. Shit, he can't go now without embarrassing himself in front of the cashier of his favorite and most visited shop. So he just nods, takes a basket and walks as if there was nothing interesting happening. It worked with the others costumers, unfortunately, Dick thought it was way too interesting and forgot his own basket that only contained eggs and cereal, and started following him around, this time, with a less surprised tone.

— Hey, Dick. — Jason idly muttered, that just made his coff coff brother indignant.

— Hey, Dick?! What the hell? Where were you? It's been three years! We thought you were dead! Or kidnapped! We never stopped looking for you! We were worried! We mourned! What happened? — Was it bad that Jason didn't want to give him a real answer? Probably. Especially with how much his therapist, who he saw on the days he didn't go to the gym, told him he should try to mend things with his family. So much so that he started actually contemplating it recently. But if he did it, it was going to be on his own time. Not by bumping into them in the grocery store. Oh, well. Jason was always good at adapting. The best.

And wow, three years had passed? Makes sense. Recovery does take time and he's been really happy for a while. Jason still remembers the day he decided to quit everything. It was the same day he decided you were the one, truthfully he always knew you were marriage material, the perfect one for him, out of his league, straight out of his most amazing dreams, peak goal for him, but he wasn't sure if he deserved to be the one you should be stuck with forever. He desperately wanted to, but he had to commit. Ride or die. He loved you, now more than ever, and didn't want to waste your time. He was still a bit messy at the time, but you made it all better, he was a lot better than he was before you came into the picture. You were the right choice. Jason always took you seriously, he was just insecure. So, while still in around eight months of relationship, he quit everything.

He quit his family. He quit vigilantism. He searched for recovery. And a year and a half later, with a little more than two years of dating, he made the big proposal. You married on your three-year anniversary. Got Daphne four months later. It's been around three or four months ever since.

While Dick’s math might not be exact, it is not necessary in this context, the point came across just fine.

He also knew that the fact that you both decided to not leave Gotham was going to bite him in the ass one day. One way or another.

— What happened? Oh, well. I retired. Got married. And now I'm a dad. — Daphne was like a daughter to him, so it was the same, right?

His nonchalant reply didn't seem to satisfy the other, though. Todd could see it, the urge to strangle him in his eyes. Dick wouldn't strangle his dead missing little brother, would he?

— You… You what? — Dick was in disbelief.

— You guys searched for me? Thanks, I guess? It means a lot. — Jason just sniffed and went on his way, leaving Grayson behind, paralyzed.

Maybe he could be fast enough and get out of there before the older one got a grasp of his senses back and followed him out. Part of him felt hope, the other heard yours and his therapist voices in his head, and the nagging was annoying. Maybe he never stopped being a “grump”, like you always amusedly said.

Oh, no. Here he comes again. Jason suppresses an eye-roll.

— Stop. Can you really explain? — The mix of emotions was almost overwhelming, an urge to cry, punch a wall, punch Jason's face, scream and who knows what more was running through Dick's body.

Jason sighed and finally addressed him completely. Tone lower so no one could hear.

— Okay. I met someone… Someone good. Someone special. A civilian. I was tired of everything. So I decided to retire and made sure none of you could find me. I'm surprised Roy and Lian kept the secret from you, though. Anyway. Now I'm a stay-at-home hubby, have a dog and go to therapy. You happy? — A beat of silence. — Hey, don't make that face… I was going to tell you guys eventually… When I felt like it… It's not like you guys saw me a lot. How much time did it take for you all to miss me? I made an appearance once in a while when someone asked for help and that's it. Alfred knew everything so if you’re gonna be mad at anyone, be at him too, not just me… And Roy. Don't forget Roy.

— A-Are you kidding me? Oh, yes, blame the butler! You couldn't even tell us? Like “hey guys, I'm gonna retire and take some time for myself for a while. Also, come to my wedding!” I wanted to be invited, you know?! Why didn't you invite me? Did you at least invite Alfred? Did- — Jason rolled his eyes and cut his rant.

— Yes, Alfred was there. Front row and everything. — Dick shrieked.

— T-That’s not the point! — His voice raised slightly from exasperation and both of them checked around for anyone's attention, then came back to the conversation.

Jason raised a hand to interrupt him and took a deep breath.

— Look. I wasn't in a nice place at the time, okay? I'm better now… And I was going to talk to you guys sooner rather than later… — Jason let a moment of vulnerability shine, hoping that would melt his brother's heart and fix things. It did. — We will have a second wedding when we renovate our vows in our 5th anniversary. You can be there… Everyone can be there. — Jason cleared his throat to interrupt the other again. — But now I have to get home in time to make dinner for my honeyboo, so why don't we… Stay in contact and… One of those days everyone can have dinner together and catch up, huh?

Dick took one of the deepest breaths of his whole life. Jason pursed his lips.

— Okay… — He stuck a finger in his face roughly. — But don't disappear again. Or else I promise I’m gonna personally make everyone track you down, understood? — Jason snorted. As if Tim and Bruce wouldn't do it already once they knew everything. As if Bruce didn't secretly keep track of him this whole time. Unless… Unless everyone changed and he didn't know his… His family anymore.

Why did it make him feel weird?

— Yes, boss. — Jason saluted him and left.

— Relax… — You elongated the word. — Nothing bad it's gonna happen… — You went behind Jason and tried rubbing his broad shoulders to chase the tenseness away. The sight and feel of his muscles almost made you drool, and you blinked to focus again.

— How do you know? — You pursed your lips and went to his side to try to make him take his eyes off of cleaning the countertop for the 4th time due to anxiety.

— Because they love you. And they care about you. And they miss you. — Jason deadpanned you. — Just give it a chance. If anything goes wrong, we will just kick them out and you never have to talk to them, ever again. We can even move if you want. Or go on a vacation to the same place we had our honeymoon, I can wear that skimpy piece you like… Spoil you rotten… — Your voice lowered seductively and you pressed your body to his side, running your hand up and down his arms with some pressure.

Jason’s mind went blank and he was speechless for a few seconds. Your eyebrows raised with a small, convincing smile that made all his worries go away. He sighed.

— Okay… Okay, you’re right… — He leaned down and sneaked an arm around your waist. You both shared a slow and wet kiss, bordering between sensual and calming. Unfortunately, he had to wait a few hours before having some action. He pulled his face away a few centimeters, looking you in the eyes. — I thought I had ripped that thing. — You blinked.

— You just might have. But I bought another one because I looked too good on it not to wear it again. — You shared a chuckle when the doorbell rang. You both looked at the door, then at each other. — Want me to get it? — You ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the last of his nerves. Jason swallowed.

— No. Have to get it over with. — He took a deep breath and then let out. Pulling away from your embrace. — Put the juice on the table for me, please? — You hummed and nodded.

Without giving a second thought, he walked in long strides and abruptly opened the door.

It was like that scene in Avengers: End Game when on one side there was just Captain America against the whole Thanos's army, just staring at each other.

— Are you wearing an apron? — Damian snarked with an eyebrow raised. Jason looked down. Yes, he was. Good start.

— Take your shoes off, there’s other shoes for you all there. And here I was having hope that at fifteen you wouldn't be a demon anymore. — Jason said sarcastically and gave them space to enter.

As soon as they got in the neighborhood they were all already skeptical. If you were the only one working, how much do you earn to live in such a nice area and with this nice house? They could even see a pool in the backyard and there were TWO expensive cars in the driveway. Jason said he quit all of the crime lord thing, did he keep the savings? Did he invest?

The little dog came running and barking, taking their attention away from the house and their shoes, Damian immediately crouched to pet her. Jason let a side of his lips go up. At least that hasn't changed.

— Her name is Daphne. — Jason spoke over the cooing of Duke and Cass at the dog. He locked eyes with Bruce who had an unreadable expression on his face. He looked older, Jason didn't know how to feel about that. Then gazed at Dick, who had a shit eating grin, Alfred, whose satisfied smile warmed his heart, and Tim, who was analyzing the space while changing shoes.

— Nice place. So, what does your partner do? — Are they committing fraud? — You appeared from the corner and replied for him.

— I direct the Queen Industries’s Gotham’s office. — You answered softly with a polite smile, stopping besides Jason, who wrapped an arm around you. Everyone's gaze turning on you made you feel shy, but you held on with confidence.

— Oh, wow, so Jason really is a malewife. — Your eyes widened in surprised and you couldn't hold back a laugh. Jason let a small smile graze his lips, coaxing the easiness out of him.

— I offered to pay cleaning and cooking service, but he wanted to do things himself. — You say, a little afraid they would get angry at you for “slavering” their Jason.

— Did you buy those cars outside? — Wow, Tim really was as skeptical as Jason had said.

— Hmhmm. — You nodded simply, as if it was nothing.

Jason's siblings raised their eyebrows and Bruce cleared his throat, and took a step forward, feet clad in fluffy slippers. He offered a hand and presented himself politely to you. You wondered how much of that was his persona and how much was just a father meeting his son's partner.

While giving them a tour of the house, the family — aside from Alfred who already knew it all — observed the details, happy memories in the form of pictures of trips, your marriage, birthdays, anniversaries, Daphne's growing stages, spontaneous moments that just deserved to be eternalized, trinkets, handmade pots, plants, Daphne’s toys, and the decor that was just a mix of you both. No guns in the walls, no corpses buried in the backyard, no blood stains. The only signals that it was their Jason living here and not a clone were the books, pictures and hidden security measures. 

It was… Good. Peaceful. Clearly the change in scenario helped him. It hurt them a little, some more than others, that it took him cutting them off for him to start healing, although, maybe opening up this new side of him for them meant that it wasn't just that. And it wasn't. The fault didn't fall completely on them. Nor on Jason. And one person, you, can't be the solution for all global crisis. Mental health is complex. Trauma is complicated. Past can't be changed, but the future can. 

That night, everyone enjoyed Jason's cooking, Daphne and the new future.

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@wandalfnation

[yandereunsolved]

Thicker than Dragons Blood - ,, yandere Daemon Targaryen pining over Rhaenyra's friend

tw(s): yandere themes, suggestive themes (slight nsfw), grooming, dubcon, purity culture, misogny, stalkholm syndrome

✧ It all began the day that both you and Rhaenyra met in the nursery. Without the ability to speak, only to wail and babble, the two of you were instantly the closest of friends. There was no place where she went that you weren't either. You balanced out her reckless and bratty behavior. She wasn't the best friend to you, but you were stuck to her hip. You always took the fall for her so that she could keep her reputation untarnished. In those moments, you forgot your standing as a child of a noble—a Lord or Lady of a house standing strong. You always gifted her little things that you found as reminders of your bond. She paid you back through adventure and gossip. Occasionally, she would gaslight you if you heard something bad about her, but who wouldn't? She couldn't lose her best friend.

✧ In the back of those red-tinted memories was Daemon. Whenever he happened to be at the Red Keep, he always kept a close eye on what transpired between the both of you. At first, he saw an opportunity to stake his future claim as king by marrying Rhaenyra. Although his eyes always wandered to you. There was something about you that was just so innocent and corruptible. As you grew, so did Daemons intrigue with you. It soon ignited into a fiery infatuation, burning brighter than any flame in Old Valyria ever could.  

✧ His interest, a word far too shallow to explain his attraction, was not unnoticed by your father, the head of your house. Daemon had many talks with your father. Your father did your best to sweet talk Daemon, but obviously he was able to see through it. He didn't need any convincing. That's how he became your tutor. He would spend all his free time dragging you away from Rhaenyra, forcing you to learn whatever he felt like teaching you that day. He wanted to cause a rift in your relationship with her. He was also beginning to feel possessive over you. Why has his neice caught your favor and not him? He could not allow this seemingly 'platonic' relationship with Rhaenyra to further escalate.

✧ The content of his teachings would seem less than savory to most. You had just barely risen past the age of a blooming maiden; that makes you fair game, correct? When you were in your younger years, he never taught you anything that could cause rumors to spread. After all, rumors in the Red Keep spread faster than a dragon's fire. He needed to make sure that you were old enough to keep your mouth shut. He needed to make sure that your age wouldn't be a problem. An age gap wouldn't cause rumors, but a child noble engaging in intimate acts like an adult prince? Unthinkable. He wouldn't ruin his reputation because of that.

✧ However, no gap in age or experience could stop him once you were old enough to be considered of age. He began teaching you the finer things in life, like how to please a man and how to please yourself. You were naive. You didn't know more than how a babe was made. You didn't realize everything was so complicated and embarrassing. He always stifles your moans during your private 'tutoring' sessions. He encourages you and tells you how good you are being. He speaks dirty words in your ears in High Valyrian. He gives you an extra reward if he can see you recognize some of the words in his teachings. It's an addiction for him. He can't get enough of your body and your figure. You had grown into yourself. It was a sight no other whore's body could even begin to match. The gods must have gifted you to him after everything he has done for the kingdoms.

✧ He gives you 'homework' and does more than just scold you if you don't complete it to his liking. Most of the time, he just enjoys watching you. Even after all his teachings, you are still so inexperienced. He hasn't taken the final step with you. He wouldn't take your full maidenhood yet, no. He simply couldn't. Not for any moral reasons. He just wanted you to keep your virtue a bit longer. That's one of the things that attracted him to you in the first place. He would have immediately taken any other slut, but you weren't that. You are a god(dess) among men. You deserve a romantic night filled with passion. A night where he can put a babe in you, fertile or not.

✧ As you began drifting away from Rhaenyra due to your tutoring sessions with Daemon, you were confronted. She clung onto you with tears in her eyes and asked why you didn't care about her anymore. She silently begged and pleaded for a good reason. Then she became enraged. She slapped you and demanded to know once again why you were drifting from her. 

"Is it because of my uncle? Is your knowledge truly worth more than our lifelong partnership?"

You couldn't tell her the truth. You knew what you were engaging in with Daemon was scandalous. If you told Rhaenyra she may hate you, or even worse, use it to blackmail you so you are always by her side. You made up some flimsy excuse. You just said that you were insecure about always being near her, and Daemon said that she didn't like you anymore. That part about Daemon was partly true. He has been whispering lies to you about your relationship with Rhaenyra for years now. For better or for worse, you both are still as close as you were during your younger years, if not even closer now.

She finally calmed after you made your excuse. She didn't question its validity. She was just happy to finally have you back. She made you promise to stay away from Daemon as much as you possibly could. So, you did. Who were you to disobey the command of a princess, your closest companion?

✧ A sense of shame and dread fills you. You don't need a tutor anymore. After an hour-long argument with your father, he finally relents. He threatens that if their house falls out of the Targaryens good graces because you refused to be tutored by Daemon, he'll sell you out to a pleasure house. He didn't know how hard that hit you. You felt impure. You enjoyed what you did with Daemon. Why is that wrong? You were taught only to find pleasure in your future spouse. You found pleasure in him, and look where it got you. A strained relationship with your best friend that you had to fix, and your father threatening to sell you out to a whore house.

You feel like you are being attacked from all angles. Daemon begins to stalk you to get your attention. That's what you can call it, right? Stalking? You swear he's following you, even when he isn't. You thought you heard the guards speaking about reporting back to him. Something just feels more off about him whenever you get near him. Your mind began to repress all the memories of your intimate moments together. You just felt so confused, so lost, and so paranoid. Nothing felt right. You could barely remember your own name. At least you'll be able to find a suitor soon. You'll be able to put this all behind you. Not if Daemon has anything to do with it.

✧ After a few months, everything seems to be back to normal. There are no more of those weird tutoring sessions; you have rebuilt your relationship with Rhaenyra, and you even have some decent choices for a future spouse. You did have to carry on the bloodline as the eldest, after all. 

Daemon, however, was far from 'normal'. Not that he ever was. Over those few months, people could notice the changes in him. He became more unhinged, erratic, and easily angered at the tiniest of mistakes. Behind closed doors, he was drinking all of the spirits he could get his hands on. He was spending triple the amount of time at brothels that he usually did. He forgot about everything else, except for the problem of the bronze bitch in the back of his mind. You were nothing like her. You were like a precious piece of jewelry made out of the finest gold and precious metals that were melted down by a dragon's breath. All he knew was that he needed to court you. 

Not even commanding the Nights Watch could tame the beast within him. He flew Caraxes to contemplate. He would eye over where, somewhere off in the distance, you were in the castle. You were probably spending time with his neice, or gods forbid, another man, one of his men that he commands. 

He's just never wanted anything more than you. He knows you aren't his kin or his blood. He knows that marrying you would be an impossible task. It would mean decreasing his chances of taking the throne. You had something, though; you had the Targaryen spirit in you. He could feel it every time he touched you. He could feel the heat simmering just beneath the skin. You were worthy of his seed and worthy of carrying his kin. He could always bribe one of his family members to use as a surrogate in case you have male genitalia or are infertile. Your babies would still be pure Targaryens that way. It just disgusts him to have to think of impregnating anyone but you.

✧ You had a tournament in honor of Rhaenyra finally being old enough to be courted. It was one that would end on a much lighter note, as opposed to the last one, which ended in her mother's death. It was partly your tournament as well. Well, that is what Daemon thought of it as. He would fight for you, and you alone. He understands that voicing this would be improper. You do see it in the way he glances at you while fighting in the rounds he is participating in. When he is not, he's staring into your soul. His eyes never leave your figure. You feel queasy; something is even more off about him now. Your ex-tutor didn't have any feelings past merely using you as another one of his flings; you tried to assure yourself. Only when the last round of the tournament was to commence did he ask for your favor instead of Rhaenyra's.

The crowd was shocked; some gasped, while others questioned the meaning of this. Was Daemon choosing you over Rhaenyra due to the infighting over who was to be the true heir of the Iron Throne? Was he simply being contrary, as always? Or did he want your favor because he harbored more than platonic feelings toward you?

It was unheard of, as it was customary for Targaryens to only ask for the favors of their family members.

He did the tournament. His actions made clear the message he intended to send; he did it for you. 

Rhaenyra wasn't pleased. She threatened her uncle behind closed doors to stop hitting on her best friend. He laughed it off. He taunted her.

"As if there is anything you can do about it. They want me. They crave my touch."

✧ You only tried harder from then on to separate yourself from him. You purposefully avoided him, and it only became harder to do so. It was as if he had memorized your schedule by heart. Little notes and gifts began to be left on your bedding. They weren't signed, but you had a suspicion that it was Daemon's doing. You tried to express your concerns to your mother and father, only to be given a dismissive response. You tried to confide in your siblings, but your female one(s) only giggled and swooned over him. Your male one(s) simply huffed and waved you off, half-heartedly saying that they'd offer you some protection against the prince if the time came. 

✧ You try to confront him. He admits that the gifts were from him. He doesn't admit the extent of his infatuation for you yet. You already seemed adamant on avoiding him. Scaring you off wouldn't do him any good because he still doesn't have a strong hold over the council or his brother. He promises to stop gifting you things and back off if you just do one thing with him. You reluctantly agreed without knowing what he was planning. If you knew it was to ride on Caraxes with him, then you would have simply walked off and not given his compromise another thought. 

✧ You were intimidated by dragons; dare you say fearful of them. They always seemed to be able to pierce one's soul with their eyes. You refused to be near Rhaenyra's dragon, Syrax, for that exact reason. Now you were within ten feet of one, and you were practically trembling. Daemon was positively ecstatic underneath his facade of poised indifference. He would be able to exert control over you because of his title of dragon rider, if nothing else. 

Syrax seemed like an innocent hare in comparison to Caraxes.

However, you surprisingly felt safe as Daemon placed your hand on Caraxes's scales. There was a certain vulnerability in Daemon's eyes that you had not seen before. He seemed to treasure these moments. Caraxes almost seemed to... like you? The dragon could sense his riders affection toward you. In turn, Caraxes felt the same need to protect you and be gentle. The beast even allowed you to scratch under his chin, a purr-like reaction emanating from his long throat. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before. 

☾ The ride was breath-taking, both figuratively and literally. That's the only way you can describe it. It was the first time you felt safe around Daemon. He was in charge of making sure you felt comfortable in the air, his arms possessively at your sides as he controlled the reigns. He could feel your relaxed muscles against his toned chest. His heart swelled even further with an all-encompassing ecstasy that he had never had the pleasure of feeling before. Caraxes responded to both of you with a comforting roar, somewhere in between intimidating and reassuring. You had never felt true freedom in your life. For once, you felt it, even in the arms of someone you could consider an oppressor. 

☾ You were aware of his wife. You knew that these strange feelings Daemon harbored for you had to be temporary. You at least admitted to yourself that he did hold some sort of romantic attraction to you. He admitted the least of it. Still, you fooled yourself into thinking they were temporary. Not just a fling, something more intimate but less binding than a marriage. Even with this knowledge, even after being introduced to Caraxes and riding him with Daemon, your hesitance was still fully rooted within your heart and mind—your soul. He took advantage of you before. You shudder at the thought. You enjoyed learning those things, but were you truly able to consent to them? You were of age. You push it away within your mind. It is the deepest reason for your hesitance, but you didn't want to think on it. Thinking of your tutoring sessions with Daemon only proved to fill you with heat and shame simultaneously.

☾ You chose to do your best to shake all of the invasive thoughts from your mind. You spent as much time as you could with Rhaenyra. She looked at you with such love and cowered behind you whenever things got too tough. From the shadows of the small council, one man in particular envied your relationship: Otto Hightower. He has taken to calling you 'Daemon's whore'. He has been the one since the beginning to spread whispers amongst those in the court about your loyalty to the crown.

Would you choose Daemon over Viserys?

That was a question many asked with their eyes and not their tongues. It was humiliating. You don't even want to associate with Daemon, and yet your time as his student has left your reputation forever scarred. Not to mention how many times you have chosen to state that Rhaenyra's mistakes were your own, for the sake of your friendship. Even with the whispers, it was not enough for Otto. He needed them to be screams. He needed everyone to see you as the whore you were! He has never grown soft towards you because of one simple fact: you threaten his entire plan for his family's ascension to the throne. Alicent has never been able to catch a Targaryen's attention, yet you are the best friend to one and the whore of another.

☾ It was a mistake for you to align yourself so closely with Rhaenyra. She ranted to you about what her fears were and how terrified she was at the possibility of not being the sole heir. You had to listen while Daemon plotted at Dragonstone. You hadn't seen him since the day you rode Caraxes with him. That was well over half a moon ago by now. You were relieved to finally be rid of his presence. Only you thought so. When the gods rose the moon high into the sky and nestled the sun beneath the cusp of the earth, he returned to you. That very night, after Rhaenyra had left your chambers, Daemon had snuck in. He surprised you and urged you to hush yourself.

You had no choice. He led you to the empty cradle, where the last heir passed after living for less than a day. There was a dragon egg in it. He whispered to you about all the things he wanted to do to you. He made a promise that one day your babe would be in the cradle, with his features and your personality.

It felt like a dream you would have after a fever. You still can't be sure it happened. After he left, the realm of dreams tugged you in once again. You woke up, and no trace of him was there. Daemon was getting bolder in his advances toward you. He still feared scaring you off completely, but he has to take what is rightfully his. He is the heir to the Iron Throne, after all.

☾ Years passed, and you grew older. Daemon was off fighting a war in the Stepstones; Alicent gave the king a male heir with another babe on the way; and Rhaenyra stuck closer to you than any tree sap could. Otto was less of a thorn in your side these days. As this time passed, you were plagued with tragedies every time you tried to take a lover. You were the eldest, and yet you were failing your house dearly. They tried their best to get you courted as well. Your entire family was just perplexed. Every suitor you were supposed to marry showed up dead before your wedding day. Were you cursed by the gods? It couldn't be Daemon, could it? It was so far away. He couldn't simply be orchestrating this while so far away.

It simply left you in tears every single time. Rhaenyra was your only solace. She grew more bratty and defiant of her father. She refused to marry that Lannister fellow. She rejoiced when your newest one came up dead. She couldn't help but smile. She didn't want you to get married and leave her. You both were meant to be companions. You are companions, the closest of them. 

Still, your soul was aching, and your body was deprived of something it yearned for. 

Were you really missing Daemon's odd behavior?

No, never.

Well, maybe.

☾ You didn't realize that perhaps you were even worried about him until he returned to the castle. It felt like a piece that had gone missing had finally returned. The king, his brother, was thankful for his submission and offered him one thing behind closed doors. What was that one thing you ask? Your hand in marriage. When Daemon strolled over to you and told you this, you were flabbergasted, even bamboozled. You couldn't just marry your best friend's uncle. 

☾ You tried every excuse under the sun. You tried to say that you weren't up to the Targaryen standards of beauty; he said that you were created by the gods, so graceful and divine. You brought up the fact that you had no blood tied to Old Valyria; he stated that your soul was that of a dragon, more than worthy of his hand. You tried to reason with him by saying that he had another wife who he already struggled to take care of. That angered him. 

"Don't ever speak about the bitch again, dear. Understand me?"

She died as you would learn later. Some sort of riding incident that led to her demise. You offered your condolences to Daemon. He laughed and said that he'd happily spit upon her rotting corpse. He didn't need to lie to you. He also wasn't compelled to tell the truth when you didn't ask for it. He'll make sure the whispers of him murdering his wife never reach your ears.

☾ Rhaenyra simply shrugged and thought that you marrying her uncle was at least a close match for her. She would still be able to speak with you. You would now be closer to her! She wasn't ecstatic, but pleased—maybe even smug. Whatever negative feelings she had toward her uncle being around you were clearly resolved. It only struck terror in your heart. 

☾ Your family would help, right? No. Such a laughable thing. They were overjoyed. They also told you not to screw it up. Talks of the heirs you two would produce, the tie to the Targaryens bolstering your house's status, and many other reasons you didn't care to listen to.

☾ You were—are trapped. You were to marry a man that you couldn't make up your mind about. It could be worse. Every strange thing must have been because of the gods, right? If only you knew the lengths Daemon went to marry you. The people he threatened, the people he beheaded, the poisons traded in markets that aren't pure of heart but dark and foreboding. He finally felt at peace. So did Caraxes. Your family would be so perfect. He could already see you holding a babe in your arms that he had bred into you. Is this what you truly want? Or is that hesitancy in your soul still strong enough to pull you out of his hold and help you escape him?

[a-hazbin-reader]

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic ❌️Platonic

TW: Implied Abuse, Murder, Implied Gore, Period Typical Treatment of Women, Implied Sewerslide

Description: Alastor X Singer!Crime Family!reader who has known him in life and death and what their complicated relationship might be like, as canon compliant as I can bring myself to be

You grew up in crime family with an emotionally unavailable mother and violent dismissive father

Sure you were well fed, well dressed,well protected(despite the socially acceptable beatings from your parents) and educated but you were in a prison all of your own

You were your family's precious songbird with a voice like no other and a cage of steel around you, you often had small shows in clubs, bars, wherever your father could make it happen

Your father loved showing you off to his associates, friends, anybody who would listen really, in those moments you were his little girl who could do no wrong

Behind closed doors however

Because of your father's bragging all of his gross old friends took an unnecessary interest in you as well

Also did you know you're engaged to some brute who's nearly twice your age?? Some radio show producer who's had 3 wives before you and more women on his arm than you can count

But it's fine, you're fine

Is what you tell yourself until one day your fiance takes you to a radio station so you can sing there and you hear a familiar voice in one of the radio booths

Nofuckingwayisthatwhoyouthinkitisohfuckitshimitshim

You couldn't resist listening to one of your favorite radio hosts live but you also didn't want to interrupt so you stood and watched from afar as Alastor worked his magic

He was more handsome and magnetic in person, it was so unfair, you were completely entranced by him

Don't worry he noticed you too, amused by your gooey awestruck gaze

You could've stayed and listened to the whole show if your fiance hadn't suddenly yanked you away by your arm, reminding you that you were also here to work

You have a small wave and mouthed "big fan" as you were pulled away, ecstatic as Alastor gave a slick smile back

Now it was his turn to be intrigued, finishing up his show and exiting his booth to go and find where his delicious looking little fan went

Only to find himself happily surprised by your singing, deciding to sit and stay on his break, listening in appreciation for your voice

After that you two simply clicked, drawn to each other even if you both didn't understand it

You sneaking off every chance you could to talk and spend time with him and Alastor perking up anytime his door opened

It escalates from there, Alastor secretly sending you flowers/letters/anything you even glance at, you reciprocating by leaving little gifts/letters on his desk. The two of you having discreet rendezvous at night

It wasn't romantic at all and you two weren't in love, just really good friends

Who sometimes had moments of intimacy like snuggling, touching foreheads after a long embrace, a dozen almost kisses, a few kiss kisses

And when you inevitably found out that he's a cannibalistic serial killer he was worried he would have to hurt you, worried that you would be disgusted in him. That you wouldn't want to see him again

Imagine Alastor's surprise when you just sigh and start helping him clean his mess, almost nonchalant with the gore until you explain that your family has a violent history

Okay so maybe it's love maybe it's not, you two don't put a label on it or even discuss it really, you just enjoy the moment

Alastor hates your fiance, he hates that he doesn't treasure you, that he openly cheats on you, that he's rough with you, that he thinks he owns you

Safe to say that your fiance and Alastor hate each other but that's just fine because you hate your fiance too

Things were blissful between you two and you were even discussing running away together, your family and fiance starting to catch on to the relationship

You and Alastor began to finalize plans, picking a day to meet up and start your new lives

Except Alastor dissappears suddenly and doesn't return any of your letters, doesn't show up for his radio show and you can't find him

And one day you're caught by your father and fiance,checking Alastor's radio booth again, the two of them taunting you by telling you Alastor took a bribe and ditched you

You're forced to marry your fiance less than a month later, only making it a little longer before you take your own life, drowning in heartbreak and rage at the betrayal

You're not surprised when you find yourself in hell but damn it still feels like a punch to a gut

You know Alastor is there too, you know who this rising radio demon is but you don't want anything to do with him, you're still so angry

And he's angry at you too, thinking you moved on from him so easily, hurt that you never even looked for him(He's 100% creating scenarios in his head and hurting himself)

So it takes quite awhile before you two even cross paths, let alone hash things out, like a years and years sort of thing

Expect a lot of run ins that end in snarky comments and unnecessary romantic/sexual tension

It's not until one particularly explosive argument that you two realize that you've been getting the truth mixed up

But once it's settled then it's like nothing ever changed, except that you two have way more time together and you don't have to sneak around anymore

It's an open secret that you two are together even though neither of you have confirmed it or even put a label on it

You just always happen to be on his arm, canoodling at every chance and backing each other up in fights(verbal or physical). Every successful fight is rewarded with eskimo kisses

But you two are definitely practically husband and wife, a power couple even

But then one day he dissappears again

WHY

Maybe you two had a fight before he dissappears and he storms off for a walk. Maybe not

And then seven years go by and you fear that somehow you've lost him again, but for good this time

So you spend that time quietly mourning him and struggling to move on

You don't even find out he's back again until you hear him back in his radio tower, fighting with Vox

🙄😏 that man...

You're not even mad that he hasn't come to see you yet, simply relieved that he's alive and back

Okay you're a little mad, a little hurt

You're calm when you find out he's staying at some new hotel instead of coming back home, coming back to you

Okay you're not exactly calm, your friends would say you're simply hysterical behind closed doors

So you're livid when you find out he's staying with Lucifer's daughter and her friends because it's so obviously just a power grab for him

Fine

You definitely don't go over and cause a scene but you definitely do corner him at some point and let him have it

He's so fucking happy to see you that he's not even paying attention to what you're yelling about or why you're crying. He just pulls you in for a long hug, shutting you up with a rough kiss.

No you're not cupping each other's cheeks, foreheads pressed together as he apologizes over and over again for leaving you again

He won't do it again, not if he can help it

You find out that he's managed to dig himself a hole with a bad deal but that's about all you can figure out and he can't exactly tell you

But you manage to find it in yourself to forgive him(it's hard to stay mad at him), accepting that his time and attention have to be somewhere else for now

Then there's another extermination and one of your friends tell you to check the tv(something you probably don't normally do)

The moment you see Alastor facing off against Adam you're off, fighting and racing to get to him, to help him but he's gone by the time you get there. Lucifer and his daughter fighting him

But you know he's not dead this time, he wouldn't leave you again, not a third time

He promised

So you find him panicking in his busted radio tower and hold him until he calms down, promising that you two will find a way out of his deal

Maybe just hold his head to your chest and stroke his hair a little longer?

You were both reluctant to break apart, Alastor genuinely seeming remorseful as he nuzzles your forehead, telling you that he will visit you soon, that he's sorry for everything

Still he smiles 🙃

When he leaves to go back to the hotel you find yourself more tempted than ever to follow him, your heart aching to be near him again already

Maybe you should check in or at least offer to work there, they don't have an entertainer yet, do they?

Alastor when you show up:

"Darling, what are you doing here?"

I HAD TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM OKAY!?

Bonus! Charlie when she finds out about Alastor's boo:

[l0vem41l]

mean when i'm nervous.

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited as BAWLS, dc writer newbie but im very enthusiastic abt the comics and shows and movies, dog metaphor but insane and unsubtle, explicitly vigilante!reader in dick grayson’s part, dramatic asf but not really angst 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. bruce wayne, clark kent, richard "dick" grayson, and john constantine

author's note: so. we all know what my favourite thing right now is (⌒_⌒;) i still adore everything i used to write for,,, but i’ve been on my comic motives recently (*ﾟｰﾟ*) ! reading dc mostly but spider-noir and deadpool have been picked up along the way!!! um. anyways. if i get comfy enough, i might do more dc stuff but i get that this isn't my exact audience on this blog— sorry my loves (´＿｀。) </3 might write a part two cuz i love jason. and booster gold. and like every single one of them (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) halfway through writing this i realized everything feels very literal, so i feel the need to mention that this is not dog hybrid reader stuff but if u fw that u can imagine it that way

perhaps the habit of burning bridges you’re actively crossing isn’t a good idea. and you’re not an idiot, not in the slightest— but even if you were, everyone knows that needless self destruction when developing relationships is counterproductive.

you strike the match anyways, like it’s just a force of habit. another instinct.

if you spent life knowing that the hand only beats. why would you expect it to do anything else when it’s lowered towards you?

you learn to keep your hopes down, ears alert, and teeth sharp. you learn to get used to the taste of blood. to make things messy and complicated, and to end things when they need to be ended, because god knows it’s only self preservation when you do it.

you learn that the only way to survive is to bite— to hurt before something hurts you.

and one day, an unfamiliar hand that extends towards you decides to feed instead.

why do you still bare your teeth?

▸ BRUCE is unsure why he sticks around. he’s understanding, but also reasonably frustrated with your antics. it doesn’t evade him that they stem from something deeply rooted in your past— but he doesn’t know what to do about it. if there is anything to do.

at his core, he's a detective. he's got an eye for digging into strange pasts and a knack for knowing things he isn't supposed to. but in spite of his paranoia and hunger to know, bruce doesn't pry too much. he can do research on his own, without you ever having to realize.

you’re self-sufficient, he’ll give you that. you’re unsure sometimes of whether he’s proud that you can take care of yourself or irritated that you consistently insist on doing so. he’s unsure too. not like he lets you know.

it’s a mutual understanding the two of you share— he stays, you bite. yet bruce, unsurprisingly, doesn’t mind being bitten. he’d hope that the reason he’s sticking around is for the selfless reason of making sure you’re alright. though, the reality is, you’ve grown on him, whether you realize or not.

bruce has always been fond of strays.

▸ CLARK is nothing but patient. and that scares you beyond reason.

he sees the way you bare your teeth whenever someone gets too close for comfort to you. he knows when to back away, when to speak, when not to— he’s always attempting to never make you feel backed into a corner.

somehow, it makes you more anxious seeing just how much he understands about you. he knows just how to coax you out of the corner of your cage, how to bring you in closer, and it almost, almost convinces you to let your guard down.

the thought of that is terrifying.

you try barking, you try biting— and none of it works. clark doesn’t coddle you when you’re wrong— but he’s absolutely nothing but gentle. patient and understanding, sometimes you wonder how a man of steel can be so soft for someone like you.

▸ DICK isn’t dumb. it’s fairly easy for him to put two and two together. quickly, he figures out what he’s dealing with when he encounters you.

his conversations with you are never without a note of levity— a deliberate action on his end, you’re certain. he knows, you know, and because of it, everything feels oddly tense around him, even with the attempts to banter.

it’s too late to run. his observant gaze has caught a glimpse of you through your one way glass, and he’s chosen to meet your eyes with a smile. there's a sense of foreboding that gnaws at your gut, anxiously anticipating what might be lurking under that grin of his.

on his end, there are no malicious intentions. he doesn’t really have ulterior motives when it comes to you.

most times, he chooses to defend you and be the one standing at your side when no one else does. you don't understand why he insists on offering you friendship when all you do is pull away.

after a long night of patrolling the streets of gotham, you find the two of you leaning on the railing of a rooftop side by side. your eyes are on this cityscape of gotham. his are on you.

“you keep on insisting i’m not as bad as i seem,” you mutter under your breath.

late nights make for loose lips. he’s pleasantly surprised to hear you continue the thought instead of attempting to take it back.

“do you just hate being right?” you snort, allowing your gaze to flit over to him just for a second.

"no." dick smiles, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “i think you just hate the fact that i could be.”

▸ you tried not to bother with CONSTANTINE. the day the two of you met, you didn’t even introduce yourself.

john constantine’s presence alone reeks of trouble, as acrid and suffocating as the cigarette smoke that clings to his tan trenchcoat. you are attuned to things like that. he notices.

one thing you actually enjoy about him? he doesn’t chase. he’s a nosy one, for certain, sticking his nose into places no one in their right mind would— but for the most part, he steers clear of yours. initially, you think it’s because your urge to be left alone by him is so prevalent that he’s just chosen to heed the warning and not approach when unwanted.

but he’s not a man known for abiding by rules. he’s much more curious with you than you notice or prefer. in a way, your distance has made you more myth than man, more tale than tangible— you are a rumor passed through whispers between lips, a silent shadow lurking in the corner of the room… and he loves a good mystery.

“c’mon. you're actin’ like ‘m gonna bite your head off, luv,” he chuckles, lighting up the cigarette between his fingers.

i'd probably be the one doing that if i got any closer. you keep that thought in your head, standing with a gap between the two of you as always.

he doesn't miss how you avoid looking into his eyes like his gaze could murder, instead, focusing your gaze on the cherry of the cig, burning bright red.

“not much for a wee natter, hm?”

the quick shake of your head only makes his smirk grow. you could just walk away… so why exactly were you sticking around?

“fine by me. quiet company’s welcome.” that’s a sentence he’d probably never say to anyone else. in a strange way, he feels like he knows you well enough to be comfortable with the words that hang in the air.

it’s weird. you’re completely unknown, and yet, an irrational part of his mind keeps nagging at him to look just a little closer at you. sometimes, when he listens to it, he catches a glimpse of something silent in your eyes— an all too familiar pain of a person who can’t help but hurt the things that they cling onto.

so that’s why you’re keen on keeping everyone at arms length. it almost makes him laugh to think how similar the two of you are, plain as day, and yet unnoticed by you— a person who won’t even meet his eyes.

— reblogs always appreciated!

[godjustkys]

hashira headcanons, pt. 1

★ INCLUDES: tomioka giyuu, rengoku kyojuro, shinobu kocho, uzui tengen, muichiro tokito, mitsuri kanroji, iguro obanai, sanemi shinazugawa, gyomei himejima.

★ TW: major character death, fatal injury, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood and pain, heavy angst, reader was close to character (romantic or platonic somewhat specified or implied, every relationship is different. If you want something that isn't here, requests are open.)

HASHIRA react to your DEATH.

TOMIOKA GIYUU;

- A demon's strength can always be underestimated. You were strong, strong enough to beat an upper moon. This demon was different, why was it having such an effect on you? Why did Tomioka, after beheading the demon, after such a drawn out fight, have to find you in a forest nearby, on the ground, your katana right next to you?

- Matter of fact, why weren't you moving at all? Why couldn't Tomioka hear you breathing? 'why, why why why?' were the only thoughts running through his head. He sauntered over to you, kneeling down and gently turning you over. Why did he, after successfully beheading a complicated demon, have to be met with the sight of your throat slit? Did you do it? Did the demon leave you like this? What happened.

- He sat there on his legs, staying as still as humanly possible, eyes not once leaving your bloody neck. “..[Name].” he managed to mutter out, his blinking getting excessive, shaking your body ever so slightly. Tomioka's breathing got erratic. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing his forehead to the chest of your lifeless body. His hand reached out, his fingers intertwining with yours. Tomioka stayed like that for a good minute, his breathing panicked and shaky, slowly getting heavier. He shook his head against your body, his eyes fluttering close. “No.. no no no, [Name].” he breathed out, tears pricking at his eyes. “What happened? Why-” he couldn't even finish his sentence as he started sobbing to the point of no return.

- His body slumped against yours, crying helplessly into your already cold chest. He stayed like that until Kocho found the two of you. He wouldn't let go of you, you were his after all. It took so much convincing from both Kocho and Tanjiro for him to let you go. Tanjiro stood there with Tomioka, his hands on the taller man's shoulders, comforting him. Kocho walked up to the calmer, yet still crying, hashira. “Tomioka,” she said gently, getting his attention. “Do you want his ring?” she asked cautiously, her voice soft. Tomioka looked at her, his eyes red, tears soaking his cheeks. He seemed to break more at her question. Right. Your ring. His and yours. Plans to get married were short-lived, weren't they? Tomioka shook his head slightly, leaning more into Tanjiro's touch. “Bury him with it.” He said quietly, lip quivering. “He's- my fiancé. He'll never be anything less than that.” Tomioka said. “I'll stay his forever, to the very end.” He muttered out, his head lowered.

RENGOKU KYOJURO;

- “[Name]! Let's go!” His loud voice called out. He was standing at the doors of your estate, waiting for you to come out. You had a mission together, your kasugai crow had informed you of that prior. “[Name]!” he called out for you once again. Still no answer, which was unusual.

- Having little to no patience, Rengoku opened the door swiftly, immediately stepping inside. The smile on his face faded and oh so quickly. A dead slayer, one of your comrades, in the middle of the room, bloody and- dead. His body sprawled out and torn apart. Rengoku furrowed his eyebrows, taking this as a warning. That slayer was a friend of yours, someone you trusted with your life, someone you confided in. Rengoku placed his hand on his katana's handle, getting into a fighting position. 'A demon had slipped through,' he thought. Then, he noticed you, all beaten and bloody with your back against the wall, hand pressing hard to the place where your heart was supposed to be.

- “[Name].” The way he said this was different. He seemed so much more serious and concerned as he walked over to you and kneeled, placing a hand on your uninjured shoulder. You seemed to be in shock - eyes wide, bloody face. Jesus, you looked like a mess. You took quick and shallow breaths, your katana in your other hand on the ground. “What happened? You need to get medical attention, now.” He said firmly, eyes scanning you over for any other visible injuries. “He grazed my heart, I- won't get there quick enough..” you said breathlessly, still staring at nothing in particular.

- “Did you kill the demon?” Rengoku questioned, shifting in his position as if he was ready to pick you up and get you to Kocho. “There was no demon.” you answered quietly, your breathing getting quicker. “What? Did—” He didn't get to finish as you cut him off. “He was working for- for.. Kibutsuji. Human, my friend, working for the.. the damned enemy.” You breathed out, your voice getting significantly more strained and hoarse. Rengoku didn't respond to you. He moved his hands underneath you, picking you up.

- You immediately winced, letting go of your katana. He slowly and carefully stood up with you in his arms. “Kyojuro- I won't.. I won't make it. Let me rest- I want to.. stay- here.” You mumbled, shutting your eyes tightly. “Nonsense.” He responded to you strictly, the panicked expression on his face betraying his façade. You hissed out in pain, your body slumping in his hold. It didn't take very long for him to get you to Kocho.

- It still wasn't enough time. You died in his arms right after he got you into the medical estate. He was so close. He heard you babble and mumble words, but they weren't even coherent. Maybe they would've been if he hadn't been carrying you at such high speeds. The moment he placed you on the bed, your blood even staining his uniform, Kocho announced your death. Rengoku swallowed hard and he lowered his head, giving a small nod to Kocho in recognition to her words.

- “You were always right.” He said to you, or rather your headstone as he kneeled in front of your grave. “You said you wouldn't make it and you didn't.” he said quietly, a rather solemn expression on his face. He didn't even cry during your funeral, neither did he cry after hearing Kocho say that you're dead, neither did he cry seeing your lifeless body there, laying in the medical bed. “Couldn't you— hold out for.. a minute more?” he questioned, knowing he wouldn't get any answer. Tears started brimming in his eyes. “I had so much to say to you.” Rengoku said, his shoulders slumping. “The respect I have for the dead is unimaginable, but damn you.” His voice trembled. “Is this what I get for being a coward? I wanted to be with you, [Name], I wanted to be with you.” He spoke, looking at your name, engraved in stone. “I promise not to act cowardly anymore, I promise you. I just wanted to hold you without any fear, any shame. I'll do better, I'll be with you. I accept your confession, please. Don't- leave me here.”

SHINOBU KOCHO;

- You were simply sitting in the medical bed, at the estate. Kocho walked in, her facial expression a gentle smile, as always. It was always the exact fucking same. “Spare me the lecture, will you?” you said, your arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the end of your bed. Kocho pulled up a chair and sat right next to your bedside. “Lecture? You need a good beating.” She said in a threatening tone with that warm smile, something that didn't mix at all. “Spare me that as well, yeah?” You made eye contact with her, your eyebrows slightly furrowed.

- “Aoi told me your vitals were.. decent.” Kocho started, her hands resting on her knees. “I can't find a cure so you opt for suicide?” She questions, tilting her head to the side, almost in an innocent manner. “I have a few days left anyway, I didn't want to bother waiting.” You pointed out, huffing out a breath. “I have spent day and night studying you, [Name]. I don't know what's wrong with you or how to fix it. I told you that fighting demons makes your condition worse. I told you, multiple times, to retire. To live a longer life. And what do you do? Not only do you manage to go on more missions than anyone else, but you try to hang yourself? After I warned you of the consequences?”

- “It is my job. I have dedicated my whole life to slaying demons, it is what I do best. You think I'm throwing that away because I'm dying? I can't even sleep at night because the only thoughts I have are about how rough people somewhere are having it, how they're doing their best to fight off demons while sobbing and screaming, begging for their life. I'd rather get rid of more demons and die early than live a longer life in a world that is becoming dangerously close to being dominated by those creatures.” You argued, making eye contact with Kocho. As she was looking at you, her eyes drifted down to your neck, to the huge bruises littering it.

- “I lied. You have an hour, at most.” She blurted out, her eyes locked onto your face, her smile gone. You paused momentarily. “I figured. Your left eyebrow raises up a little when you lie, and I know damn well my vitals couldn't have been good.” You responded calmly, uncrossing your arms as you started playing with your fingers a little. Kocho's eyes widened slightly. Goddamn it.

- “I don't blame you for this, Kocho. I never did, I never would. You did your best, you saved me multiple times on different occasions and I'm thankful for that.” You said sincerely, your tone taking a more serious edge to it now. For a person who was about to die, you seemed undeniably calm. “May I have some time alone? Preferably an hour.” You added with a nod. Kocho hated you for that. She hated that you were dying and that you wanted to be alone. But she didn't question it. She stood up, putting the chair back. “You did good, [Name]. And I'm sorry for not being able to prolong your life just a little more.” That made you smile weakly. She was acting tough, but you knew she would miss you sooner or later.

- “If the others ask..” You started, making Kocho stop in her tracks as she was ready to leave the room. “Tell them that I have never been more proud of myself for being able to stand shoulder to shoulder with them.” You spoke, your voice getting significantly quieter. “Especially you, Kocho.” She nodded her head with that same smile, though it seemed more genuine. “Goodbye, [Name].” As soon as she walked out of that room, her facial expression was angry. Was she angry because she couldn't save you? Or was she angry that she was losing you? She wouldn't dare to cry, how could she? You always used to tell her that your death is inevitable. How can you cry over something you knew was going to happen?

- Kocho sat behind that door and waited, for a long time. Waited until she had to walk into your room and find your lifeless body. She dreaded it. She didn't want you to go. You were her best friend. Was losing someone always this hard? She didn't even notice as the tears started rolling down her cheeks. She was hugging her knees, her back to the door. “Damn it, [Name].” Kocho muttered to herself. She had so much time to come to terms with your death, though she never did. She might've even believed that she could heal you, how stupid was that? “Don't go.” Her voice was lower than a whisper, strained and choked with emotion. As you were a hashira yourself, you would've heard what Kocho said. You didn't, your breathing stopped moments ago.

UZUI TENGEN;

- Uzui was a tough man. Strong, confident, trustworthy, brave, all the good stuff. He was rough around the edges but he was kind. Kind enough to acknowledge your grumpy self. You were strong as well, he could see that. Running up the ranks so quickly, racking up kills. When he had met you for the first time in Kocho's estate, he thought you were a bitch, honestly. Uzui himself was already healed up enough, walking out of the estate when you were brought in. You kept yelling and refusing the kakushi's help. “Let. Me. Go!” You said in a threatening tone. “Calm down. You're safe, they're gonna help you, idiot.” Uzui said with a teasing chuckle, stretching out his arms a little. “Oh shut up, you big head having asshol— hggghh—” you cut yourself off with a drawn out hiss. Yep. You insulted a hashira so quickly, without a single care in the world.

- Despite the extent of your injuries, a kakushi hit you. “Watch your mouth! He's a hashira, be nice!” She scolded you. Uzui thought that would elicit an apology of some sorts from you, after all hashira are what keep the whole corporation together. “A fuckin' bastard, that's what he is. Now get off of me!” What a loudmouth you were, huh.

- “You look like shit.” You muttered out, slapping Uzui awake. He had passed out momentarily after being sent through a couple of buildings, his head having hit a large bark of tree on the way. He blinked his dizziness away, looking up at you. “Demon's dead.” you calmed him down immediately, closing your eyes. “You killed it?” Uzui asked with a scoff, relaxing the moment you reassured him that the danger was gone. “Such a badass.” he teased, a big grin on his face. You sat down next to him, leaning your back against the wall. Uzui thought you were tired from the fight. “Damn right I am.” you answered, your voice slightly strained. Then, he heard a small groan coming from you.

- Uzui took that time of calmness to steady his breathing. He felt uneasy the moment you laid your head on his shoulder. “What's this? Did you fall asleep, you moron?” no answer from you. He pushed your head away in a slightly rough yet playful manner. Uzui's senses were overwhelmed by panic when your body just slumped forward, completely limp. “[Name]? Get up, you loser. We still gotta go back.” Even with his enhanced hearing he couldn't hear a single noise from you, you were dead quiet. “Hey.” He called out, putting his hand on your back and shaking your body slightly, urging you to wake up. Now he was really in a panic. He got onto his knees, his blinking getting frequent. Was he just overthinking this? You were always so quiet about everything, it would be no surprise if your breathing could barely be heard as you slept. He turned you over quickly, taking in the sight of your emotionless face for a moment. Nothing but dread filled his heart as he noticed the continuously pouring blood out of your injuries. The fucking gash in your stomach, where a vital point was supposed to be, bleeding the most of course.

- “Hey, woah woah woah, wait. [Name]?” He said, eyes flickering all over your figure. “What the hell?” Uzui mumbled to himself, immediately pressing his hand to the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. His other hand went up to your neck, checking for a pulse. “No.” His eyes widened. Did you seriously, after sustaining a fatal injury, go searching for Uzui just to make sure he's okay? You could've gotten fixed up first. But no, now you were laying here, without a pulse, all bloody and beaten. You must've been in so much pain to walk to him. Did you bleed out already? Is there really no way to help you regain consciousness until the kakushi arrive? What did he have to do? Did he have to let go of the pressure to your wound and try to do CPR on you? But if he did, you would only lose more blood. Even if he let go of you to make a tourniquet, he would take too long. The risk o—

- “He's dead, Uzui-san.” Kocho's soft voice broke the train of Uzui's thoughts. He took in a small breath, looking at the woman in front of him. “What?” He asked as if he didn't hear what Kocho said. “[Last name] is dead. The injuries he sustained were too severe, he lost a significant amount of blood. There's a trail leading to you.” She elaborated, kneeling down next to you. “He's been poisoned as well,” Kocho turned your head to the other side, a small mark on your neck and purplish veins surrounded it. Uzui took both of his hands away from your body, his shoulders slumping down. “You mean to tell me that not only did he get rid of the demon that I, even a hashira, failed to and his life got taken for it?” He questioned, his tone turning sour. He was mad. If only he hadn't blacked out from a simple hit to the head, you wouldn't have lost your life. “You are not to blame, Uzui-san. It seems that a lot of his bleeding is caused by his previous, still unhealed wounds.”

- 'You bastard.' Uzui cursed you out in his mind, staring at you. You didn't like receiving help, let alone medical. You always told them you could do it yourself just as well and even when you were forced to, you managed to get away from them quickly. You never stayed past a day in the butterfly estate. Now you suffered the consequences. Uzui stood up with a groan, his hands clenching into fists as he looked up at the sky. “I hate his guts.” He said harshly. Though in reality, he loved you like a brother. It wasn't the first time the two of you went on a mission together. Despite your rough and outlandish attitude that pissed a lot of people off, you were always helping those in need. Uzui would say that you turned into mush the moment you saw a helpless little kid, which you denied every time. It was all lies, you loved people to the core and you would lay your life on the line for them every day without a second thought. That's what your job was after all. Uzui let out a shaky sigh of pure despair, shutting his eyes tight. You had managed to get close to him, somehow, even with neither of you really wanting or needing it. He just wished that you would've put yourself first in a life or death moment. You didn't. And now he had to deal with the loss of you, a friend, that understood him better than anyone else.

MUICHIRO TOKITO;

- Although it was pretty unlikely, you and Tokito were friends. Actually, the kakushi introduced the two of you as Tokito asked about you. Even though you would not see each other often, you, the couple kakushi and Tokito would hang out for a little after hashira meetings. The kakushi only stuck around per your request.

- Today was different though. The moment the hashira meeting ended, Tokito's eyes shot to the side, searching for the presence of his friends, you and the kakushi. He took a step forward, a bit thrown off. The three of you would always wait for him. Always. “What are you doing, Tokito-kun?” Kocho asked gently, taking a small step forward. Muichiro turned to look at her, his facial expression blank. “Nothing. I was just looking for [Last name].” He said simply, relaxing his posture. “Hm. Tokito-kun, you are aware of [Last name]'s passing, right?” She inquired softly. Every other hashira seemed to focus on their conversation, quieting down. Tokito blinked a couple times, processing the information. “No. He died?” He asked, turning his body to face Kocho fully.

- “He was found dead with a child in his arms. He sustained severe injuries and he bled out while protecting the kid. The amount of demons he encountered is unknown, yet at least. Unfortunately, despite his attempts, the kid passed away as well.” Kocho explained with a huff of breath. Tokito furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the ground. He didn't even know why he was so affected by it. You were a demon slayer, it was bound to happen sooner or later. But with a child in your arms? You gave your life for someone and it was all in vain because the kid passed away as well. He felt like your sacrifice was useless. He knew he couldn't blame you for trying, but he would rather have had you alive, right here, waiting for him. “Oh. That's unfortunate.” He answered to Kocho, walking away in the opposite direction of where you were supposed to be standing. He would've saved himself over that kid. Of course, it seemed selfish, but is wanting to live really that bad? Something to be ashamed of? Tokito, for some unknown reason, started cursing you out in his head. You were his friend, you had managed to break through his walls and get more out of him than just a short and sassy answer. He was mad at your sacrifice. Mad beyond belief. Tokito wanted to see you, to talk to you, to look in your eyes. But what could he do now? All he could do was wait for you, just like you had waited for him. Even though it seems like he would wait for nothing in particular. You were gone and there wasn't anything he could do to bring you, his friend, back.

MITSURI KANROJI;

- “[Name]!!” Kanroji squealed, her eyes widening in shock as she put her hands to her mouth. Oh my god. The disrespect was unbearable. That demon had the audacity to carve words into your skin, on your face, and hang you up like a canvas for a show?! “[Name], oh no! Hold on dear, I'll get you down! I'm so sorry!” She yelled, running to you immediately. Her eyes were already brimming with tears.

- She got you down pretty quick. You were alive, just barely. For now, at least. Kanroji gently settled you down, calling out for the kakushi. She held you in her arms, her hands craddling your head in a sweet manner. “Oh, [Name], what has it done to you?” She said in a quiet voice, her eyes flickering all over your face. It was contorted in pain, eyes shut tightly. “Mitsuri..” You mumbled, relaxing a little. You were safe now, safe in her arms. “They're coming to help you, it's okay, I'm so sorry, I should've gotten here sooner, I'm so so sorry [Name],” she sobbed quietly, softly rocking back and forth out of instinct. You wanted to open your eyes, you wanted to see her. She was the sweetest thing alive, you considered her your sister, you loved her like one.

- Everything hurt. Even though you tried looking at the most important person in your life, you couldn't. The pain was overwhelming your every sense and it was hard to take a simple breath. You were strong, but apparently you weren't strong enough. But you had the compassion and kindness to truly be an admirable demon slayer, that's all that mattered. You didn't even realize when you blacked out, the last thing you heard were sobs from Kanroji, who was desperately holding onto you as if the moment she loosened her hold, you would die. Such a pure soul, stained by the loss of a brother. A lot of the kakushi, who didn't even know you, cried for you, only because of how hard Mitsuri was crying for her brother.

- During the hashira meeting, Ubuyashiki mentioned you and sent Kanroji his condolences for the loss of you. She couldn't hold back, the tears spilling again. She muttered out a quiet apology for the emotions and thanked Ubuyashiki. It has barely been a day and you're consuming her every thought. All the different possibilities or outcomes that could've happened if only she had gotten there sooner. She blamed herself, truly. Kanroji knew you would've scolded the shit out of her for such thoughts, but what could she do, really? Your last words were her name. Her's. Kanroji never recovered. Never. You were the one who adored her for everything and she lost you due to her failure to arrive on time.

OBANAI IGURO;

- He doesn't know how he ended up here. To be quite honest, he wasn't really expecting to stand at your grave. Right, of course, you were a demon slayer, death is only bound to happen sooner with such a job. But by demons. Not suicide.

- Iguro swallowed hard, staring at your headstone. Why was he visiting your grave? You were only an annoying nuisance. An annoying nuisance he found when he was sent out as help on a complicated mission. The first thing he saw when he arrived was you, trembling a little, albeit all bloody and beaten to a pulp, standing tall with a katana in your hands. The demon was injured as well. It seems like the two of you were going at it for a while as the demon was regenerating oh so slowly. Iguro shook his head a little in disappointment and slayed the creature in a matter of seconds. When he was done, he thought about walking away immediately, but he spared you a glance. His eyes widened in realization right then and there. You weren't wearing the demon slayer corps uniform. You were a civilian who happened to pick up a katana. “What the hell?” He mumbled, clearly taken aback. A civilian, without a.. breathing style.. managed to hold out against a demon and injure it so much to the point where it'd lose its regeneration abilities? “Put that down. It ain't yours. You slice a demon's neck to kill it.” Iguro spoke harshly, crossing his arms over his chest loosely. His snake, Kaburamaru, hissed as if it was agreeing with its owner.

- “Oh!!” You dropped the katana immediately, listening to the other. “I didn't know!” You explained, putting your hands up in a surrender type of manner. Somehow, after that, you stuck to him. Like two peas in a pod except no matter what one did to get rid of the other, nothing worked. You were so persistent and eventually, he had you as his tsuguko. Serpent breathing was possibly the coolest thing you've ever encountered.

- You weren't a kid, but you weren't old either. You seemed excited about everything, you seemed to enjoy life despite everything you've been through, and god did Iguro admire that trait of yours. Not that he would ever admit that to you. Turns out he never will. The sight of your gravestone in your stead was making his heartbeat pick up. It wasn't right, that wasn't supposed to happen. What didn't help was that he was holding your letter, your suicide letter, dedicated to him, in his hands. Should he spare himself the discomfort and throw the letter out? Or would he have to entertain your stupidity even after your death? Jesus, no matter what he thought, he would never throw your letter away even if he didn't read it. You had become someone of significance in his life, although it wasn't for a long while.

- Against his better judgment, he had to know what you wanted to tell him, so he opened the letter quickly, as if he was running out of patience.

'I apologise, Obanai. I'm not even sure you're going to read this, but I hope you do.'

Everything was getting embarrassingly painful at the moment. Why would he continue reading? Fuck.

'I really do feel bad if you're upset with my passing, but I don't regret it. The happiness you saw was real though, especially with you. I thank you for your time training me. I was excited to have someone be patient with me, you made everything more bearable, you made the pain worth it. Even though you were a dick. I'm kidding, I was just as bad, wasn't I? A clingy little shit, that's what you called me, right? I appreciate it, it was funny. If you want to know why I did it, I'm sorry as I can't give you an answer. I don't know it myself, I don't know what's causing these feelings and thoughts. I know, stupid. I wasted your time, couldn't even be your successor. Please don't be mad at me, I did my best to hold out, to stay with you a little longer. Don't cry over me, I know how emotional you get. Thank you, Obanai.'

'What? You jerk.' Obanai thought as he furrowed his eyebrows. "Emotional"? Really? The cheekiness of you was shining through in this letter so well. Couldn't take anything seriously.

- He folded the letter back up, gently this time, and looked at your grave. He felt a little choked up, his blinking getting frequent as to not spill any tears. Why would he cry over you? Okay, no, he did miss you already. But he wouldn't cry. Iguro was a little pissed at you for not seeking help, but he couldn't blame you. He never reached out to you and asked you about your feelings. “Leaving us to fight as you enjoy yourself in the afterlife? Okay, you hypocrite. Have fun being by yourself.” He said, turning around and walking to the exit of the graveyard. “Little shit. Wasted my time. And energy. Stupid.” He continued, his hand that wasn't holding the letter clenching into a fist. “Dumbass. You didn't even master the first form, could've at least done that. And first name basis? You're bold.” He muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly in disapproval. He believed in you a little too much.

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA;

- Sanemi was a hater through and through. Nothing ever satisfied him, he was constantly on edge, anger getting the better of him. And oh god did he loathe you. “What in the fuck's name are you doing?! Get outta here!” He yelled, glaring at you. He was in the forest, alone, training by cutting down bamboo. You had interrupted him as he noticed your presence. You were a stranger to him, so he hated that even more. “You're making a lot of noise.” You said firmly, putting your hands on your hips. “Oh god, leave me the fuck alone, pipsqueak. I'm training, I don't care. Walk away now, get on with your merry day.” He said harshly and dismissively, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on the katana. “Stop being a bitch.” you answered, furrowing your eyebrows. He froze, before he slowly turned his head to look at you. Sanemi was a hashira, who the hell were you to tell him that? A legitimate tick mark appeared on his forehead as he shifted on his feet. “The hell did you say? You lookin' for a fight? You wanna fight, is that what this is?”

- The first meeting was rough. The others didn't go very well either. The rivalry between the two of you had grown quite a lot. He hated your lousy attitude, how you were so nonchalant about insulting someone of a higher rank, how much you talked, too. It was oftentimes that he would meet you after the hashira meetings. You were a friend of Uzui's, so you'd go there whenever you were free to talk to him. Sanemi couldn't help but make comments about you, striking up conversations that would eventually lead to verbal fights, sometimes even physical ones. What he noticed whenever the two of you argued was no matter how heated the argument itself would get, you never made a comment about his scars. When he first realised that, he might've felt his heart flutter. No way in hell would he admit that.

- Overtime Sanemi learned more about you through Uzui. Not that he'd ever ask directly. He would talk about something that would make Uzui bring you up. Smart move, to be honest. He started tolerating you when you cursed someone out purely because they were getting on your nerves. Actually, Sanemi started getting fond of you, you slowly started consuming his thoughts, your relationship seemed to improve. All of that, ruined. Ruined because you brought up Genya being Sanemi's brother, ruined because you lectured him on how to properly treat his sibling. Every ounce of tolerance he had gathered for you - gone. He hated everything about you now. There was nothing to like.

- After some time, Sanemi was called as back up. Apparently some demon slayers had encountered an upper moon or something. He got there quick, he didn't want any lives to go to waste. His rage was piling up, ready to channel it to fight the demon. Sanemi was beyond disappointed that when he arrived, the demon had left. No signs of it anywhere. He was walking calmly through the forest, still pissed off that he didn't get a fight. When he heard sobs and relentless crying, he got tense again. Maybe the demon didn't leave after all.

- There was no demon. Only a slayer, a friend of yours, holding your lifeless body in his arms, sobbing out apologies. The moment Sanemi realized it was your body that the lower rank was holding, he stiffened up, trying not to show his surprise. “Hey, let him go. The kakushi will arrive soon, they'll take care of it.” He said coldly, slowly making his way towards the poor guy. “No.. no I can't, I can't do it.” He cried, shaking his head urgently. His voice was high pitched and wobbly. 'Shit, it messed you up bad. Dumbass.' Sanemi thought, glancing down at your severe injuries. You were missing a leg, it was cut off right above the knee. “C'mon. He's dead, leave him already. He's not gonna wake up.” Sanemi tried convincing the other. Maybe himself as well. He wanted you to get up, as much as he.. hated you. “Don't be a fucking wimp. [Name] gave his life and you're sitting here, crying? Go do something to honour his memory.” He said with a scowl on his face. He should go do something to honour you as well. Why was he thinking like this? “Shut up already!” He yelled, making the other quiet down his sobs as his body trembled. Was he really telling the slayer to shut up, or was he yelling at himself for having such thoughts? He wasn't expecting you to go out so soon, especially not like this. He didn't want to look at you, at your calm and blank expression. He wanted to see that stupid grin of yours or that scowl. Anything was better than the skin of your face that had a slight purplish hue to it already. 'Cherish life, my ass. Doubt you cherished life as you were dying.' He thought, putting his hands on his hips. You had told him to cherish life during that last argument. Oh god, just the thought of you being in agony while dying made his heart ache. Sanemi was in complete and utter denial as he stared down at you, trying to remember what you looked like normally, not like this, not a corpse. He couldn't recall anything, nothing made this situation better. Was this sight really going to be his clearest memory of you?

GYOMEI HIMEJIMA;

- Gyomei didn't mind your company at all, honestly. Despite.. you being an ecstatic fanboy over him and his abilities, you were a pleasant presence for him to feel. You met him by accident, in the butterfly estate. The second you saw him, you recognized him. How couldn't you? A blind hashira, the strongest in the corps. There was no mistake about it, it was him alright. “OH!! OH MY GOD?!” You yelled, making Gyomei turn in your direction. It was obvious he was confused. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask if anything was wrong. You cut him off immediately. “HOLY SHIT!—”

- From that moment on, whenever you had free time you would find Gyomei and talk to him. About anything you possibly could. You admired him to no end and Gyomei was flattered. Hearing your voice, your excitement about you being able to speak with him made him feel warm inside. But because he wasn't used to that, he ignored it completely. A year or so after your first meeting, Gyomei was using his free time training. If he was being completely honest, he wanted you with him there, he wanted to hear your voice and feel your presence. His kasugai crow flew by, gawking out information. It knew how close the two of you had gotten. “KAW! [Last name] [Name] is dead! He didn't make it after slaying a demon! KAW!”

- Gyomei froze up slightly, pausing his training as he stood straight, his fists clenching subconsciously. “[Name]..” He mumbled lowly. “Oh [Name], I'll pray for you.” He said begrudgingly. It was unfortunate, truly. His feelings didn't even matter right now, a dull ache settling over his heart. That information hurt him, and it cut deep. He didn't let it show, thinking to himself that he'll deal with it later. When he hit the dummy again, he used such extensive force that he immediately broke it and shattered it to pieces. Gyomei clicked his tongue slightly, taking a small step back. He was used to listening to you speak for hours on end, so now, this suffocating silence, one that you would never be able to fill again, started to overwhelm him. He was used to being a rather stoic guy, taking losses properly and calmly, doing his best to maintain a stronger shell. But for some reason, the thought of never ever hearing your voice again, threw him off the rails. 'Anyone but you, damn it. I said anyone but you.' He thought, his face contorting to a clearly mad expression. Once, when his thoughts got out of hand and came up with unimaginable possibilities, he thought of your death. That's when he prayed that it would be anyone but you. Right, that could've been greedy and selfish, but that didn't bother him when it came to you. Your loss left his heart in pieces and he couldn't do anything but to fix it himself.

★ A/N: I'm so sorry for the unequal length of these!! I was running out of ideas fr. Also, I am aware that there aren't any rings to signify marriage in the taishou era, but you made yourself and giyuu one.

★ WORD COUNT: 6,3k (6,380)

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! If your taking requests, I love your work so much and I had an idea I would really love to see how you execute it.

So it would be with Tony Stark, and if its okay Male!Reader, but not romantic, the reader is a teen who is a product of some old fling Tony had and after being poorly taken care of by his mom (whatever that inclines you to write, abuse, bad boyfriend, alcoholism etc.) She dumps him off at stark tower with a note and what little belongings the reader has and his birth certificate to Tony for him to take care of. And the rest of what happens from there is up to you! Basically heavy on the found family troupe, and a little angst with some good fluff. The reader can be from 16-18 still in high school. He has Tony's sarcastic humor and smarts, but he nodes his intelligence because his mom never really helped him appreciate it, basically one of those kids that gets straight A's without seemingly trying and looking kind of stupid, the reader is quiet and a bit cold but that's because of how he was raised, and isn't one to share how he's feeling. If you can do this I'd be so thankful, if not its completely understandable, I hope I gave you enough creative liberty to make it fun, I know it'll be great if you do write it! Again I love your fics so much and I can't wait to read more of what you have!!💜☺

LEGACY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, a lot of angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: literally what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abusive household and rader feeling like people keep abandoning him

ᯓ★ Thank you so much for your request and for liking my work! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Your whole life, you’ve never known stability. The cramped apartments, the ever-shifting walls painted in hues of desperation, are as familiar to you as your own skin. You’re seventeen now, but you still feel like you’re stuck in this never-ending carousel of uncertainty and survival. Your mom—who’s always been more into herself than anyone else—has a way of shoving her problems under the rug, sweeping you along with the mess until you’re barely holding it together.

Her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—is the latest problem. Travis is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make his point clear. It’s in the way he takes up space, fills every room with his presence, making himself the center of your lives as if it’s his right. He started coming around when you were fourteen, and it’s only gotten worse. You know he hates you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. To him, you’re a nuisance, some extra baggage he never asked for, and he’s got no problem reminding you of that. Your sarcasm and quick wit, the things that make you, you, are just more reasons for him to snap, roll his eyes, or call you ungrateful.

Your mom’s always been…complicated. You’ve known that since you were little, watching her go from one relationship to another, always searching for some kind of validation she never seems to find. She calls herself a free spirit, but it’s like she’s just drifting, lost in a fog of her own making. She can be fun, sure, when things are good. There were even moments when you thought she really loved you. But as time went on, you learned to read the signs: the distant glances, the subtle irritations, the way she avoids looking at you for too long, as if you’re some kind of mirror she doesn’t want to face.

It’s your intelligence that bugs her the most, you think. You see through her, every lie, every excuse, every careless decision. And she knows it. It’s like looking into a warped mirror—she can see pieces of herself in you, but you’re everything she’s never been: sharp, observant, with a mind that doesn’t let things slide. And it grates on her.

The fights get worse as you grow older, each one escalating faster than the last. Your sarcasm is your armor, your way of dealing with the endless cycle of disappointment. But every quip, every clever retort, only makes her angrier. You can tell she hates that she can’t control you, can’t manipulate you the way she does with everyone else in her life. She calls you difficult, a burden, a mistake she should’ve never had. You don’t let it show, but each word leaves a scar, another reminder that you’re on your own.

Then one day, it’s too much. Travis and your mom are fighting—again. It’s loud, voices echoing in the small apartment, and you’re in your room, trying to block it out like usual. But this time, you hear your name. You’ve been in this situation enough to know that’s never a good sign. So, you stay quiet, waiting, listening.

“You know he’s not even mine, right?” Travis snaps, his voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to put up with this kid? He’s not my responsibility!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Your mom’s voice is strained, like she’s barely holding on herself. “I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—but he’s just…he’s too much. I can’t handle it anymore.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, you think maybe she’ll say something else, something that makes it sound like she cares. But the words never come.

“Then get rid of him,” Travis says, so bluntly that it leaves a chill in the air. “You’ve got the kid’s birth certificate. Drop him off at his real dad’s. He’s rich, isn’t he? Let him deal with the brat.”

You don’t move. You barely breathe. But deep down, you already know this is it. There’s no fighting it this time, no clever comment to deflect what’s happening. She’s made her choice, and it’s not you.

The next morning, she’s silent as she hands you an envelope. There’s no apology, no excuse, just a look that tells you she’s already gone, checked out of whatever shred of motherhood she once claimed to have. You don’t even ask where you’re going; you know the answer as soon as you see the address on the piece of paper.

Stark Tower.

It feels like a final act of cruelty, really. The man she’s always refused to talk about, the one figure in your life who’s only ever been a name, and now he’s your last option. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Avenger. And, apparently, your father.

You stand outside Stark Tower with a single bag of your things and that stupid piece of paper—the birth certificate that’s somehow supposed to mean you’re his problem now. You feel like you’re stuck in some cosmic joke, a punchline to a story you didn’t even know you were a part of. There’s no going back, though. That’s clear enough.

So, you take a deep breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk through the doors.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to process it at first. One moment he’s sipping coffee in his lab, deep in the flow of something unnecessarily complex that’s keeping his mind busy, and the next, Pepper is calling him down to the lobby. She sounds irritated, stressed—like maybe it’s his fault, which Tony wouldn’t be surprised by, honestly. He heads down, muttering about "another hero here to tell me how to do my job."

Then he sees you.

You’re leaning against the glass wall, wearing an expression that’s somehow familiar yet entirely alien to him. It’s not hard to recognize the mix of defiance and exhaustion in your eyes; he’s spent years perfecting that look himself. But the shock doesn’t really hit until you hand him the birth certificate. Your name and his, right there in black and white, unavoidably real.

For once in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.

“Seventeen years,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “And now you’re here because…?”

You shrug, clearly unimpressed. “Mom didn’t want me anymore, and apparently, you’re my dad. So… here I am. Congratulations.”

You’re blunt, almost cruel in the way you say it, like you don’t expect anything from him and don’t care if you get it. But he can’t look away from you. For the first time in a long time, he’s out of his depth. He’s had seventeen years to know this was possible, maybe even inevitable, but standing in front of you, he realizes he’s never prepared himself for this. He’s never thought about what it would mean to actually be a father.

Yet here you are, standing in front of him with your mother’s words still hanging over you, and he can see the weight you carry in the way your shoulders are always tense, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his.

“Well, kid,” he says after a beat, plastering on his most confident smile, “looks like you’ve officially joined the Stark family. There’s no going back now.”

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into fatherhood with all the enthusiasm of someone tackling a new, challenging invention. He’s reading parenting books, taking advice from anyone who’ll give it, and trying desperately to crack the code of how to be a “cool dad.” He lets you explore Stark Tower freely, offers you access to his entire workshop, and even builds you a custom tablet, “Stark-style,” he brags, with enough advanced tech to impress even the most skeptical teenager.

He talks to you about science, testing your knowledge and realizing with a mix of pride and horror that you’re nearly as sharp as he was at seventeen. He tries to make jokes, throwing out sarcastic one-liners he assumes will win you over. Sometimes, he even manages to get a smirk out of you. But that’s as far as it ever goes.

Every attempt he makes is met with your icy wall, a defense mechanism built after years of disappointment and neglect. You listen, nod occasionally, but never laugh or even show interest. The most he ever gets out of you is a dry, deadpan “cool,” which is enough to keep him going but never enough to satisfy him.

Tony tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. You’re right there, his kid, yet you’re worlds away, keeping him at arm’s length as if he’s just another adult you can’t trust. He catches glimpses of the sarcasm, the intelligence, but it’s wrapped up in layers of resentment and guarded detachment. You’re always cool, always distant, and he knows why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

One evening, he sits you down with a grin, tossing a shiny, compact device into your hands. It’s sleek, metallic—one of his newer designs.

“Mini reactor prototype. You’d be the first to use it.” He says it with pride, like he’s giving you something no one else in the world could get.

You look at it for a moment, then at him. “Cool,” you say again, but your voice is flat, unimpressed. You set it on the table between you without another glance.

Tony’s grin falters, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”

You just shrug, giving him that practiced blank stare he’s come to know well. He’s finally reaching his breaking point. “Y’know, I’m trying here,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, connect. Be… whatever it is you need me to be. But you’re acting like I’m just another stranger.”

You pause, considering him for a moment, and something shifts in your expression—like maybe, for just a second, you see his effort. But then your face goes neutral again, back to that familiar shield.

“Maybe that’s because you are,” you reply, voice quiet, almost too soft for him to hear.

Tony feels the blow, but he hides it with a forced chuckle. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a sting in his voice. “I can’t change the past, but… I’m here now. I’m not gonna just… walk away.”

The words linger between you, both of you knowing the weight they carry. You’ve heard promises like this before. You’ve heard them from your mother, from people who were supposed to care, and each one of those promises had turned hollow, leaving you more alone than before. So, when Tony looks at you with genuine sincerity, with a hope that you’ll give him a chance, all you can do is nod, burying any flicker of vulnerability.

As the weeks go on, Tony keeps trying. He brings you into the lab with him, walks you through his latest projects, even lets you experiment with some of the tech yourself. He drags you to burger joints at midnight, tries to coax out stories about school, hobbies, anything. Sometimes you let your guard slip, offering a sarcastic remark, a comment that makes him laugh—but the moment always passes too quickly, and you’re back behind that wall before he can push any further.

He’s persistent, though, and there’s a part of you that almost wants to give in, that wants to believe him. But your trust is a muscle you haven’t used in so long, it feels impossible to start now. So, you keep him at bay, deflecting his kindness, giving him just enough to satisfy his efforts without letting him in.

Tony doesn’t quit, though. He keeps showing up, every day, every night, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s just waiting for the moment they can leave.

Every morning, Tony insists on driving you to school, and it’s nothing short of a spectacle. He shows up outside Stark Tower in one of his many luxury cars, honking loudly, practically begging for attention. It’s become a routine, one you can’t escape no matter how many times you roll your eyes or tell him he doesn’t have to do it. He’s always got some snarky excuse, saying things like, “It’s my job as a dad,” or “I just want to see the kid off,” as if anyone believes he actually cares about high school protocol.

And everyone notices. Whispers trail behind you as you walk the halls, classmates you’ve known for years suddenly gawking at you like you’re a different person. They don’t know you as you anymore; they know you as Tony Stark’s kid. It’s suffocating. You’ve spent your entire life trying to stay unnoticed, to blend into the background. Now, no matter where you go, everyone’s waiting for you to crack a joke like him, to show off some kind of Stark-level genius.

Only one person seems to still see you, really see you—your best friend, Sam. You’ve known him since middle school, back when everything was simpler, when no one knew or cared who your dad was. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat you any differently now, the only person you actually trust enough to talk to about any of this.

One afternoon, you’re sitting outside on the bleachers with Sam, trying to ignore the fact that Tony’s car is already parked by the curb, waiting for you. The other students eye it like some exotic animal they don’t quite understand, but you keep your head down, just hoping the day will end without any more awkward questions or judgmental stares.

Sam nudges you. “So, uh… you still giving the old man the cold shoulder, huh?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder. I’m just… keeping my distance.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, I see you with him every morning. The man looks like he’s about to recite the Gettysburg Address just to get a smile out of you. And you’re over here acting like he doesn’t exist.”

You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. “He’s only doing it because he feels obligated, Sam. It’s Tony Stark. He doesn’t actually care about me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You really believe that? You think he’s the kind of guy who’d waste his time on someone he doesn’t care about?”

You don’t answer, but you can feel Sam’s eyes on you, cutting through all your defenses. He’s always been able to read you better than anyone, and right now, that’s the last thing you want.

“He’s trying, Y/N,” Sam continues, his voice softer. “Like, really trying. And I get it. I get that you’ve been burned, but… maybe give him a chance? Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s gonna run off if you tell him what’s going on.”

You look away, jaw clenched as you try to shake off the knot of emotion tightening in your chest. You don’t want to admit that Sam might be right. Letting someone in, giving someone a chance—that’s always been a dangerous game, one you’re not sure you can afford to play again.

That night, you’re lying awake in your room, staring at the ceiling, Sam’s words playing on a loop in your mind. The silence around you feels heavy, pressing down on you, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you owe Tony more than you’ve been giving him. You’ve seen his effort, the way he tries to connect with you, even when you push him away. He’s there, every day, waiting for you, and no one has ever done that before.

Something shifts in you, a kind of tired resignation, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you get up and head downstairs to his workshop.

Tony’s hunched over a table, tinkering with some gadget, and he barely notices you at first. It’s only when you clear your throat that he looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it with a smile.

“Hey, kid,” he says, setting down his tools. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. He gestures to a nearby chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

You sit, staring at your hands as you try to find the right words. For a long time, there’s only silence between you, the air thick with tension. Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you’re trying. It’s just… it’s not easy for me.”

Tony watches you intently, not interrupting, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. You look down, focusing on your hands, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“When I was a kid, my mom was all I had. I thought… I thought she cared about me, even if she didn’t always show it. But she changed, especially after she started seeing this guy. Travis. He wasn’t… he wasn’t a good person, Tony. He… he made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it, feeling the old wounds tear open. “He told me I was a burden, that I was just in the way. And my mom, she… she just let it happen. She barely even looked at me by the end.”

Tony’s face darkens, his jaw clenched as he listens, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

“I learned not to trust people,” you say, voice wavering. “Every time I thought someone would stick around, they didn’t. So I stopped… I stopped letting people in. I told myself it was easier that way.”

You look up at him, and for the first time, there’s no mask, no shield—just raw vulnerability, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

“And then I showed up here,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “And you… you keep trying. You keep showing up, every day, like you actually care. And it’s… it’s confusing, okay? Because part of me wants to believe it, but the other part…” You trail off, wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder, grounding you, letting you know he’s there. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t change what you went through. I can’t go back and fix it, as much as I wish I could. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before—a fierce, unwavering resolve that feels almost foreign. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope spark to life.

“It’s not easy for me,” you murmur. “It’s… it’s hard for me to trust people. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be around. But… I want to try. I want to believe you. I just… I need you to be patient with me. I need you to not give up on me.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not giving up on you, kid. Not now, not ever. You’re my son, and I’m here for the long haul. However long it takes, okay?”

The words settle around you, a warmth you haven’t felt in years. You don’t have to say anything; he seems to understand, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And in that moment, something in you softens, just a little, like maybe you can let him in.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe him, to believe that maybe he really won’t walk away. And even though the walls around your heart don’t come down all at once, you feel them start to crack, piece by piece, letting a little light seep in.

After that night, things start to change. It’s slow, gradual, like thawing ice, but there’s a noticeable shift between you and Tony. You’re still guarded, still wary of letting him all the way in, but he doesn’t push. He just keeps showing up, every day, every night, just like he promised. And slowly, piece by piece, you let him in.

The first time you ask to work on something together, Tony practically beams. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter with your physics homework in front of you—normally a breeze, something you’d get done in a few minutes. But today, you’ve left a few problems untouched, hoping he’ll notice.

Sure enough, Tony glances over your shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Need a hand with that?” he asks, and there’s a careful lightness to his voice, like he’s trying to keep things casual, so he doesn’t scare you off.

You shrug, trying to act indifferent. “Sure, if you’ve got time,” you say, even though both of you know you could solve this on your own without breaking a sweat. But Tony doesn’t call you out on it. He just grabs a chair, pulls it over, and sits down next to you, leaning in to look at your work.

For the next hour, the two of you go over formulas and theories, his explanations coming with a few sarcastic quips and exaggerated hand gestures. Every so often, he goes off on a tangent, telling you stories about his own time in high school or sharing a strange fact he thinks will help you remember a concept. You listen, half-smiling at his antics, and eventually even throw in a few of your own sarcastic comments. You can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells you he’s thrilled to be here, helping you, no matter how small the reason.

As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in Tony’s workshop. It becomes your safe space, the place where you don’t feel like you have to hide or put up walls. Tony lets you explore, handing you tools and explaining how they work, guiding you through his more complicated inventions. It’s like learning a new language, one he’s eager to teach you, and he’s a surprisingly patient teacher.

One afternoon, he’s working on a new suit upgrade, and you’re watching, silently impressed by how smoothly he moves, how every action is precise and practiced. You’re deep in thought when he glances over at you, smirking.

“Thinking of joining the family business?” he jokes, tossing you a wrench. “If you’re interested, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

You catch the wrench, feeling a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I will,” you say, feeling a rush of warmth that’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

He shows you how to tighten a piece of armor plating, explaining each step with a casual ease that you find yourself getting lost in. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he talks, like he’s sharing a secret only the two of you understand. And as you work, side by side, you realize that you actually look forward to these moments, the quiet companionship that comes from working together on something you both enjoy.

One evening, you catch yourself staring at your chemistry textbook, pages open to a particularly dull section on thermodynamics. Normally, you’d power through it on your own, but tonight, you feel the familiar tug of loneliness creeping in, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, heading down to Tony’s lab.

When you reach the doorway, he looks up, surprised, then quickly wipes the expression off his face and pretends to be engrossed in his latest project. “What’s up?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.

You hold up the textbook, pretending to be annoyed. “This stuff is terrible. Thought maybe you could explain it better than my teacher does.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I’m honored to know you think so highly of my teaching skills.” He gestures for you to sit down, and as you do, he starts flipping through the pages of your book. “Thermodynamics, huh? You sure you’re not just here for the riveting conversation?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you both know the truth, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you as he dives into the material. He doesn’t just lecture; he makes it a story, breaking down each concept with analogies, acting out scenarios, and throwing in enough jokes to keep you both entertained. You throw in questions just to keep him talking, just so you don’t have to go back to your empty room just yet.

And somewhere along the way, you realize you’re not just learning about science. You’re learning about him—about his quirks, his sense of humor, the way he lights up when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about. He’s not just Tony Stark, billionaire genius, Iron Man. He’s… Tony, your dad, someone who, against all odds, actually seems to care about you.

Over time, you both fall into a rhythm. Tony starts waiting for you in the mornings, holding out a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, claiming he needs company on his drive to work. You never say it, but you look forward to those mornings, the way he fills the car with stories about his latest projects or about old college pranks he pulled that make you laugh in spite of yourself.

One day, you’re both hunched over a set of schematics in his lab, tossing ideas back and forth as you brainstorm a new design for a stabilizer that could potentially improve flight control in his suits. You’re getting so into it that you forget to be guarded, throwing out suggestions, bouncing thoughts off each other in rapid-fire succession.

At one point, Tony stops, leaning back in his chair to look at you with a smirk. “You know,” he says, a touch of pride in his voice, “you’re pretty damn good at this. Got that Stark brain for sure.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you don’t brush it off. “Maybe,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “But I guess it helps when you have a good teacher.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “Yeah, well… you’re not a bad student either.”

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at each other, an understanding passing between you that doesn’t need words. You know he’s trying, and somehow, that knowledge makes the walls around your heart crumble just a little bit more.

A few days later, you’re working on homework in the living room when Tony walks in, holding a set of blueprints he’s obviously excited about. But when he sees you bent over your books, he pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, need some help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look up, raising an eyebrow back at him. “With calculus? Pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”

He shrugs, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I was quite the calculus prodigy back in the day.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, half-teasing. “Care to prove it?”

Tony grins, and before you know it, he’s pulled up a chair, leaning over your work with the same intensity he brings to his inventions. You pretend to need help with a few problems, and he’s more than happy to guide you through them, throwing in jokes and sarcastic comments the whole way. Every so often, he nudges your shoulder, grinning like he’s just scored a victory when he catches you smiling.

Eventually, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I think we’ve both learned a lot today,” he says, stretching dramatically.

“Yeah,” you reply, smirking. “Like the fact that you’re worse at calculus than I am.”

Tony gapes, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own son. This is a new low.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and for the first time, it feels easy. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to keep fighting him off.

“Hey,” Tony says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn’t easy.”

You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar vulnerability creeping in, but this time, you don’t shy away. “Thanks for not giving up,” you reply quietly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”

Tony chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Nah, you’re a piece of cake. Besides, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

You smile, a real one this time, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. For the first time, you allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.

It’s supposed to be a routine mission. Just another intel-gathering run, in and out, with minimal risk. Tony had waved it off as no big deal before he left, throwing you a smirk and saying, “Just another day in the office.” But that was hours ago. And now, as you sit in the dim glow of the living room, watching the news report blaring on the screen, dread twists deep in your gut.

You watch the shaky footage of Iron Man fighting, and this time, it’s different. He’s outnumbered, missiles tearing through the air, beams of energy slicing through the smoke and chaos. The news anchor’s voice breaks as they report the intensity of the fight, how Iron Man was last seen plunging out of the sky after a heavy hit. For a terrifying moment, you catch a glimpse of him falling, his suit battered, smoking, before the feed cuts out entirely.

Your heart stops, and a painful tightness fills your chest. The hours that follow are a blur of pacing, every second dragging longer than the last. You’re used to him going out on missions, used to the danger that comes with being Tony Stark’s son. But this… this is different. This isn’t the usual playful bravado, the usual cocky promises that he’ll be home for dinner. This is life or death, and for the first time, you’re faced with the horrifying thought that he might not make it back.

After what feels like an eternity, the front door finally opens. You spin around, heart pounding, and there he is, looking worse for wear but alive. He’s moving a bit stiffly, his armor scratched and dented, his face smudged with dirt and a few new cuts. But he’s here.

Before he can say a word, you rush toward him, the flood of relief hitting you so hard that you barely register the fact that you’re moving, throwing yourself into his arms. Your grip is tight, like if you let go, he’ll disappear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until you feel his arms close around you, holding you just as tightly.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, his voice soft, touched with surprise but warm. “I’m okay, kid. I’m here.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he’s looking at you with an expression so full of gentle understanding that it makes you feel like a kid again, vulnerable and desperate. Without thinking, the word slips out, raw and unguarded.

“Dad…” you whisper, voice breaking slightly, “don’t ever… don’t ever do that again. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tony’s face softens, his own eyes welling up. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s savoring the word, the weight of it finally hitting home. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your cheeks now, and Tony pulls you in again, holding you tightly, his hand running gently over your back. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself fully embrace him, the first time you’ve allowed yourself to lean into his strength, to accept the warmth he’s been trying so hard to offer. And as you stand there, held in his arms, a sense of peace settles over you, soft and comforting, melting the last of your walls away.

After a long moment, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a tear slipping down his own cheek as he smiles, eyes bright. “You called me ‘Dad,’” he says softly, his voice full of wonder, as if he’s just received the greatest gift in the world.

You give a small, watery smile, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind the words, only affection, only gratitude.

He chuckles, pulling you back into a hug, and you feel his hand rest on the back of your head, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m already used to it,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go, kid. Not ever.”

In that moment, you realize that this is what home feels like—right here, safe in his arms, with nothing left to fear.

I'll never get tired of familyman!Tony I swear.

[karajluce]

Tag nine people you want to get to know better!

Oh well! Thanks to @theladyofshalott1989for the tag!

Last Song? Mamas Gun by Glass Animals. For a reason: I used it for my own answer to my thestral question (find it here ................pls click, I beg you💀)

Favorite Color? ouuffffff.... wine red, sunny yellow (its sometimes yellow, sometimes more orange - I like both), bright indigo, petrol,...

Currently watching? Lets Plays of Indie horror games, Adventures, Sims & Inzoi and ofc the old Harry Potter movies - always

Last Movie? "Hände weg von Mississipi" (Childmovie, i am not so much in Movies tbh...except Harry Potter! - Always

Sweet/ Spicy/ Savoury? Um…I like food that doesn't look and taste so complicated…so…yes and no?

Relationship Status A few nice people, poly & platonic and one person (also poly) who is my most close

Current Obsession Hogwarts (Legacy), Horses, DnD (Humblewood), Kingdom Come Deliverance (Tw: blood and absolutely heteronormative..), InZoi

Last thing you googled? sunny yellow examples🐱

Tag 9 people you want to know better I choose you:

@noelles-legacy / @cesqdarque / @siropdeconcombre @the-chaotic-scilla-aster / @kiwiplaetzchen / @artebris @jeongyunhoed / @heyitszev / @mrs-sharp

[noblehouseofgay]

Just Don't Leave Me Alone

Jegulus and Black Brothers angst

Platonic moonwater

Hurt/comfort

Tw minor suicidal thoughts

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The almost summer warmth curled around James and Regulus like a blanket. They were sitting by the Black Lake, Regulus' head resting against James, hands were intertwined.

Regulus was happy. For once, he was happy. He had the love of his life. He'd keep this for as long as he could.

But of course, he never gets to keep good things.

Large trudging footsteps came from behind them. They both turned around to find Sirius, already pushing them apart.

"Prongs?!" "Sirius-" "What the fuck is this huh??"

Regulus watched everything as if it was happening double the speed. He couldn't speak. All he knew was Sirius pushed him away from James and hadn't even looked at Regulus once.

Suddenly, Sirius was stomping away and James was following after, begging for his best friend to hear him out.

Remus, who had come over with Sirius, gave Regulus a nod and followed the other two.

Regulus was left completely alone. Following Sirius and dealing with his outburst was more important than acknowledging Regulus.

He stared blankly at the spot James had been sitting in. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever be allowed close to James again.

His eyes stung, he pinched them closed, fighting away the tears. Slowly sitting back down, he took a breath and looked out at the Black Lake.

Sometimes he thought about falling in. He wondered what would happen if he did. If anyone would care.

Maybe James. Maybe Sirius if he was lucky.

Regulus did have friends of his own, though he was sure they'd be fine without him.

Regulus sat watching the Black Lake for hours. He didn't know how much time had passed, but the sun was setting. Footsteps yet again snapped him from his daze, except this time they were quieter.

Remus came and sat down next to him. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.

"Sirius will calm down. He was just surprised. He'll let it go."

Regulus scoffed. "As if he'll ever let James near me again."

"Look, I know your relationship is complicated, but your brother doesn't hate you. As much as he won't admit that, I can tell."

Regulus let the silence sit in the air. After a while he spoke quietly. "I'm not sure where he and I went so wrong. I miss him." Usually he'd never make such an admission, but he didn't mind Remus. Felt like he could be trusted.

"After Sirius calms sown, I'm sure he'll come talk to you. Maybe when that happens, you two can- I don't know, maybe talk about fixing things. Even if you need a mediator to keep you from killing each other." Remus smirked a little.

"Sometimes I'd let him kill me if it meant he'd talk to me." He felt a hand gently on his shoulder. "It'll be alright." Remus stood up and reached down a hand. "Now come on, it's getting late." Regulus took his hand and stood.

They walked side by side in comfortable silence, parting ways with a nod.

Maybe things would be ok.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Inner Circle Headcanons (Platonic)

❝ 🌹 — lady l: here it is, I hope you guys like these Inner Circle headcanons! I haven't proofread it yet and it may contain errors and forgive me for that! Good reading, darlings! ❤️🖤

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of injuries, implied torture, implied death, and unhealthy platonic relationships.

❝🌹pairing: yandere platonic!inner circle x gender neutral!reader.

The way you came into the arms of the Inner Circle is complicated, to say the least. It was Cassian and Azriel who found you bruised and lost in the Spring Court woods. You were weak and had clearly been attacked by someone or something and the illyrians didn't know what to do with you at first. They couldn't leave you there, it was pretty clear that you would end up being killed given the critical state you were in. So they decided to take you to Velaris. They could deal with the High Lord and High Lady after they made sure you were okay. They didn't understand why but the thought of you succumbing to your injuries made them bitter.

You were treated by the High Lord's favorite healer and you were out of danger, leaving the males relieved, but now they had to deal with Rhysand and Feyre. The rulers didn't seem upset but rather curious about what motivated the illyrian males to bring you to Velaris and how concerned they were about you. Though they could show kindness and mercy, the peculiar way in which they acted around him baffled him. They didn't even know your name, but they were determined to save you.

When you finally regained consciousness, you found yourself surrounded by the males who saved you, although you were half unconscious when they found you, you recognized and thanked them. Although you still felt pain, you didn't want to stay in an unfamiliar place any longer and wanted to go back to your home. Wherever it was. Needless to say, they didn't take it very well. They didn't seem willing to let you out of that bed, that much you noticed, but not that they didn't seem to want to let you out of the Night Court. And soon you found out it wasn't just them.

Rhysand tries to be the voice of reason and tries to be sympathetic to your situation and talks to Azriel and Cassian about you, but soon he is considered a hypocrite when he finds himself attached to you and does not intend to let you go. There was something about you, something that made you so special in Rhys's eyes and he didn't intend to let something so precious go. Rhysand enjoys listening to you talk, he's a good listener, and would love to take you flying with him if you wanted.

Feyre was one of the most excited to have you with them, along with Azriel and Cassian, it didn't take long for her to convince her mate to accept you into the Inner Circle. She is so kind to you and loving, almost like a mother would. Feyre learned to love you once she heard your ''story'' told by the males and she decided she couldn't let you go. What if you were attacked again? She couldn't have that and she wouldn't. She loves to paint you and she will love to teach you how to do it if you want to learn.

Morrigan was wary at first but soon warmed to you like the others and truly loved you. She was furious when she learned that you were attacked and wanted to find the culprits to make them pay for daring to hurt you. A passionate delusional, Mor doesn't seem to understand how wrong it all was, her family's obsession with you and she didn't care.

Cassian warmed to you the moment he found you semi-conscious in the woods, and just like Mor, he wanted to make whoever hurt you feel bad. The general refused to leave your side until you got better and was ready to fight Feyre and Rhys if they didn't allow him into Velaris, thankfully that was avoided. Cassian is playful and wants to teach you how to stand up for yourself, he loves to tease and flirt with you, but will get annoyed if someone else does the same. Only he is allowed to tease you.

Azriel took a little longer to warm up to you, although he felt bitter when he met you, he was still suspicious. He's not the Spymaster for no reason, he needed to make sure you weren't a threat, but even so, Azriel didn't like the idea of leaving your side, but you would be in good hands until he checked everything and that led him to find out who hurt you. He's quieter and the least demanding of your attention, but Az wants you to choose him for things, be it training, or being in the Shadowsinger's silent company. He has really come to love you.

Amren was the last to warm up to you. At first, she was curious and suspicious of everything, the strange affection others had for you, but as he spent more time with her, she could finally understand and Amren began to open up to you. You became good friends, much to everyone's amazement, and the First Mate found herself craving her company more often, particularly when you brought her blood.

Family is what they are and what they will always be. They all warmed to you in their own way and you became theirs when you accepted to become part of the Inner Circle, even if you didn't know you were theirs before all this happened. When Azriel found out who had hurt you, they all went after those responsible and made them suffer in return for what they did to you. No one could hurt you and get away with it, they would make sure of that.

Everyone is kind and protective of you, but if you try to run away from them, they won't be so kind anymore. Rhysand and Feyre would order you to be hunted down and brought back home and when you were brought back, screaming, they would make you regret leaving. They love you, but you dared to disobey them and soon you will learn what it means to revolt against the Night Court. But don't worry, they won't hurt you too much. And when it was all over, you would find yourself covered in affects that would break your mind more than the worst tortures.

And if you still fight their love, Rhysand and Feyre will have to use their daemati gifts. They don't want to have to break your mind for you to accept them, but they will if everything becomes too much to handle and others would be inclined to accept you being manipulated, broken. But once it's all over, when all the pain is gone, you'll be more loved and more cared for. Cassian and Azriel would take you flying and sightseeing, Mor would take you drinking and shopping, Amren would shower you with jewels, Rhys would be so protective and loving and Feyre would be so affectionate and would spend hours painting you. They would all act as if nothing had happened and anyone who threatens to shatter that illusion will bitterly regret it.

[mcrdvcks]

Sweet Dreams - Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: After celebrating Thanksgiving for the first time, Logan and Alexandria go on a simple reconnaissance mission.

Word Count: 13.4k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x Original Female Character (platonic relationship)

Notes: hello! i was going to post this yesterday but it was my birthday (i turned 20, pls i don't know how i made it this far) so i was able to relax. but here we are!

i'm not sure if i'm going to post until around thursday/friday since i have two midterms, and it's only the FOURTH WEEK of classes. anyways, enjoy :)

TW: blood, violence, slight allusion to torture

Series Masterlist - Chapter 3 → Chapter 5

AO3 Link For Chapter

November had rolled around and so had a holiday called Thanksgiving. They were given part of the week off, Wednesday through Sunday, to celebrate.

As far as she knew, or what was told to her, the holiday was on Thursday.

Alexandria, Jean, Kitty, Scott, Jubilee and a few other students were sitting in the common area. Currently Scott, Kurt, Bobby, and Kitty were playing a game on the TV called Mario Kart. Alexandria had no idea what the game was, but they all seemed pretty into it.

She leaned closer to Jean, “what exactly is Thanksgiving?”

Jean looked up from where she was lounging on the couch, a smile spreading across her face. “Thanksgiving is an American holiday that celebrates giving thanks for the good things in life. Traditionally, it's about coming together with family and friends to enjoy a big meal.”

Alexandria raised an eyebrow. “And what’s the big meal?”

“It usually includes things like roast turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pie—pumpkin pie is pretty popular,” Jean explained, as she glanced over at the TV where the Mario Kart race was heating up.

“So, it’s basically a feast?” Alexandria asked, trying to piece it all together.

“Pretty much,” Jean confirmed. “It’s also a time for people to reflect on what they’re thankful for. It’s not just about the food, but about spending time with the people you care about.”

Alexandria nodded, absorbing the information. “But… why? Can’t you do that any day?”

Scott, who had just won a race and handed his controller to Ben, or as some called him, Match, sat in between Alexandria and Jean. He placed an arm around both of their shoulders. “Thanksgiving was a dinner between the Plymouth colonists and Native Americans back in the 1600’s. But now it’s more of just an excuse to eat a lot.”

She nodded again, side-eying the arm around her shoulder. Alexandria looked over at Jean and noticed Scott was casually rubbing Jean’s shoulder as he cheered Kurt on.

She wondered what that meant, and why Jean started to blush faintly. Kitty broke her out of her thoughts. “Wanna play?”

Alexandria glanced warily at the controller, “I don’t know how. I’ve never played,” she paused, hoping she was going to use the right term, “video games before.”

Kitty’s eyes lit up. “It’s easy! Here, I’ll show you.”

She took the controller from Alexandria’s hands and began to explain the basic controls. “So, this button makes your character go, and this one makes them jump. You use this stick to steer.”

Alexandria nodded, trying to keep up. “And what does this do?” she asked, pointing to another button.

“That’s the item button. You get power-ups during the race,” Kitty said. “They help you get ahead or mess with other players.”

Alexandria took the controller back, her grip tentative. She glanced over at the TV screen where the game was already in progress. The colors and movement were dizzying. “Okay, I think I get it.”

Jean gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it’s all about having fun. Just jump in whenever you’re ready.”

Alexandria hesitated for a moment before pressing a few buttons. The character on the screen wobbled a bit before straightening out. “This is… not as complicated as I thought.”

Kitty laughed. “Exactly! You’re doing great. Just remember, you don’t need to win, just try not to crash too much.”

As the game started, Alexandria tried to keep up. The characters whizzed around the track, and she struggled to steer properly. The other players were pretty focused on the game, so Alexandria mostly kept to herself, trying not to get in the way. Her character crashed into a wall, and she muttered under her breath, “not great.”

“Hey, you’re doing better than I did my first time,” Scott said. “It’s all about practice.”

Alexandria managed a small smile. “I guess that makes sense.”

Jubilee, who had been watching from the side, chimed in. “Want some tips? I’ve been playing this game forever. I can show you how to use items better.”

“That’d be great,” Alexandria said, looking over at her.

Jubilee leaned in and started explaining strategies for using power-ups and avoiding obstacles. “Just remember to use your items strategically. Don’t waste them.”

Alexandria tried to follow the advice, and gradually, she started to get the hang of it. She wasn’t winning, but she wasn’t crashing as much either.

After a few rounds, Kitty noticed that Alexandria was starting to look more comfortable. “You’re doing awesome! See? I knew you’d catch on.”

Alexandria chuckled. “Thanks. It’s actually kind of fun.”

“Glad to hear it!” Kitty said. “It’s always nice to introduce someone new to something we enjoy.”

Kurt looked up from his spot on the floor, “how about we take a break and get some snacks?”

Bobby, who sat next to him agreed, “ice cream anyone?”

Everyone got up from their spots and went to the kitchen. Scott and Jean stood up from the couch as Kitty got up from the floor.

“What’s ice cream?” Alexandria asked, what she thought was a completely innocent question.

“You’ve never had ice cream?” Scott exclaimed. “Well, I think we have to rectify that.” He led the way into the kitchen, the three of them following. “We can have everyone choose their favorite ice cream and you can choose your favorite.”

“Like an ice cream showdown?” Jean questioned.

Kitty perked up, “hell yeah!” She high-fived Scott.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Scott said.

Alexandria followed, her curiosity piqued. As they entered the kitchen, she glanced around, taking in the array of snacks and ingredients on the counter. It wasn’t like any kitchen she was used to; it was more like a small, bustling cafeteria.

Scott grabbed a few tubs of ice cream from the freezer. “Alright, here’s the deal. We’ve got a lot of different ice creams. Everyone picks their favorite, and we’ll have an ice cream showdown.”

Jean pointed to the tubs. “I’m going with chocolate. Can’t go wrong with that.”

Kitty grinned. “I’ll take cookies and cream. Classic choice.”

Bobby looked at the tubs thoughtfully. “I’m going for strawberry. Can’t resist the fruitiness.”

Kurt shrugged. “I’ll try vanilla. Simple but solid.”

Everyone else followed suit, until they all had a tub of ice cream in front of them. They each placed a scoop into a bowl so Alexandria could try.

Alexandria stared at the array of ice cream bowls lined up on the counter, each one offering a different flavor. She picked up a spoon and hesitantly dipped it into the chocolate ice cream, taking a small bite. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“This is… really good,” she said, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

Scott grinned. “Told you. Ice cream is a game changer.”

Kitty handed her a bowl of cookies and cream. “Try this one. It’s my favorite.”

Alexandria took a bite, and her smile grew. “This is amazing. I didn’t realize dessert could be so… delightful.”

Bobby passed her a bowl of strawberry. “That’s what makes ice cream great. There’s a flavor for everyone.”

Jean watched Alexandria’s reaction with a pleased expression. “Glad you’re enjoying it. It’s one of those simple pleasures in life.”

Alexandria nodded, savoring the flavors. “I think I understand now. Food can be more than just sustenance.”

“Exactly,” Kurt said, taking a scoop of vanilla for himself. “It’s about enjoyment, and sharing it with others makes it even better.”

Jubilee, who had been waiting for Alexandria to finish, finally got her turn. “Here’s a tip: mix flavors. You might find a new favorite combo.”

Alexandria raised an eyebrow. “Mix them?”

“Yep,” Kitty said. “It’s like creating your own custom ice cream experience.”

Alexandria shrugged and scooped a bit of each flavor into her bowl. She took a bite of the mixed flavors and nodded in approval. “Not bad. I can see why people get excited about this.”

Scott, noticing the look of genuine enjoyment on Alexandria’s face, clapped her on the back. “Welcome to the world of ice cream. But before you are completely welcomed you have to try my favorite…” he moved a mint tub closer to Alexandria, “mint chocolate chip.”

The group groaned and booed Scott, with Kitty and Ben threatening to melt it and throw it in the trash.

“Seriously, Scott?” Kitty said, pretending to gag. “Mint chocolate chip? It’s like you’re trying to ruin everything we’ve got going here.”

“Hey, mint chocolate chip has its merits,” Scott defended, holding the tub protectively.

“Maybe if you want your breath to smell like toothpaste,” Ben added, sticking his tongue out dramatically.

Alexandria looked at the tub of mint chocolate chip with curiosity. “Why is this flavor so controversial?”

Jubilee snickered. “It’s a love-it-or-hate-it kind of deal. Personally, I’m with the haters.”

Scott gave her a mock frown. “You all are missing out. Mint chocolate chip is a classic.” He turned to look at Alexandria, “come on, try it. Don’t listen to them it’s great.”

She slowly grabbed a spoonful of the ice cream, a bright mint color with small chocolate chunks before putting it in her mouth.

Alexandria grimaced almost immediately, muttering a “fuck you,” in Russian before coughing.

Jean laughed and patted a pouting Scott on the back, “too bad dude. Your outnumbered, everyone else hates it.”

Alexandria swallowed the ice cream, “Scott, that was the worst American food I’ve had so far.” She shook her head, “I feel like I swallowed a tube of toothpaste.”

As Alexandria grimaced from the mint chocolate chip ice cream, the group erupted in laughter. Alexandria even found herself smiling and laughing along, something she hadn’t done… at all.

Scott, despite his disappointment, chuckled and shook his head. “Alright, alright, maybe it’s not for everyone. But hey, at least you gave it a shot.”

Kitty, still laughing, nudged Alexandria. “See? It’s not so bad to try new things. You might not like everything, but that’s part of the fun.”

---

December

“You want me to take her on a mission?” Logan asked, following Charles down the hall of the bunker.

“A simple reconnaissance mission, yes.” Charles responded. “She’s done well in the Danger Room scenarios and has yet to get below a 98% average on her training.”

“I’m not a babysitter, Chuck.” Logan said roughly.

“Whoo, someone’s grumpy.” Ororo added, her tone light but with a hint of amusement.

Logan shot her a sidelong glance. “I’m not grumpy. I’m just not thrilled about this mission.”

Charles, who rolled beside them with his usual calm demeanor, didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a simple task, Logan. Just gathering intel. No combat involved. Besides, Alexandria needs more real-world experience.”

“Yeah, and I need to go on vacation,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms. “Why not have her tag along with someone else?”

“Because I trust you to keep an eye on her. You’ve shown you can handle more than just brute force. And Alexandria could use someone with your… particular skill set.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow at Charles’ words. “Particular skill set? Or are you just trying to pawn off a job?”

“Both,” Logan muttered an answer for Charles, though there was a begrudging hint of agreement in his voice. “Fine. When’s this thing supposed to go down?”

“Tomorrow morning. Meet me in the briefing room at 0900,” Charles said, turning towards the door of the bunker’s command center. “And try to be patient with Alexandria. She’s new to this world and still finding her footing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, waving him off as he walked away. “Just keep in mind I’m not here to be her mentor. I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get herself killed.”

Ororo smiled, knowing that despite his rough exterior, Logan did have a protective streak. “She’ll be fine, Logan. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“Everyone’s tough until they’re not,” Logan retorted, heading down the corridor.

---

Later that day, Alexandria was in the Danger Room, her focus intense as she worked through another training simulation. The room was set up like a dense forest, with obstacles and targets scattered throughout. Her movements were swift and precise, a testament to her rigorous HYDRA training. Still, there was a noticeable improvement in her demeanor; she wasn’t as cold or distant as she once was, though her interactions remained guarded.

Logan watched from the observation deck, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t sure what to make of her—she was a mix of everything he didn’t want to deal with, but he’d give her a shot.

After the simulation ended, Alexandria stepped out, her face flushed with exertion. She was greeted by Logan’s steely gaze.

“You’re coming with me tomorrow. We’re doing a reconnaissance mission,” Logan said bluntly.

Alexandria raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. “And you’re the one leading this mission?”

“Yeah. I don’t sugarcoat things, and I don’t babysit. So don’t expect any hand-holding.”

She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance. “You do realize I’ve gone on missions of my own, right? Since I was 10. I was HYDRA’s most decorated assassin. Had more kills than the Winter Soldier.”

Logan studied Alexandria with a steely gaze, his expression unreadable as she mirrored his stance. “I get that you’ve got a history,” he said gruffly, “but here, you follow orders and you don’t mess up. Got it?”

Alexandria’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve done more than my share of reconnaissance missions. I understand the importance of not making mistakes.”

Logan grunted. “Yeah? Well, we’ll see how it goes. Don’t think for a second you’re going to impress me by talking up your resume. I’ve seen more than my fair share of ‘decorated’ agents who couldn’t handle the reality of a mission.”

“Your confidence is noted,” Alexandria replied, her tone cool. “Is there anything specific I should prepare for?”

Logan shrugged. “We’re scouting an old facility. Nothing too crazy—just gathering intel. The fewer surprises, the better.”

“Understood,” Alexandria said, her expression softening just a touch. “I’ll be ready.”

Logan nodded, clearly not one for small talk. “Good. I’ll meet you in the briefing room at 0900 tomorrow. Be sharp.”

With that, Logan turned on his heel and headed for the exit. Alexandria watched him go, her mind already racing with thoughts of the upcoming mission.

---

The next morning, Alexandria stood in the briefing room, her usual expression of calm determination firmly in place. Logan arrived a few minutes later, carrying a folder of mission details and maps. He glanced at Alexandria, who was already seated and ready.

“Alright,” Logan said, setting the folder down on the table. “Here’s the rundown. The facility we’re going to was used for research, but it’s been abandoned for a while. We’re looking for any signs of recent activity and any useful intel we can find. Simple enough.”

Alexandria nodded. “Do we have any specifics on what we might encounter?”

“Just the basics,” Logan replied. “Might be some security systems still operational, but nothing that should be too much trouble. Your telekinesis should help with any obstacles.”

“Understood,” Alexandria said, her voice steady. “And what about local security? Any chance of encountering people?”

“Possible, but not likely,” Logan said. “Most of the security would be automated. Keep your senses sharp and be prepared for anything.”

“Got it,” Alexandria said. “When are we heading out?”

“Soon as we’re done here,” Logan said. “Any questions before we start?”

Alexandria shook her head. “No. I’m ready.”

“Good,” Logan said. “Let’s get moving.”

---

The two of them made their way to the Blackbird, the X-Mansion’s sleek jet, and after a short flight, they arrived at the outskirts of the old facility. It was a large, crumbling building surrounded by overgrown vegetation. The air was thick with the smell of decay.

Logan and Alexandria approached cautiously. “Stay alert,” Logan said, scanning the area with a practiced eye. “This place could be booby-trapped.”

Alexandria nodded and focused her senses, her telekinesis subtly scanning the immediate area for any hidden dangers. “Nothing immediate,” she said quietly. “But I wouldn’t let my guard down.”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment and led the way inside. The interior of the facility was dark and musty, with dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering through broken windows. The air was cold and stale.

They moved through the corridors with purpose, Logan’s steps heavy and purposeful while Alexandria’s were light and silent. They reached a large, metal door at the end of a hallway. Logan examined it carefully, then turned to Alexandria.

“Think you can get this open?” he asked, nodding at the door.

Alexandria stepped forward and extended her hand, her telekinesis working to manipulate the locking mechanism. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dimly lit room filled with old computer equipment and filing cabinets.

“Looks like a control room,” Logan said. “Check for anything useful.”

Alexandria moved through the room with practiced efficiency, her eyes scanning the room as she began to sift through the papers and files. Logan kept watch, his attention divided between Alexandria and the dark corners of the room.

After a few minutes, Alexandria found a set of folders that looked promising. “These might have something,” she said, holding them up for Logan to see.

Logan walked over and took the folders from her, flipping through them quickly. “These are reports on various experiments. Looks like they were testing something significant here. This might be worth taking back.”

“Agreed,” Alexandria said, glancing at the documents. “Anything else we need to find?”

“Not for now,” Logan said. “Let’s head back and get these analyzed. We’ll follow up if anything else- ”

A clatter from the far side of the building cut Logan off before screams and gunshots echoed through the abandoned facility. Logan's head snapped toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as he and Alexandria moved swiftly toward the source of the noise.

“Stay close,” Logan muttered, his tone rough. Alexandria nodded, her senses already on high alert. The gunshots grew louder, mingling with shouted questions and the occasional burst of laughter.

The pair reached a doorway partially obscured by rubble. Through the gaps, they could see a figure moving with unsettling fluidity, a red and black suit clearly visible. The figure was none other than Wade Wilson, more commonly known as Deadpool.

“Seriously?” Logan growled under his breath. “Wade!”

He turned to face the two of them, “ah!” His hands went to his face, “honey badger! It’s so good to see you and… whoever you are. Must not be fun, right? Constant grunting and berating. I don’t envy you.”

Alexandria blinked in response. It almost seemed like he was saying whatever came into his head. But she had to admit, she liked his bluntness.

“Get the hell out of here.” Logan ordered Wade.

He tsked in response, “no can do. Interrogating.” Wade waved his gun in the air.

Alexandria's eyes widened as she saw the gold-plated Glock 34 in Wade's hand. She blinked, momentarily thrown by the absurdity of it. But also because it was a really good gun. "Is that a gold-plated Glock 34?"

Wade, still waving the gun around with casual nonchalance, grinned at her. "Bingo! I see you know your weapons. Who knew? I bet you also know the difference between a tuxedo and a tracksuit. Bet you’re great at parties!"

Logan, clearly irritated by Wade's antics, rolled his eyes. "Wade, we don't have time for your nonsense. We’re here on a mission, not to watch you play dress-up with your shiny toys."

Wade sighed dramatically. "Oh, Logan, always so serious. But fine, fine. If you want me to play the bad guy, I’ll just be the bad guy. These guys were having a lovely chat about their old employer's dirty little secrets."

"Yeah, about that," Logan said, his voice low and dangerous. "You need to leave. Now."

Wade looked genuinely thoughtful, scratching his chin beneath his mask. "Hmmm. I could, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’m just about to find out where the real secrets are hidden. Care to join the party?"

Alexandria glanced at Logan, who looked like he was about to explode. She was having fun. She liked this guy- quite a lot actually if he was able to get Logan to respond like this.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Wade, we’re not here for your nonsense. We’re here on a mission. You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Wade looked genuinely surprised, though his mask did an excellent job of hiding any real emotion. “Complicated? I’m just having some fun! These guys were talking about some interesting stuff, but they’re not very chatty. Maybe you’ll have better luck.” He waved vaguely at the group of people tied up in the corner.

Alexandria, feeling slightly more at ease now that Wade’s antics had taken the edge off, scanned the room. “What were they saying?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Wade shrugged, his nonchalance never wavering. “Oh, you know, just the usual—plots, plans, schemes. Nothing too exciting. But I bet if you dig a little deeper, you might find something fun.”

Logan grunted. “We’ve already got what we need. We’re leaving.” He turned to Alexandria. “Let’s go.”

Alexandria hesitated, glancing between Logan and Wade. “Maybe we should check to see if there’s anything else of value. This place seems like it has more to offer.”

Wade’s eyes lit up behind his mask. “Now that’s the spirit! You know, I like you. You’ve got some guts. I bet you and I would get along famously. Maybe you can join me for a chimichanga sometime.”

“What’s… that? A chim…” Alexandria trailed off.

Wade gasped, “you don’t know what a chimichanga is?” He looked over at Logan, “what are you going over there! Depriving children of one of the greatest joys of humanity.” He looked back over at Alexandria, “other than this Glock 34, of course.”

Alexandria grinned, “Can I shoot it?”

Wade’s eyes widened as Alexandria’s question sunk in. “You want to shoot it? Oh, pale and mysterious, you have just become my new favorite person!”

Logan, who had been standing with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, glared at Wade. “Wade, enough. We’re not here to play around. We need to finish this mission and get out.”

Wade pouted dramatically. “Aw, come on, Logan. Let the lady have some fun! Besides, I’m just about to reveal the big secret they were keeping.” He gestured to the group of tied-up individuals who were now staring at them with a mix of fear and relief.

Logan let out an exasperated sigh. “Wade, we’ve got what we need. Let’s just wrap this up and get back.”

“Fine, fine,” Wade said with a dramatic sigh. “But you’re missing out. I’ve got a whole plan for how we’re going to—”

“Wade,” Logan cut him off. “Just stop. We’re leaving. Now.”

They continued arguing, with Wade mostly enjoying making Logan angry as Alexandria went into their minds. One of them was daydreaming, letting her see what he was picturing.

Three men went up to the Blackbird and placed small remote explosives on parts of the ship. They were all masked, but one of them held the remote with a single button and his finger pressed to his ear.

The man dreaming was fearful, occasionally looking upwards at different corners of the ceiling. She followed his gaze to see faint red blinking lights in various edges of the ceiling.

“…fondling Colossus’s large metal balls before I would ever think about that.” Wade finished.

“You dick for brains, wannabe- ”

“Guys.” Alexandria said, but Logan continued.

“-piece of- ”

“Don’t you dare!” Wade exclaimed.

“-sh- ”

“Guys!” Alexandria exclaimed, her voice sharp and urgent. She pointed towards the ceiling where one of the small explosives was attached, the red light blinking faster and faster. “We need to get out of here.”

Logan's head snapped around, his eyes immediately locking onto the blinking light. His expression turned from irritation to intense focus. “What the hell?” he growled. “Wade!”

Wade, who had been in the middle of a dramatic monologue about how he’d never use a chimichanga as a weapon, suddenly seemed to register the seriousness of the situation. He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes widening as he saw the explosives.

“Oh, fuck,” Wade muttered, his usual flippant demeanor momentarily dropping. “I guess we’re not in a fun, happy place anymore, huh?”

Logan didn’t bother with a response. He grabbed Alexandria’s arm and started pulling her towards the exit. “Move it! We’re not sticking around for this.”

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,” Alexandria caught the beginning of one of the guy’s Wade had tied up. He was praying in Russian.

The guy grabbed a black device with a red button, “have mercy on me, a sinner.” He pressed the button, the detonators in the building and on the Blackbird exploding.

The entire facility caught in flames, walls and ceilings breaking down almost instantaneously. The force of the explosions separated the three of them.

But Logan didn’t get the best of luck, because he heard Wade’s coughing right next to him. “Boy, oh boy. Haven’t been thrown around like that in a looong time,” Wade’s voice echoed through the smoke. Logan groaned, recognizing it immediately.

Logan pushed himself up, his muscles protesting. He spotted Wade stumbling through the smoke, coughing and mumbling something about chimichangas. Logan shook his head in frustration. “Wade! Are you trying to get us all killed?”

Wade looked at Logan with wide, slightly dazed eyes. “What? Oh, hey there, Logan! I was just about to- ” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Whoa, did things just get hotter, or is it just me?”

“Shut up and get moving,” Logan snapped, trying to get a grip on the situation. “We need to find Alexandria and get out of here.”

Wade nodded, a serious expression briefly crossing his face before he resumed his usual flippant demeanor. “Right, right. Save the day, get out alive, all that jazz.”

Logan scanned the area, straining to locate Alexandria amid the smoke and wreckage. “Alexandria!” he shouted, hoping she was nearby. His voice was barely audible over the cacophony of collapsing debris and roaring flames.

Alexandria blinked her eyes, the smoke slightly burning them and her lungs. She stood up noticing a rather large metal rod in her shoulder. She pulled it out with a grunt, dropping the rod to the ground.

All around her was flames and debris until she heard gunshots coming straight for her. She ducked for cover behind a large piece of concrete before glancing up.

A large group of gunmen in all black outfits, including a baklava, with rifles. “Damn it.” She muttered in Russian.

Alexandria’s mind raced. She needed to get out of here and find Logan. Her telekinesis picked up several pieces of debris, hurling them towards the advancing gunmen. They scattered, their shouts blending with the roar of the fire.

Using her telekinesis again, she brought the metal rod that was in her shoulder and huffed, partial excitement, partial wariness. But fuck, she loved fighting. And those rifles they had looked particularly expensive, and maybe even military grade.

She jumped out from the concrete and kicked in one guys knee, before using him as a human shield and taking his rifle. Alexandria threw the rifle at another guys head, before stabbing another one in the chest with the rod and pulling it out.

There were 10 more left and one of them happened to shoot her in the thigh. She continued on, moving onto that guy next, kicking his head into the concrete wall while grabbing his pistol, shooting it at the heads of 2 other men.

Seven more left.

Using her telekinesis, she picked up two small pieces of the broken concrete and smashed it against two guys heads before punching another man in the chest and kicking out his legs, finishing it with one shot to the forehead.

Four more left.

She glanced around quickly, taking stock of her surroundings. The facility was in ruins, flames licking at the edges of the debris, and the smoke was thick, making it harder to see. The gunmen, still advancing cautiously, were clearly outnumbered and outmatched. Alexandria’s telekinesis had already proven effective, and she was ready to finish this.

One of the remaining gunmen took a shot at her, but she dodged, using her telekinesis to deflect the bullet with a burst of force. She moved swiftly, taking down the nearest gunman with a well-placed kick to the chest, sending him crashing into a heap of rubble.

The remaining three gunmen hesitated, clearly shaken by the ease with which Alexandria had dispatched their comrades. One of them tried to call for reinforcements, but Alexandria didn’t give him the chance. She hurled a piece of debris at him, knocking the radio from his hand.

Another gunman took aim at Alexandria, but she was faster. She grabbed a chunk of metal from the ground with her telekinesis and sent it flying at him, knocking him off balance. She followed up with a powerful kick, sending him sprawling.

Two left.

The last two gunmen exchanged nervous glances. They were cornered, and Alexandria could see the fear in their eyes. She didn’t give them time to regroup. Using her telekinesis, she lifted a large piece of concrete and threw it at them, forcing them to take cover behind a nearby wall.

The gunmen’s attempts to return fire were futile as Alexandria’s telekinesis cleared the debris away from them with practiced precision. She moved in quickly, her movements fluid and decisive. She disarmed one of the gunmen and knocked him out with a swift punch to the jaw. The final gunman, now alone and panicked, tried to make a run for it.

Alexandria wasn’t having any of it. She used her telekinesis to create a barrier of debris in his path, cutting off his escape. He stumbled and fell, and Alexandria was on him in an instant. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up to face her.

“Who do you work for?” she demanded in Russian, her voice cold and fierce. When he didn’t respond she punched his jaw twice, knocking out his molars. “No cyanide pill, no suicide. Who do you work for?”

The man, unable to withstand her pressure and the pain from her earlier blows, stammered out a response. “I—I don’t know much. We were just hired for a job!”

“Who hired you?” Alexandria pressed, her voice gaining an edge of menace. She tightened her grip on his collar, making sure he understood she meant business.

“I don’t know, lady! You’re crazy.”

She gave a grin, almost looking crazed to the man, “good.” A sharp pain went through her abdomen as she looked down, seeing a knife from him. “You bitch. I thought we were getting along.”

Alexandria pulled the knife out and kicked him in the crotch, sending him to the ground. She straddled his body and held the knife to his throat while looking in his jacket pockets.

She found a card and pulled it out. It read ‘Voron’, a secret service of hitman that HYDRA tended to use for bigger operations.

“Did HYDRA hire you?” She asked. He shook his head in response. “I know a lot of ways to torture you. 50 of them include this knife.” Alexandria twirled it around in her hand. “12 of them include the fire just a few steps ahead, and 8 of them include concrete.”

Logan walked through the broken halls, fire licking at him and Wade who tagged behind. “You know she could be dead.” Wade said, as Logan turned to face him was a strong glare. “Just saying. But you’re probably right, she seems like she can handle herself. She has a really cool accent too. Is it Ukrainian? Or- ”

“Shut up,” Logan said, cutting off Wade’s incessant chatter. His irritation was palpable as he pushed through the thick smoke and debris.

Wade, ever unfazed by Logan's gruffness, just grinned wider. “Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet. For now.” He followed behind Logan, his steps exaggeratedly silent, as if he were tiptoeing through a field of landmines.

Logan’s focus was intense as he navigated the rubble, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of Alexandria. The chaos of the collapsing facility made it difficult to keep track of her, and the smoke was thick and stinging his eyes.

The sound of more explosions and falling debris echoed around them. Logan’s frustration grew; the entire situation was turning into a bigger mess than he had anticipated. He had hoped this mission would be straightforward—just a simple reconnaissance to gather intel. Instead, it had turned into a full-blown crisis with Wade and a bunch of explosive devices thrown into the mix.

“Alexandria!” Logan shouted again, his voice hoarse from the smoke. “Where are you?”

Wade, who had been scanning the area with mild curiosity, suddenly perked up when they both heard a loud scream and a roaring fire. “Just a guess, but I’m assuming wherever that scream came from.”

Logan, who had been pushing through the debris and smoke, gave Wadel a sharp look. “I don’t need your commentary right now. Let’s find Alexandria before things get worse.”

Wade’s grin widened, though he followed Logan’s lead with surprising seriousness. “Okay, okay. No more jokes. But I’m still rooting for you guys!”

Logan didn’t respond, his focus locked on navigating the wreckage and finding Alexandria. The smoke was thick, and the heat from the fires was oppressive. Logan shouted Alexandria’s name again, his voice hoarse from the smoke. “Alexandria! Answer if you can hear me!”

The flames roared louder, and the facility was crumbling around them. Logan and Wade continued through the chaos, moving with purpose despite the increasing danger. Logan’s irritation was palpable, his usual gruff demeanor heightened by the urgency of the situation.

As they rounded a corner, the smoke began to clear slightly, revealing the source of the commotion. Alexandra dusted off her blood-covered hands as she threw the knife to the ground.

“Oh. Hello.” she said calmly.

Wade’s eyes widened under his mask, “Jesus, you look like a mess girl. A good shower will do you some good.” He chuckled, “but blood takes a while to come off your skin, trust me.”

Alexandria wiped her hands on her pants, trying to remove the blood but only smearing it further. Her eyes were cold but there was a faint trace of a smirk on her lips. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm given the chaos around her.

Logan walked up, his expression a mix of frustration and relief. “Are you alright?” he asked gruffly, trying to push through his annoyance at the situation. “You’re not seriously hurt, are you?”

Alexandria looked at him with an almost dismissive air, though there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes. “Just a few cuts and bruises. I’ll be fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Logan nodded, his eyes scanning the wreckage for any sign of additional threats. “Alright, let’s get out of here. The place is coming down fast.”

Wade, still grinning, was hopping from foot to foot like a kid in a candy store. “Oh, I love a good rescue mission! But before we go, how about a quick debriefing? You know, for old times’ sake?”

Logan shot him a look that could freeze fire. “Wade, save it for later. We need to move.”

Wade’s grin didn’t waver. “Fine, fine. But I’m going to need a ride in that fancy jet of yours. I’ve got a new chimichanga recipe to try, and you guys look like you could use some culinary inspiration.”

“The jet? It’s destroyed.” Alexandria spoke casually.

“What?” Logan growled.

“Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say before the building went ‘kaboom.’ But you both were too busy arguing.” Alexandria's tone was dry, almost indifferent, as she leaned against a partially collapsed wall, her eyes fixed on the two men. Logan stared at her, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, while Wade's eyes widened under his mask.

“You're telling me the jet is gone?” Logan growled, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. His frustration was palpable, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. This was supposed to be a simple mission, and now it had turned into a complete disaster.

“Not gone. More like… scattered.” Alexandria replied, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek, hoping she didn’t add more to her face. Her voice was calm, almost eerily so, given the chaos surrounding them.

Wade clapped his hands together, a delighted grin spreading across his face. “Well, isn’t this just the most fun we’ve had all day? No jet, no ride home, and now we’re stuck in the middle of a burning building. This is going to be one hell of a story!”

Logan shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. “Wade, if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll give you something to really laugh about.”

Wade raised his hands in mock surrender, his tone playful. “Okay, okay, Mr. Grumpy Pants. But let’s be honest here, this is a bit of a pickle, isn’t it? How do you plan on getting out of this one?”

Logan ignored Wade's comment, his mind racing as he assessed their situation. The building was crumbling around them, the fire spreading rapidly through the structure. The smoke was thick, choking, and the heat was becoming unbearable. With the jet destroyed, their options were severely limited.

He turned to Alexandria, his tone gruff. “Can you sense anyone else in the building? Any survivors?”

Alexandria closed her eyes briefly, reaching out with her powers. She searched the remaining pockets of the building for any sign of life, sifting through the chaos of debris and flames. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and shook her head. “No one else. Just us and a lot of dead bodies.”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, his jaw tightening. “Alright, we’re getting out of here. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“Lead the way, fearless leader,” Wade quipped, following closely behind Logan as he started to move through the wreckage.

Logan ignored him, focusing on finding the safest route out. They navigated the burning building, dodging falling debris and pushing through the thick smoke. Alexandria moved with a quiet confidence, her senses on high alert as she followed Logan’s lead.

As they approached a large gap in the wall that had been blown open by the explosions, Logan paused, scanning the area. Beyond the opening was the outside world, the cold night air mingling with the heat from the flames. The ground outside was littered with debris, but it was their only way out.

“Stay close,” Logan instructed, his voice rough as he led them through the gap and into the open air. The contrast between the cold night and the inferno inside the building was stark, the cool breeze a welcome relief after the suffocating heat.

Wade stretched dramatically as they emerged from the wreckage, taking in the scene with a gleeful grin. “Ah, freedom! It smells like victory, with just a hint of burning debris. I think we’re making memories here, folks!”

Logan shot him a withering look but didn’t respond. His attention was focused on the remains of the Blackbird, now a smoldering heap of metal scattered across the ground. The explosion had obliterated the jet, leaving nothing but twisted wreckage in its wake.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath. His mind raced with the implications of their situation. Without the jet, they were stranded with no immediate way to get back to the mansion or contact the others.

“We’re a bit stranded, aren’t we?” Wade commented, his tone cheerful despite the dire circumstances.

“There’s a pickup truck right over there.” Logan gestured to a white beat-up truck with rust on the hood. Before Wade could speak Logan spoke again, “you’re not driving.”

“Aw, man!” Wade exclaimed, his voice dripping with exaggerated disappointment. “And here I was all ready to show off my impeccable driving skills. What’s the matter? Afraid of a little off-road adventure?”

Logan shot him a glare that could freeze water. “Not afraid. Just not stupid. I’ve seen what you call ‘driving.’”

Wade put his hands on his hips, striking a dramatic pose. “Well, aren’t we the stern taskmaster today. I’ll have you know I’m a certified road warrior. But fine, you drive. I’ll just sit here and look pretty.”

Logan didn’t bother responding. He moved swiftly towards the beat-up truck, his mind already racing through their options. Alexandria followed, her calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the chaos that had just unfolded. Despite her usual indifference, she couldn’t help but notice the irony of the situation: a gruff Wolverine, an irreverent Deadpool, and a demolished jet—her new reality.

As Logan approached the truck, he noticed the keys hanging from the ignition. “Guess they weren’t expecting company,” he muttered, looking over at Wade. “You can play with the radio, but don’t touch anything else.”

Wade nodded his head gave a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain! I’ll keep my hands to myself and my eyes on the road.”

Logan shook his head, barely containing his frustration. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the truck. The engine roared to life, and he maneuvered it carefully around the debris field, his attention divided between the road ahead and the smoldering wreckage of the Blackbird.

Alexandria, still wiping blood from her hands, took a seat in the middle of the backseat, her eyes scanning the surrounding area. The adrenaline from the fight was fading, leaving a dull ache in her muscles and a cold sense of urgency. She glanced at Wade, who was fiddling with the radio and humming off-key.

She glanced down at her abdomen, the blood leaking slower, but still steadily. The good thing was, it was hard to differentiate her blood from the blood of the others, making it difficult to tell if she was bleeding herself.

Wade continued to fiddle with the radio. The upbeat pop music blaring from the speakers seemed wildly out of place given the circumstances. He was humming along loudly, apparently in his own little world. Logan kept his eyes on the road, his expression a mixture of irritation and concentration.

“So,” Wade said, breaking the silence. “How about we get some names and backgrounds on these guys next time before we go full assault mode? A little intel never hurt anyone.”

Logan grunted in response, his eyes flickering briefly to the rearview mirror to check Alexandria’s condition. She looked like she was in pain, but she wasn’t complaining—typical.

Wade continued, oblivious to Logan’s irritation. “And speaking of names, how about we talk about you? Never got a chance to ask. Where you from? What’s your story?”

Alexandria kept her gaze fixed out the window, “I’m from Russia. The Avengers took me from HYDRA when they destroyed one of their bases a few months ago.”

Alexandria kept her gaze fixed out the window, trying to focus on anything other than the pain radiating from her wounds. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the aches in her shoulder, thigh, and abdomen were becoming impossible to ignore. The silence in the truck was thick, broken only by the occasional crackle of debris under the tires and the upbeat pop music that Wade had left on the radio.

“Russia, huh?” Wade finally said, glancing back at her. “Cold winters, colder people. I can see how HYDRA would be right at home there. So, what’s your deal? How’d they get their claws into you?”

Alexandria’s eyes flicked to him for a brief moment before returning to the window. “They killed my parents and older brother in front of me when I was three then took me in.” She sat up straighter, “turn the radio up.”

“And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate

And I screamed for whatever it’s worth

‘I love you,’ ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?

He looks up grinning like a devil”

She leaned forward slightly, “can’t we just drive to the mansion?” Alexandria asked Logan.

“No. We can’t. New York is almost 13 hours away from here.”

“Chert voz'mi.” She mumbled. She wasn’t expecting Michigan to be that far away from New York. The flight coming was only an hour and a half. A drive from here was only slightly shorter than a drive from Moscow to Warsaw.

As the truck rumbled over the uneven terrain, Alexandria’s eyes remained fixed on the passing landscape, her mind trying to push through the haze of pain and exhaustion. The rhythmic thumping of the tires against the road did little to soothe the throbbing in her shoulder, thigh, and abdomen. Each bump in the road sent jolts of discomfort through her, and she clenched her jaw to keep from making any noise.

Wade’s incessant chatter continued in the background, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere. He seemed to take delight in every turn and bump, his playful commentary a constant presence.

“So, tell me, Alexandria,” Wade said, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. “You’ve got these awesome powers and a dark, mysterious past. What’s your favorite way to use them? Manipulating dreams? Throwing stuff around?”

Alexandria’s gaze remained on the window, her voice flat. “I don’t have favorites.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. “Really? No favorite way to mess with people’s minds or toss things around? I’d think with powers like yours, you’d have some fun stories.”

She gave a slight shrug, though it was more of a wince due to her wounds. “There was this one time I was sent to a farm close by Kenozero. This guy was supposed to be working for HYDRA but went off the grid. He had started to experiment on animals like tigers, lions, and coyotes.”

“He did the most on this one female tiger, but none of them could fight back because of a shock collar on all of them. All I did was take off the collar on Sasha and she ate him whole. You could even hear him screaming for a few seconds when his head was inside her.” Alexandria smiled fondly.

Wade looked between Logan and Alexandria before speaking, “that’s what I’m talking about! That’s a cool story! See, this is what bedtime stories are made of. Kids need to hear about tigers eating bad guys—straight up Jurassic Park meets National Geographic with a dash of HYDRA madness. You’re like a walking R-rated fairytale.”

Alexandria’s smirk faded slightly as she glanced at Wade, her expression returning to its usual stoic demeanor. “It wasn’t about fun. It was about completing the mission,” she replied flatly, her voice devoid of the enthusiasm Wade seemed to be looking for.

Wade, never one to be deterred, just nodded with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Sure, sure, mission accomplished, and all that. But you can’t tell me you didn’t get a little bit of satisfaction from seeing that guy get what he deserved.”

Alexandria didn’t respond, her gaze drifting back to the window. The cold landscape outside was a stark contrast to the warmth inside the truck, but it did nothing to soothe the throbbing pain from her wounds. She shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate her injuries.

Logan, catching the subtle movement, grunted. “You’re bleeding all over the backseat,” he muttered, not unkindly, but with the gruff concern that was characteristic of him.

“I’m fine,” Alexandria replied, her tone clipped. The truth was, she wasn’t fine, but admitting that wasn’t something she was accustomed to. She had been trained to endure pain, to push through it, and she wasn’t about to start complaining now.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching her reflection. “Fine or not, those wounds need attention. We’ll stop somewhere and patch you up before you pass out.”

“Like a motel?” Wade chimed in, his voice dripping with amusement. “We could do the whole ‘nurse Logan’ thing. I’d pay to see that.”

Logan shot Wade a look that could’ve melted steel. “If you keep talking, I’ll give you something to really scream about.”

Wade put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood here. We’re on a road trip, after all. Might as well make it fun.”

Alexandria shifted again, the discomfort in her abdomen intensifying. She didn’t want to admit it, but Logan was right—she needed to do something about her wounds before they became a bigger problem. The last thing she wanted was to pass out from blood loss in front of these two.

“We should keep moving,” she said, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. “Stopping isn’t an option.”

Logan grunted again, clearly not convinced. “We’re stopping. You’re not in any condition to make decisions right now.”

Alexandria’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. She knew he was right, even if she hated admitting it. The pain in her abdomen was becoming harder to ignore, and every bump in the road sent sharp jolts through her body. She pressed a hand against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but it was a losing battle.

Wade, sensing the tension, decided to change the subject. “So, Logan, got any good stories? You know, from back in the day when you were all ‘lone wolf’ and whatnot?”

Logan shot him a sideways glance, clearly not in the mood for chit-chat. “No.”

Wade pouted dramatically. “Aw, come on! I bet you’ve got some wild tales. Maybe a bar brawl or two? A tussle with some bad guys? Or maybe a romantic escapade?”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan growled, his patience wearing thin.

Alexandria, despite her pain, couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the exchange. There was something almost amusing about Wade’s relentless banter and Logan’s gruff refusal to engage. It was like watching a dog trying to catch its own tail—endlessly entertaining and equally pointless.

After a few more minutes of silence, Logan finally spoke again. “There’s a town up ahead. We’ll stop there and get you patched up.”

Alexandria didn’t protest this time. She knew she didn’t have much of a choice. The pain was becoming unbearable, and she was starting to feel lightheaded. She leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes and trying to focus on her breathing.

Wade, sensing the shift in mood, decided to dial back his usual antics. “Hey, don’t worry,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time. Then it’s back to kicking ass and taking names.”

Alexandria didn’t respond, her mind too foggy to come up with a snarky reply. The pain was overwhelming her, and she could feel herself slipping into unconsciousness. She tried to fight it, but it was a losing battle.

Logan noticed her slumping in the backseat and cursed under his breath. “Damn it,” he muttered, glancing at Wade. “Keep her awake.”

Wade immediately turned in his seat, his usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine concern. “Hey, hey, no sleeping on the job! Come on, stay with us.”

Alexandria’s eyes fluttered open, but it was clear she was struggling. Her vision was blurry, and her head felt like it was filled with cotton. She tried to focus on Wade’s voice, but it was like trying to hold onto a wisp of smoke.

“Stay with me, okay?” Wade continued, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

Logan pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the truck speeding through the darkened landscape. He knew they didn’t have much time. Alexandria’s wounds were serious, and if they didn’t stop the bleeding soon, she wouldn’t make it.

As they neared the small town, Logan spotted a rundown motel on the outskirts. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He pulled into the parking lot, the truck skidding to a halt. Without wasting any time, he jumped out and opened the back door, reaching in to help Alexandria out.

Wade was already out of the truck, opening the motel door with a flourish. “Welcome to your five-star accommodations!” he announced, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

Logan ignored him, his focus solely on getting Alexandria inside. She was barely conscious, her body limp in his arms as he carried her into the room. He laid her down on the bed, quickly assessing her wounds.

“Damn it, she’s lost a lot of blood,” Logan muttered, his hands moving with practiced precision as he worked to stop the bleeding. “Wade, grab the first aid kit from the truck.”

Wade didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted back to the truck and returned with the kit, handing it to Logan. “Here you go, Doc. Think you can patch her up?”

Logan didn’t answer, already working to clean and bandage the wounds. His hands were steady, his movements efficient and methodical. He had done this more times than he could count, and each time it never got any easier.

Alexandria winced as Logan applied pressure to the wound on her abdomen, her eyes fluttering open for a brief moment. “You… don’t have to…” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Shut up,” Logan growled, not unkindly. “Just stay still.”

Wade hovered nearby, uncharacteristically quiet as he watched Logan work. He wasn’t used to seeing Logan like this—so focused, so determined. It was a side of him that Wade rarely got to see, and it was clear that Logan cared more than he let on.

After what felt like an eternity, Logan finally finished bandaging Alexandria’s wounds. He sat back, wiping the sweat from his brow. “That should hold for now,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

She glanced between Wade who stood leaning against the wall, his mask now off eating a bag of peanuts he must’ve found somewhere, and Logan who was in front of her.

Alexandria sat up on the lumpy bed, “you sure we can’t leave now? I feel fine.”

Logan shot Alexandria a look that was more irritated than concerned. "You’re not fine, kid. You just bled all over the backseat and nearly passed out. Sit your ass down."

Alexandria frowned but didn’t argue further. She leaned back against the lumpy pillows, her hand absently touching the fresh bandages. The motel room was dingy, the wallpaper peeling and the smell of stale cigarettes lingering in the air. It wasn’t exactly the X-Mansion, but it was better than bleeding out on the side of the road.

Wade tossed another peanut into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, she’s got a point, Logan. We can’t stay here forever. The motel’s got that ‘murder scene in a bad horror movie’ vibe, and I’m not sticking around to see if there’s a sequel."

Logan ignored him, his attention on Alexandria. "We’re not moving until you’ve had some rest. You’re not going to do anyone any good if you collapse halfway through the drive."

Alexandria sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She wasn’t used to this—being taken care of, being told to rest. She had spent her life fighting, surviving, pushing through the pain. The idea of sitting still while others worried about her was foreign, uncomfortable.

But she also couldn’t sleep, not without the mind blocker that Hank made her to keep out other people’s dreams. “I can’t.” She said looking over to Logan. “I don’t have my mind blocker. No mind blocker, no sleep.”

“You don’t need that thing to sleep,” he said gruffly. “Just close your eyes and rest.”

Alexandria shook her head, her frustration evident. “You don’t understand. I’ll end up in someone else’s dreams- or worse, they’ll end up in mine.”

Wade, still leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow. “Dream-weaving, huh? That’s gotta make for some interesting nights. But seriously, you can’t keep running on empty. Even superheroes need their beauty sleep.”

“Not really a superhero,” Alexandria muttered.

Logan’s gaze narrowed, his tone firm. “You’re bleeding through those bandages and can barely keep your eyes open. You need rest.”

“Is there a store nearby?” Wade interrupted, tossing the empty peanut bag aside. “Maybe we can find something to knock her out. You know, something strong enough to keep her from dream-hopping.”

Logan glared at Wade, then looked back at Alexandria. “We’re not drugging her.”

She leaned forward, “that’s a good idea. Although I suppose there are no strong sedatives around like HYDRA used. But 3 bottles of melatonin will do.”

Logan shook his head, clearly exasperated but also a little concerned. “Melatonin? Three bottles? You’re not serious.”

Alexandria shrugged, wincing as the movement tugged at her shoulder wound. “I don’t need much. Just enough to keep me under without letting the dreams in. HYDRA used to give us something stronger, but I’ll make do.”

Wade piped up from the corner, his interest piqued. “Sounds like a plan! I could run to the nearest store and grab some, no problem. Maybe pick up some snacks while I’m at it. What do you guys want? Twizzlers? Doritos? Those little chocolate-covered pretzels?”

Logan glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re not running off to the store. We’re not drugging her with a ridiculous amount of melatonin either. We’ll figure something else out.”

Alexandria’s frustration was growing. She wasn’t used to this—people debating over what was best for her, trying to take care of her. It felt alien and uncomfortable, and she didn’t like it one bit. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “I can’t just sleep like normal people. The dreams- they’re not always mine. I can’t control it without the blocker.”

Logan’s expression softened just a fraction, a rare moment of understanding in his usually gruff demeanor. “We’re not at the mansion, and we don’t have Hank’s fancy gadget, so we’ll have to improvise. You’re not getting loaded up on pills. You need real rest, not a drugged coma.”

Alexandria’s gaze was unwavering, her resolve clear despite the pain that etched lines into her pale face. “And how do you suggest I do that?” she challenged, her voice quiet but laced with a sharp edge. “I can’t just turn it off, Logan. My powers don’t work that way.”

Logan didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t good with words, especially when it came to things as complicated as what Alexandria was dealing with. But he knew enough about suffering through nightmares, both literal and metaphorical, to understand a fraction of her struggle.

His own healing factor had its perks, but it didn’t shield him from the horrors that played out in his mind when he finally allowed himself to sleep. And the idea of being trapped in someone else’s nightmares? That was something he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“We’ll figure something out,” he finally said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “But we’re not drugging you into oblivion. Not gonna happen.”

Alexandria sighed, leaning her head back against the headboard. The pain in her shoulder, thigh, and abdomen was relentless, a constant reminder of how vulnerable she was right now. Vulnerability wasn���t something she was used to; it didn’t sit well with her, not one bit.

She was a soldier, trained to push through pain, to ignore her body’s weaknesses, but she was also practical. She knew when she was beaten, and right now, she was on the losing side.

“Fine,” she muttered, closing her eyes briefly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. “But don’t blame me when I end up in your dreams. Or you end up in mine.”

Wade, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, perked up at the mention of dream-walking. “Ooh, that could be fun! Imagine the possibilities- Logan’s dreams are probably a mix of violent bar fights, wild animal chases, and maybe, just maybe, a tender moment or two where he hugs a puppy.”

Logan shot him a withering glare that could have sent lesser men running for cover. “Shut up, Wade. I’m not in the mood for your crap.”

Wade just grinned, unphased by Logan’s usual brand of hostility. “I’m just saying, if she ends up in your dreams, we might finally get to see the softer side of you. You know, the one that secretly enjoys long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners.”

Logan’s patience was wearing thinner by the second. “You keep talking, and I’ll show you the softer side of my fist.”

“Alright, alright, I get it- no beach walks for you,” Wade conceded, though the grin never left his face. He turned his attention back to Alexandria, his tone becoming somewhat more serious. “Look, kid, I know it’s not easy, but we’ve got to play the hand we’re dealt. You’re hurt, you’re exhausted, and you need rest. If the dreams come, they come. We’ll deal with it when we get there. Right now, you need to sleep.”

Alexandria opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. She knew they were right—Wade, in his own twisted way, and Logan, with his gruff sense of responsibility. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to accept. She had spent so long relying on her own strength, on her own ability to control her powers, that the idea of surrendering to something as mundane as sleep without her usual safeguards felt like admitting defeat.

With a heavy sigh, Alexandria finally nodded. “Alright,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll try.”

Logan nodded in return, his expression softening just a fraction. “Good. That’s all we can ask.”

Wade, never one to miss an opportunity to lighten the mood, clapped his hands together. “Well, now that we’ve got that sorted, how about a bedtime story? Something to lull you into sweet dreams. I’ve got this great one about a mercenary who- ”

“Wade,” Logan interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Shut up.”

Wade pouted, but there was no real bite behind it. “Fine, fine. No bedtime story. But if you need a lullaby, you know where to find me.”

Alexandria couldn’t help but smirk, despite the pain and exhaustion weighing her down. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured, her eyes already starting to drift closed.

Logan stood from the edge of the bed, giving her one last, assessing look before turning to Wade. “Keep an eye on her,” he said quietly, though his voice held the same edge of command it always did. “If she starts to dream-walk, you wake me up. Understood?”

Wade gave a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain. I’ll keep watch like a hawk.”

Logan grunted in response, then headed for the door. “I’ll be outside. Don’t do anything stupid.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Wade settled into the rickety chair in the corner of the room, his usual playful demeanor giving way to something quieter, more introspective. He watched as Alexandria’s breathing evened out, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had been pulling at her for hours.

For a moment, he considered all the things he could do—draw a mustache on her face, take a selfie with her, or maybe even give her a gentle nudge to see if she’d end up in his dreams. But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he just sat there, watching over her like some twisted guardian angel, the usual chaos of his mind taking a backseat to something that almost resembled concern.

---

“You cannot enter until you learn your lesson.” The woman said slowly in Russian. “Your actions have consequences, child.”

“I did nothing wrong!” A young Alexandria cried out.

“You tried to help another prisoner. That's irresponsible.” The woman said, who was a head scientist at HYDRA. The same one that she first saw when she was brought to HYDRA.

The woman had thrown Alexandria out into the cold, snowy Russian terrain. They had a small field outside that was rarely used for recreation. HYDRA wasn’t kind. Instead, it was used as punishment. All Alexandria had was the thin grey prisoner outfit with thin socks that were already drenched with the freezing snow.

A tear fell down Alexandria’s cheek, almost immediately stinging her cheek due to the freezing temperature.

“Thirty hours, Alexandria. If you haven't learned your lesson by then... then the punishment will be even worse.” The woman closed the heavy metal door to inside the base, leaving Alexandria outside in the cold with no food or protection from the heavy snowstorm.

---

Wade was still in the chair, his head lolling to the side as he snored softly. The room was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioner, and Logan closing the door.

He woke up shaking his head, “wow, what a weird dream. They were speaking some other language I didn’t understand.”

Logan took a swig of a whiskey bottle he found, glancing at Alexandria. “You dumb fuck. They were speaking Russian, weren’t they?”

Wade looked at her sleeping form as well, “oh- yeah, I guess that makes sense. That dream was so realistic. I could almost feel the cold.”

Logan shook his head at Wade in annoyance and took a seat at the edge of the bed, close by Alexandria’s feet.

“Help me.” She mumbled in Russian, turning on her side.

Logan’s brow furrowed as he watched Alexandria shift in her sleep, the words escaping her lips like a distant echo. He took another swig from his whiskey bottle, the bitter liquid doing little to numb the unease creeping up his spine. Alexandria’s sleep had been fitful, her dreams casting shadows that seemed almost tangible, even in her unconscious state.

Wade frowned, looking at Logan. “You think she’s dreaming about something bad?”

Logan took another pull from the bottle, his eyes never leaving Alexandria. “Yeah. It’s probably not a pleasant memory.” He paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “She’s got a lot of those.”

Wade shifted in his seat, trying to make sense of the fragments of the dream. “I could almost feel the snow. It was like I was there, seeing through her eyes.”

Logan grunted in agreement, though his attention was on Alexandria’s face, twisted in an expression of pain even in sleep. “Dreams can be powerful like that. Especially for someone like her.”

---

She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she had been out here. Her fingers were already numb and burning, and her wet clothes didn’t help her either.

There was no materials to create a fire, all of it wet from the constant downpour of snow.

For a while, she had banged on the metal door until her knuckles bled. Then she gave up, and sat under an old weight rack that covered part of her body.

Alexandria looked around past the gated fence, part of her hoping, wishing, and even praying like mama and papa did.

But no one came, not after her cries for help and her apologies to the impenetrable metal door.

She wanted to follow mama, papa, and Mikhail to the afterlife, but before she could close her eyes and surrender, the metal door opened.

---

By the time she opened her eyes, it was already early morning. The sun painted a faint orange hue into the room, but not bright enough to keep Wade awake, who was sleeping in the chair.

Logan wasn’t in the room, but she could smell the faint bitterness of some sort of alcohol. The dream, or memory, had made her cold, so without thinking she grabbed Logan’s leather jacket that was on the TV stand and put it on.

It was much bigger than her, she was somewhat taller than average, but still quite skinny thanks to the malnourishment she sustained at HYDRA.

Alexandria opened the motel door and walked outside, shutting it quietly behind her. She saw Logan by the truck, the hood popped open.

“Figured you’d be up early,” Alexandria said, her voice rough from sleep and the remnants of her dream. She wrapped Logan’s oversized leather jacket tighter around her thin frame. The cold made the pain from her wounds more pronounced, but she tried to ignore it.

Logan glanced up from the engine, his expression inscrutable. “What’re you doing out here? Thought you’d be getting some more sleep.”

“I was cold,” she said simply. “And I couldn’t stay in there.”

Logan grunted, his eyes shifting from Alexandria to the engine. “Ain’t exactly the Ritz in here. What’s got you up?”

Alexandria looked away, trying to shake off the remnants of her dream. “Bad dreams.”

Logan’s gaze softened for a moment before he returned his attention to the truck. “You should talk to someone about that. Dreams like that don’t just go away on their own.”

“Not much point,” Alexandria said. “Memories have a hard time fading away.” She shrugged, before putting her elbows on the truck and her chin on her fist. “And Wade was snoring. Hard to fall back asleep even if I wanted to.”

As the sun continued its slow climb into the sky, Alexandria tried to shake off the remnants of her dream. The pain from her wounds was a constant companion, but she managed to ignore it, focusing instead on the task of getting through the day. She glanced back at the motel, where Wade was still snoozing, oblivious to the early morning exchange.

“Hey,” Logan said, breaking the silence. “You want some coffee or something? There’s a diner down the road.”

Alexandria considered it for a moment. “Sure. I could use something warm.” She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate her wounds. “Just… don’t expect me to be chatty.”

Logan gave her a rare, almost encouraging nod. “No worries. Just figured you could use a break from the cold. And maybe get a decent meal in you.”

She gestured to the motel room, “we don’t have to bring him, do we?”

Logan opened the driver’s seat, “fuck no. But he’ll probably show up out of nowhere anyways. Get in.” She opened the door when he glanced at her, “and close the jacket, your shirt’s covered in blood.”

Alexandria glanced down and realized that the shirt she was still in was covered in old, dried blood. She zipped the jacket and hopped into the truck.

The truck rumbled to life, and Logan threw a casual glance in Alexandria's direction. "You okay? Anything else you need before we head out?"

Alexandria shook her head, her voice still rough from sleep. "No, I’m fine. Just... trying to get warm."

Logan nodded and pulled the truck onto the road. The early morning sun cast a pale light over the landscape, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the lingering effects of the cold that had settled into Alexandria’s body. The two of them drove in silence for a while, the only sound being the low hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel under the tires.

"Dreams are a bitch," Logan finally said, breaking the silence. "You want to talk about what happened?"

Alexandria shifted uncomfortably, her wounds throbbing slightly with each movement. "Not really. Just... a bad memory."

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, eyes focused on the road ahead. "Yeah, well, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just remember, there’s a difference between ignoring it and dealing with it."

She didn’t respond, instead staring out the window at the passing scenery. Her thoughts were still tangled up in the remnants of her dream, the icy cold of her past blending with the present discomfort.

A few minutes later, Logan pulled into a small diner that looked like it hadn’t seen a lot of business in recent years. The sign outside advertised ‘Hot Coffee & Fresh Breakfast’, a welcome promise after the cold of the morning.

As they walked into the diner, Alexandria tried to adjust the oversized jacket, her movements stiff and cautious. The warmth of the diner was a relief, but it also made her more aware of the pain from her injuries. Logan led the way to a booth in the corner and slid into one side, gesturing for Alexandria to sit across from him.

“And I’m not buying you that sugary coffee drink you like.” Logan said, looking over the menu.

She peaked her head out from hers, a slight pout forming, “why not?”

Logan glanced up from his menu, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. "You can get that sugary crap on your own time. We’re here to eat, not to indulge your sweet tooth."

Alexandria raised an eyebrow, her pout deepening. "It’s just coffee, Logan. It’s not like I’m asking for dessert.”

“Dessert’s probably not a great idea either,” Logan said gruffly. “Not with your current condition. Stick to something simple.”

“Fine,” Alexandria grumbled, flipping through the menu with a practiced disinterest. She was getting a sugary coffee, no matter what he said. Although they didn’t have an iced white chocolate mocha, so she was going to have to settle for something else.

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, approached their table. “Good morning, folks. What can I get you?”

Logan gave his order- eggs and bacon, a black coffee- and then turned to Alexandria.

“I’ll have the double stack of pancakes and a caramel frappe,” Alexandria said with a small, defiant smile, looking up at the waitress.

Logan shot her a disapproving look as the waitress nodded and jotted down the orders before heading off to the kitchen. Logan settled back into his booth, his eyes flicking between Alexandria and the window, clearly lost in thought. Alexandria, meanwhile, tried to ignore the dull throb of her injuries, focusing instead on the warmth that was slowly seeping into her bones.

Logan’s eyes softened slightly as he studied her. “You sure you don’t want to talk about that dream? Could help get it off your chest.”

Alexandria didn’t show any signs of response, choosing to stare out the window. She had never told anyone about what happened to her at HYDRA, although to be far she had only been at the school for a few months.

When she spoke, Logan was shocked but kept his expression neutral. “When I was nine, there was a new kid brought in. He was around 5 years old, didn’t speak Russian and only a little English. He reminded me of myself when I was first brought there.”

“I had been there for 6 years at that point, and the boy wasn’t used to the little bit of porridge they would give us for the day. So, I would give mine to him. They found out after 3 days and said that I was disobeying them and they had to punish me for it. The woman threw me out into the recreational field that was never used and kept me out there for thirty hours. In that part of Russia, it snows heavily and is almost always below freezing.”

Alexandria stared down at the sleeve of Logan's leather jacket, her voice low but tinged with a raw edge. “When they brought me back inside, they had one more punishment for me. They ended up killing that boy in front of me all because I had given him my food.”

The words hung heavy in the air, their gravity settling over the booth. Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, just took a long sip of his black coffee. Alexandria’s gaze remained fixed on the jacket as if it could offer some kind of solace or escape from the memories she had just shared.

The waitress returned with their breakfast, setting down a stack of pancakes and a caramel frappe in front of Alexandria, and a plate of eggs and bacon for Logan. Alexandria barely acknowledged the food, her attention still drifting through her painful recollections. Logan glanced at the pancakes with a look of mild disapproval but said nothing.

The conversation had shifted, but the silence between them was filled with the unspoken weight of Alexandria's revelation. Logan’s usual gruff exterior softened just enough to show a flicker of concern. He took another sip of his coffee, staring out the window as if searching for the right words.

“Shit, Alexandria,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “That’s rough. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Alexandria shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, though the pain in her eyes betrayed her. “It’s not about what I deserved. It’s what happened. I don’t expect anyone to understand, or care.”

Logan gave her a pointed look. “I get it more than you might think. Doesn’t mean you’ve gotta keep it all bottled up. Sometimes talking helps, even if it doesn’t fix things.”

She looked at him, her gaze steady. “I’m not good at talking. I’m better at... handling things on my own.”

Logan grunted, pushing his plate aside as he finished his coffee. “Handling things on your own can work, but sometimes it’s better to let someone in. Helps to lighten the load, even if just a little.”

Alexandria took a sip of her frappe, the sweetness of it a stark contrast to the bitterness of her memories. “You’re making it sound like you’ve got experience in this department.”

Logan’s eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. “Let’s just say I’ve seen my fair share of shit. Doesn’t make it easier, but sometimes it helps to talk about it, even if it’s just to get it out.”

She mulled over his words, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. “Maybe. But right now, I just want to focus on getting better. Deal with the stuff that’s actually in front of me.”

“Fair enough,” Logan said, his tone softening slightly. “Just remember, you don’t have to go through it alone. We’re here. You’ve got people who care, even if you don’t always see it.”

Alexandria nodded slowly, her gaze returning to the window. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They ate in silence, the clinking of cutlery and the low hum of conversations around them filling the gaps between their words. Logan's attention was split between his meal and the occasional glance at Alexandria, who was lost in her own thoughts.

The doorbell dinged as another person entered. Wade, who was still suited up, came to stand by the table, “you geriatric fucker.” He pointed at Logan before putting a hand on Alexandria’s uninjured shoulder, bringing her closer to him. “You’re poisoning the child’s mind.” He covered her eyes with his hand, “this fucker clearly has no niceness in a single one of his shiny metal bones.”

Logan sipped his coffee in response and Alexandria moved Wade’s hand away from her face.

Wade plopped down next to Logan, grinning as if he’d just pulled off a grand prank. “So, did you two have a heart-to-heart while I was snoozing?”

Alexandria shot him a tired look, her fingers still wrapped around her caramel frappe. “Not exactly a heart-to-heart. Just... talking.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, his grin fading as he noticed the subdued mood around the table. “You’re not exactly glowing. What’s eating you?”

Alexandria shrugged, her eyes drifting back to the window. “Just... old memories. Nothing new.”

Wade’s expression softened, but he still couldn’t resist a jab. “Ah, the classic ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ move. Well, at least you’ve got pancakes now. Nothing like syrup to make everything a little better.”

Logan grunted, focusing on his meal. “It’s not always that simple, Wade.”

Wade shot a curious glance at Logan. “Oh, are we getting deep now? Didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.”

Logan glared at Wade, clearly annoyed. “I’m not. Just saying there’s more to it than stuffing your face with food.”

Wade looked at Alexandria and gestured to Logan, “honey badger here was raised on boiled potatoes and chowder.”

“Fuck off, mouth.” Logan responded.

Wade continued, “see, this geriatric man here has a lot of tricks up his sleeve on how to turn nice, kind, young children into mean ones. Doesn’t help that’s he’s older than the state of Michigan itself.”

Logan grunted, clearly irritated. “Shut up, Wade. You’ve got a real talent for pissing me off.”

Wade’s grin didn’t waver. “Hey, I’m just here to lighten the mood. Can’t have you grumbling all the time.”

Alexandria took a sip of her caramel frappe, trying to ignore the banter. Her wounds throbbed under the bandages Logan had applied, a constant reminder of her recent ordeal. The warmth of the diner was comforting, but it didn’t do much to ease the pain or the memories that had surfaced.

But having Wade around wasn’t that bad.

Not at all.

helloo wade wilson! i tried writing him to the best of my abilities but he's a very hard character to write. and (spoiler alert) he doesn't appear anymore in this series, but might make some in the later parts!

[unicornsaures]

What the FUCK is going on with the Henry-William dynamic and why theyre like That because i think ive put this post off long enough:

tw // mentions of shitty parents, overdose/suicide🤥

Okay so the simplest answer I can give you is codependence. Thats the only way i can describe their dynamic. Henry needs William and William needs Henry! This isnt in a strictly romantic or strictly platonic sense, either. They were both set to meet at one of the lowest points in their life with only each other to go to, so its just easier for them to just stick with each other. Williams trust is fucked up and Henry is just..he just likes having William around because they understand each other. I mean, both of them had suffered through shitty childhoods with Henry having a deadbeat mother and living in poverty and William with an abusive father. They just get each other and it just brought them closer to the point they just couldnt live without each other.

Now, their relationship also isnt the healthiest, either. Its full of jealousy and the whole "I need you" thing just fucks them up a lil bit more. At the same time, though, its worse for them to be apart. I mean, they genuinely need each other to feel okay because each of them posesses qualities the other doesnt, and being apart for too long brings them genuine distress. Thats why theyre always either written, or drawn together. Theyre a pair and its rare for them to be separated if not by force.

Though the main reason I talk about them not being healthy is heavily influenced by how Henry reacts to Williams death: erraticly. I mean, he loses himself the moment William "leaves him."(Thats what it feels like to him, at least.) He becomes impulsive, self destructive, etc because the fact of the matter is, he genuinely needed william to feel okay. William knew Henry for around 25 years, taking up the better part of his life, and when hes always there, Henry didnt really think it was possible to live a life without him there, so ultimately Henry didnt care if he himself died afterwards. He naturally stopped caring because ein his eyes, he was living for william. With william gone, he basically lost the one thing he was living for and the only reason he stayed another 6 months was because he wasnt actively trying to die, it just happened when he was being careless.

On a seperate note, and the question I keep being asked, are they dating? And for that, Its kind of complicated. They arent just friends, but they arent really dating, either. Its something in between, especially post-war when theres no reason that theyre ever apart. They take on an almost domestic kind of style with each other? Like theres more physical touch than one would deem "friendly" whether that be a hand on the cheek, playing with hair, etc. But its for means of comfort. But do they have feelings for each other? By 1785, yeah, but nothing is done about it. They were content being their own thing that isnt romantic and isnt platonic and yayy good for them they were happy with each other and a little bit gay and a LOTTA bit codependent but thats basically their dynamic ^_^

[starofhisheart]

This scene in s2 w Ed and Frenchie

Parallels with this scene w Ed and Izzy from s1

(Had to snip a part out so it would fit but at first Izzy denies and then he actually tries, albeit begrudgingly.)

I always thought the scene with Izzy was showing how disconnected the pair are and while I still think that, the s2 scene shines new light on that original interaction. Where Izzy is trying to understand his boss, Frenchie doesnt even try and only denies. This is understandable ofc with everything Ed has put him and his friends through but its just interesting how they chose to parallel the scenes. Here, Frenchie has just become first mate and its almost like Ed hopes he'll be a sort of Izzy stand-in or at least falls back on his usual rapport with his first mate. But Frenchie is not Izzy. And this parallel highlights that.

I've had theories about how Ed sees Izzy and s2 has given us so much food for thought. When Izzy directly asks him "Who am I to you?" Ed softly says "what", like he's not even sure himself. The look on his face is blank but almost imploring and unsure. Izzy is just...Izzy. Friend? Lover? Thats too complicated and yet not as complicated as their relationship with each other. Izzy has clearly thought about it but has Ed? They've been together for so long ("I've been cleaning up your messes my whole fucking life.") without communicating their feelings. Bc thats what pirates do right? They dont have time for soft things like feelings.

But then Ed goes off and finds a new lover unlike any of his others and Izzy panics. Stede is a threat to their way of life, unsafe-at least thats how Izzy sees it-and then its over and Ed is breaking, depressed and then pretending to be ok

TW: suicide discussion

-and to speak on that specific point some more, I subscribe to the belief that post Lucius-talk-Ed where he's planning music shows, etc is not him coping healthily. We see this paralleled in s2 where after Izzy is "dead" Ed puts his hair up, starts cleaning and seems "chipper". But then we know he's planning to kill himself and everyone on board that same day. So this whole charade feels...macabre. He's getting his affairs in order in preparation for the big deed. Depression CAN look like this too.

When Izzy confesses he has love for Ed he says it haltingly, like its hard to even get the words out, like he's never said anything like this before (and he probably hasn't). And the words he chooses too. Instead of "I love you" he says "I have love for you". Its like he's saying after everything, all the pain and heartache, I still have love for you. But Ed refuses to, can't hear what Izzy is saying, and dismisses his confession. Perhaps he thinks this is a ploy too. After all he's unlovable right?

But we know from later scenes that Ed does love Izzy

in his own way. Some may interpret this line as platonic, some romantic-but I think it's more complicated than that. Again, Izzy and Ed have been together for so long the lines have blurred. They love each other like a brother. They're partners. They hate each other. They're an extension of each other. They're coworkers. Boss and right hand man. They can't imagine being without the other.

Well, whatever they feel for each other its capital C complicated that's for sure.

I have so many thoughts about ✨️them✨️ but I'll leave it here for now. No hate in the comments pls. Both men are my lil meows meows and have done nothing (and everything) wrong. Love those gay dudes fr.

[yanderes-galore]

https://www.tumblr.com/yanderes-galore/762792597898067968/yandere-jaehaerys-i-targaryen-concept?source=share

I can't believe it. I was thinking of making this request today. I guess I manifested it.🤭 It's great. 😍🥰😘❤ Thank you.

So, with this mindset, can Jaehaerys be a good father to his daughters (both of them) as the reader wishes?

Could wife reader daughters from being married off early?

What would Jaehaerys do if his wife Targ opposed incest (between their children)?

What do you think the yandere husband Jaehaerys and his wife reader and the yandere platonic children would be like? What do you think?

TW: Typical ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD stuff (Targcest, Medieval marriage practices, Poor relationships, the usual)

Hopefully... But as I said before, he's poor with daughters. You'd need to help.

You could probably try to convince him to wait longer. It was a different time then though. You'd need to convince him somehow I think

I assume he'd consider it, considering The Faith issues, but it's a complicated topic I think.

I'm not really sure. I know you'd be screwed. Especially depending on the amount of children you have. Yet I doubt your children would have such behavior unless Jaehaerys influenced it.

Thanks for the questions! I enjoy writing for ASOIAF ^^ Happy you liked it!

[transingthoseformers]

Okay, so, more ROTB!Mirage and his history as a spy but it's more HCS on the relationships he had. TW ON A LOT OF STUFF.

So, I had an idea that Mirage used to know someone in his spy program named Evangelista but was nicknamed Angie. And she ended up dying during the program, a mission gone wrong, and Mirage was insistent on staying with her offline body. And literally had to be dragged away from her.

I do think Mirage developed some kid of self harm behavior and it kinda reflects on his holoform, like, his holoform has scars lining up from his wrists to his shoulders and no matter how much Mirage tries, he can't get rid of them. So, he hides them with clothing he'll wear instead.

Another HC: Mirage specifically tried to stay away from any platonic or romantic relationships since those could be used against you. Especially since he had a mentor that was pretty possessive over him.

Speaking of his mentor, another HC, the mentor already had a child and literally favored/loved Mirage more than their own kid.

Another HC: The program was set almost like a boarding school and Mirage was the first, in the entire program, to be entirely under the mentor's supervision. Quickly, he became the best spy on Cybertron and was at the top of his classes.

And Mirage has a very difficult and complicated relationship with the word "different". Since to him, that's the reason he was in the spy program. That's why he was stripped of almost everything that was him, that's why he was branded, that's why he was forced to kill a new kid to the program (eliminate the weak, that's what they always said) and why he was nicknamed Mirage. Because there's nothing real about him.

Another HC: Mirage has a thing, a subconcious thing where his holograms/mirages will form out of emotion. So, there have been a couple of times Noah or Optimus, or hell, even Bumblebee and Arcee have seen a hologram of Mirage's old mentor literally tormenting him.

And yeah that's it, feel free to add your own HCs :3

I don't have any hcs to add, really, but goddamn

Oh mirage, you've been through so much

The holograms detail is just heartbreaking

[thesoulesscollection]

Ellie & Henry; An Unbreakable Bond

Hello. I don't have much in the way of request but I do have two ideas all involving Ellie so likely separate oneshots

#1: An alt ending to an existing scenario or your own scenario where Ellie dies and Henry witnesses it (Think of it as Ellie's version of the "Valiant Hero" ending) the circumstances are up to you it could be Henry and Ellie on their own, them being members of the tophat clan (or Henry as the leader) or them being the good guys with Charles possibly in the story I'm fine with either route

#2: Henry after escaping the wall stops and with hesitation turns around and heads back for Ellie feeling a twinge of guilt for using her and leaving her behind

This one was a lot of fun for me to write even if it took me a while. Down below are the tags for each prompt;

1) Tw/Tags: Toppat Recruits, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Little To No Comfort (Depends On How You See It), Major Character Death, Blood, Emotional Distress, Mild Mentions Of Depression, & (RoseMin) Relationship Can Be Seen As Platonic Or Romantic

2) Tw/Tags: Developing Friendship, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Inner Turmoil, Complicated Relationships & Hopeful Ending 

1)

This isn't supposed to happen. It was never part of the game. Nobody is meant to die in this timeline. Not anyone that he particularly cared for but not her. 

Not Ellie. His best friend and companion in crime. 

She was meant to be here with him. After all they went through together she shouldn't be ripped from his grasp. 

Until now she was. Forever gone and he isn't able to change it. He didn't know what to do, even witnessing her totally preventable, and irreversible demise took its toll on him. It was his fault. He could've done something to stop it from happening though it was yanked out of his hands. 

Said hands are shaking as he kneels down to her still warm corpse. The death rattle having been seared into his brain. They fist up then relax, clutching tightly like a vice on Ellie's bloodstained shirt. 

It wasn't until much later, realized the severity of what had been done, that he's screaming his lungs out, crying, and in such a frenzied state nobody can get him out of it for hours on end. 

Afterwards, when someone else in the clan, he couldn't tell who it was, had managed to tear him away from her, he was somewhat able to cool down. He's put in a safe place, alone per his weepy wish to cope. 

She was dead because of him. 

She choked on her own blood, withering in awful pain because of his mistakes. 

Her gorgeous eyes once full of love and pride stared at him with a glassy unfocused haze, fresh with her own tears as life slowly slips from her. 

It was torture knowing he was alone again as he's left to wallow in his misery. Often he laid in the same bed she would lovingly and so carefully drag him out of when he himself was too depressed to get up. 

But nobody was there to do that. No one who does it like her. They tried, surely in their own unique way however it wasn't the same. Him and Ellie had a specific deep bond. 

So it was difficult accepting her death, a slow progression, and it was a hard pill to swallow, that's for sure. 

In the unfortunate circumstances, he noted in a rotten grimace, that there's nothing he can do besides sucking it up. At the start, a few days after Ellie's death, he didn't try, instead played ignorance. His words exact, rarely he does speak, will only consist of the topic that she will come back to him in some shape or way. 

Eventually, people grew tired and left him to his devices, he understood why. Still they did try their best to be a shoulder to lean on if he allowed them. For some, he did do that when he couldn't fight anymore. Oftentimes he was eerily silent, still crying but it eluded him once he realized that no longer did anything come out. 

And so he stands on the special balcony for the orbital station that's shielded nicely with a thick, sturdy glass. The void of space colored in blacks, blues, purples and his favorite, red was refreshing as it is a daunting beauty. His sore eyes were dry when he wiped his sleeve across them, sniffling and wincing a bit at the slight pain. He grips his shaking hands on the banister, breathing deeply through his nose as he watches the larger than life twinkling stars hover above him. 

He is going to get better for his sake. Ellie's even since he knows she wouldn't stand for this. 

***

2)

Regret seeps in like poison. Henry was used to being alone, always on his own. So when climbing through the vents and popping out, he hesitates to move forward. It wouldn't be the first time he betrayed someone or had the same happened to him. 

Though this was different. Somehow unlike the times he did this, Henry felt bad. Guilty. 

In a world, cruel and unfit towards people like him and coincidently her as well should know better better to blindly trust. That's why he did what he'd done without having looked back to see her reaction as his experiences with the same hardened him. 

She was down on her luck. Just like him but she entirely gave up. He still had his fight in him. That's why he's here to begin with, right behind two guards chattering away unaware of his presence, while deciding what to do next. About to make a break for it.

Maybe he should head back just for the heck of it. What would go wrong? 

So he did, begrudgingly, mind you, he wasn't used to this. 

Once he returns to the hole in the ceiling, he cautiously peeks over, taking in the scene of the redheaded woman now curled up in the furthest corner. In the room already so empty and cold, near the door, is the warden’s right hand looking straight ahead, again unaware. 

Softly he makes a noise in order to get her attention which she wasn't bothering to try, even ignoring to seemingly in his growing annoyance. The redhead must know he's here for her. 

He's just trying to help her! In some way he was trying to apologize and that's rare for someone like him anyways. 

As the thief resists the urge to hiss louder or even cut his losses and turn back, he hooks his feet on the hanging staircase. Why it was there is beyond him. Then he curses it upon losing his footing, falling to a crumpled heap in front of the shocked woman. 

Before long he stumbled on his feet, she was gobsmacked to see him as he grabbed onto her arm. Unsurprisingly, the warden’s deputy noticed, stormed into the waiting cell, seeing that Henry was without his cuffs. It won't be long when the true shit goes down so he'd have to rush for it. 

Hope for the best outcome as this wasn't his plan. 

With her in tow, forcibly behind him, he made a beeline to the door. He may be a scrawny guy at least compared to the other man but he isn't a literal pushover. Thankfully, as by pure luck it remains at his side too once he barrels past, knocking the other down with ease. Another surprise to him is that she's running alongside with little resistance.  

The blaring noise of sirens rings in his ears seconds later. He kept going, huffing from the exertion and the mild irritation that throbs in his head. Soon he takes a sharp turn down the hallway, a path chosen in his mind. 

It won't be his smartest, cleverest ones out there, just one that would work for right now at this moment. At the hall's end, close to an office, he slams a fist into a circuit board on the wall, all in the dwindling hopes it's the right choice. 

The door slams shut so it was to his relief. 

He lets go, turns to face her, when he does is instantly met with an angry scowl, and a cold glare. Worse, he is caged in and she can do anything to him. She doesn't, instead stands there, hunched, in stiff silence, except for her ragged breaths filling the air. The cuffs that completely covered her hands so that may be the sole reason why.

In his hesitancy, Henry steps forward, hands up in faux surrender, with no words that he's no threat to her. Eyeing her cuffs then at the room they're in, he notices one, the decently sized trophy likely carrying a heavy weight and secondly, the vent in the ceiling. 

Moments later, trophy in hand, he bashes the cuffs until they drop on the ground broken. In a groan, he steps back, leaning on the table and motions to the ceiling. She runs her free hands together, as if attempting to gather the warmth. 

Of course, she's highly skeptical. Right until he's on his knees ready to boost her up. He doesn't mind being the one to do the lifting this time. She looks around and he knows she's searching for another exit. Then she moves quite quickly, placing her foot on his knee. 

In a flash, the hinges of the vent break apart and she climbs up. 

Henry stands up, dusting off and he hears the sound of people outside the door get louder. 

When he does look up at the ceiling, almost surprised to see she remains there, allegedly waiting, maybe uncertain about the choices laid out for her. It won't shock him whether she takes the grand opportunity to simply leave him behind. 

Until she stretches a hand out for him.