#x-men marvel girl x reader

[happy74827]

Oh the Deadpool tag is trending? I wonder why—

… oh

[moonlight-ee]

That’s America’s ass!

[newwavesylviaplath]

i KNOW his jizz tastes like battery acid idfc im gulping that shit down

[fungateshortcakes]

Come as you are

Pairing: oldman!Logan x chubbyfem!Reader

Summary: You have developed a crush on the man that has offered you safety and friendship all these months ago. But how could he ever love someone like you?

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: english is not my first language, slight angst, fluff, age gap, body image issues, insecurities, self loathing, happy ending, very self indulging

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

The air in the smelting plant was heavy with the silence that stretched throughout. The only sound came from the slow crackle of the fire, its light casting soft, flickering shadows onto the walls. You sat at the edge of the old, worn down couch, picking at a loose thread on your sweater, trying to focus on anything but the man across the room.

Logan was drinking his fifth coffee of the night while reading through some newspapers, his movements methodical while he turned a page, his soft groan cutting through the silence as his reading glasses slipped lower on his nose. You’d always found him fascinating to watch—so gentle with the things he handled, except for when he handled himself. The way his brows knitted together as he read, deepening the shadow of a wrinkle between them. There were so many mundane things he did that drew you to him.

It was part of why you had fallen for him in the first place.

But you would never tell him that.

You sighed quietly, your fingers curling into your lap. Logan had been your friend for a few months now, ever since he helped you out of a scrape you didn’t want to think too much about. He had offered you safety, companionship, and a kind of loyalty you’d never known from anyone else. And you?

You had given him nothing.

Sure, you helped around the home, if you could call it that, cooked dinner for him and Charles, patched his clothes when they tore, patched him when he got into another fight at his job—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough. That you weren’t enough. Never enough.

It wasn’t just the way your body didn’t fit society’s definition of “perfect" and that your clothes could only hide so much. You had made your peace with being chubby long ago. Or at least, you thought you had. But sitting here, watching a man like Logan chiseled, hardened, and impossibly strong, you couldn’t help but feel painfully out of place.

And then there was the age gap.

You were in your early twenties. He was... what? Pushing 200? Sure, he didn’t look it. His is healing factor had frozen him in what seemed to be his late 50s, but the years between you loomed like a canyon you would never be able to cross.

Why would someone like him ever look at someone like you?

“Somethin’ on your mind?” his voice startled you, rough and low, breaking through the haze of your never ending, self deprecating thoughts. You looked up to find him watching you, his glasses sitting on the table, his dark eyes sharp and focused just on you. “No,” you said, too quickly for his liking, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

His brow furrowed deeply, a look you had come to know too well on him “Ya don’t look fine.” He states matter of factly. You tried to laugh it off, but it came out forced. “I’m just tired.” Logan didn’t buy it.

“Bullshit,” he said bluntly, leaning forward in his chair. “You’ve been quiet all day. You're never quiet. What’s goin’ on?” Yeah, you never shut up. You were quite the chatterbox around him because you felt so at ease, as if you wouldn’t be judged. Now you thought maybe that was something that annoyed him about you. The constant talking and noise because of you, not a silent moment because you were never able to read the room and shut up. You frowned, turning away from him. “Nothing,” you insisted, standing up abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

You didn’t make it two steps before he shot up from his seat, striding over to you and catching your wrist in his large, rugged hand. He didn’t grip hard, Logan never touched you with anything but the gentlest care, but it stopped you in your tracks with a gasp.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone softer now. You hesitated, your chest tight with the weight of all the things you had been holding back for so long “Logan, just... drop it, okay?” you pleaded, trying to get your hand out of his grasp. “No.” he stood, his hand still around your wrist, his eyes searching yours. “You don’t get to shut me out like that.”

Your resolve started to crack, but you weren't about to let him win, so you forcefully ripped your arm awas from his grip “Why do you even care?” you sputtered out, your voice starting to feel raw. His brow furrowed even more, his chest heaving with your rejection “What kind of question is that?”

“Because you shouldn’t!” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m nothing to you, Logan. Just some stupid kid who’s too young, too... too fat—” you weren't able to finish your sentence as Logans hands shot up to hold you by your shoulders, not letting you go “Don’t.” His voice was sharp, cutting through your words like a blade. You froze, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. You swallowed thickly, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he rasped lowly, his tone softening again but no less firm. You bit your lip harshly, a distressed sound ripping from your throat “Why not?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s the truth.”

Logan stepped closer, his rough hands gentle on your body, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering. “You really think that?”

You nodded, shrugging his hands off you despite needing the warmth, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, look at you, Logan. You’re... you’re everything. And I’m just... me.” you sniffled, avoiding his eyes. He exhaled heavily, his hand coming up to rake through his grey hair. “You think I care about any of that? About numbers or size or—”

“Yes!” you cut him off, your voice trembling. “Because you could have anyone, Logan. Someone more mature. Someone prettier, someone better!.” you nearly yelled, but undeniably got chocked up on your tears. He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw tight, his hands clenching at his sides. Then, without a word, he closed the space between you, making you press yourself against the wall.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but steady, his tired eyes piercing “You think I care about how old you are? About how much curves you've got? Hell, sugar, you’re the only good thing I have left in my life, and you’re standing here actin’ like you’re not enough?”

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan—” you started breathlessly, but he lifted a warning finger at you. “No,” he said, cutting you off. “You don’t get to tell me what I want. And what I want is you. All of you. Just as you are.” Tears spilled over your round cheeks before you could stop them, and Logan’s hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs firmly brushing them away.

His hands held your face as if it was a precious artifact made out of porcelain, one that would shatter if handled too carelessly “I know I’m not good at this,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “Hell, I’ve screwed up more times than I can count. But I know what I feel. And I feel it for you.”

Your breath hitched and he tilted your chin up ever so gently to meet his eyes, his gaze locked on yours. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said quietly. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You couldn’t.

Instead, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his broad chest as the dam finally broke. Logan held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wrapped firmly around your plush waist. He was so warm and he smelled so good. Like home. This was home. “You’re it for me, sugar” he whispered into your hair, his salt and pepper beard scratching your temple “Don’t ever doubt that.”

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, and for the first time in what felt like forever you let yourself believe it. “You mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, rare smile. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” you didn’t respond, not with words. Instead, you leaned in slowly, giving Logan every chance to pull away, though you knew he wouldn’t. Not after that. He met you halfway, your lips brushing softly at first, tentative and sweet.

The kiss deepened, a tender exploration that spoke of all the moments you hadn’t been brave enough to share until now. Logan hadn't thought he would ever feel like his younger self again, kissing a pretty lady while his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. His broad hands smoothed over the soft curves that were your hips, trying to map your body like he had wanted for so long.

When you finally seperated, just a breath apart, you were suddenly lifted up into the air. You shrieked, clinging to Logan while he held you up by your thick thighs effortlessly. He smirked smuggly at you, a rare sight, and you pouted. "Just because I am dying doesn't mean I can't handle a girl like you, sugar" he drawled and carried you back over to the couch. He let himself fall onto the worn down cushions with you on top of him, your weight comforting on him. You were no light feather and he appreciated that. He could actually feel you on top of him, actually had something to grab you by.

Upon his mention that he was actively dying because of the adamantium lacing his bones, a heavy feeling settled in your stomach and your smile dropped. He noticed and gave your cheek a kiss "Hey. Don't worry. I'll be here for as long as you'll have me" and when he leaned down to kiss you again, it was slow and steady and full of promises you knew he’d never break.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

I really hope you liked this short fic and maybe can relate to it as well!

Characters like Logan are always paired with the skinny, dolled up, feminine, conventionally attractive woman and that kind of makes me feel like (if someone like Logan existed) i wouldn’t have a chance because i am fat. I already think that, but still!

We need more representation because we are people like everyone else and deserve to live in peace just like everyone else.

I know it's hard to believe- but you are beautiful and worthy, no matter your size. I still have to believe that myself, but I will get there someday🎀

[bluetimeombre]

If Hugh Jackman ever holds auditions to be his controversially young gf, I’m not like the rest of y’all bitches, I am FIRST in line

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

[islawila]

dont know whats wrong with me but im pretty sure old man logan would fix it x

[hadersversion]

how to disappear! - lumberjack! logan x farmer’s daughter!reader: how they first meet

warnings: mentions of christianity, waiting till marriage, innocent reader, implied age gap (reader in 20s and logan being logan so 200?), good ole country attitudes

moodboard <3

🍓you’ve been living in a small town in nebraska your whole life

🍓the youngest daughter to the towns farmer, you were full of personality and many people in the town just liked to be around you

🍓you cared for the kids, helped the elderly, cooked & baker for everyone while wearing a big, beautiful smile on your face

🍓logan came to town in early spring, buying the fixer upper house down the dirt road from your home

🍓you two first met when your father asked you to run down some eggs that the chickens just hatched to the new neighbor as a welcome gift

🍓 you got on your bike, your white skirt flying in the wind as you drive down the hill

🍓 you parked your bike in front of his house and walked around the property, which seemed to be empty besides the pick up truck sitting in the drive way

🍓“hello? hello? i’m y/n, your new neighbor from up the street.”

🍓 you ventured around the property and admired the way it was already coming together. the once run down house now painted a fresh coat of red.

🍓 your walk around the house was cut short when you heard the sound of wood being split deeper into the woods surrounding the property

🍓 clutching the eggs, you followed the noise until you were looking at the ripped back of a man as he swung his axe high in the air

🍓 your body froze as you watched the man move swiftly with his axe, admiring his body and trying to tune out all the things you wanted him to do to you

🍓 he turned around and did a double take, his eyes raking up and down your body

🍓 the older man stood tall, his dark hair spiking up

🍓“um, hello?” he grunted

🍓 his white tank top clung to his sweaty body, showing off his hairy chest

🍓 dog tags hung around his neck as your brain thought about them hanging above your face when he’s on top of you

🍓 your mouth became dry as you stared at him

🍓 “h-hi.” you said shyly.

🍓“can i help ya with something, sweetheart.” he set the axe down and picked up a cigar from a log

🍓“y-yeah, i-um-i.” you were a stuttering mess looking at the gorgeous man in front of you. “sorry, i-uh…i live up the street and my daddy asked me to drop off these eggs to ya. our chickens hatched them this mornin’. think of it as a welcome to the town gift.”

🍓 he looks down at the eggs in your hand and smirks

🍓“appreciate it.” he walks up and grabs the eggs, cigar hanging from his mouth. “tell your pa i said thanks.”

🍓 your breathe hitches as you stare up at him, your thoughts becoming impure before you could even control them

🍓you never had thoughts like this before, you knew that you had to wait until marriage to even cross this bridge

🍓but this man made you want to throw those ideas out the window

🍓you watch as he stares down your chest, your shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination as it opened a bit at the top

🍓 instinctively, your fingers come up and play with cross necklace sitting comfortably against you

🍓you could swear this man let out a small groan at the tiny action

🍓“didn’t catch your name, sweetheart.”

🍓“y/n.”

🍓“y/n.” he repeats back and you swear, your heart melted in your chest. “pretty, just like you. i’m logan.”

🍓 i nod and smile. “thank you.”

🍓 the two of you stand in silence, appreciating the company of one another

🍓“i-uh…i should get going. but it was nice to meet you, logan.”

🍓“back at ya, kid.”

🍓 he watched as you walked towards your bike and hop on

🍓eyes raking over your body one last time as though he was never going to see you again, he wanted to savor you

🍓 you wave innocently and start your journey home

🍓 logan waves back and takes the cigar out of his mouth

🍓“maybe comin here wasn’t so bad.”

[kaznejis]

He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?”  “-Y/N, please-”  “My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

A/N: So I hadn't touched this in over a MONTH. Never fear, I had a zap of inspiration and prevailed- I hope you enjoy! I'm considering doing a short fic from Jean's POV of Erik after the battle so look out for that! :)

Word Count: 9,391 / Read it on AO3! / Feel free to send any requests!

BEFORE

“No, Y/N isn’t taking part.” Erik’s words were final, as according to his tone and the silence that ensued; even Charles seemed shocked, his eyes flicking between you, sat upon one of the leather couches, and Erik, stood at the front of the room, hands on hips. 

“Erik-” Charles began, adjusting in his wheelchair and clearing his throat. Jean, beside you, too shifted; her anger visible as she sent daggers Erik’s way with her eyes, he seemed entirely unaware. “I- Y/N is an incredibly capable mutant, in the missions she has gone on-” 

“-Which she shouldn’t have-”

“Erik! In the missions she has gone on,” Charles repeated, shaking his head, “She has proven herself to be one of the best; her Geokinesis has the potential to be-” 

“Potential,” Erik shook his head- whilst your eyes had not left his form, his eyes were yet to stray towards your own as he resolutely stared at any other catching aspect of the room. “That’s all you seem to care about Charles, not the actual raw talent of a mutant.” 

You scoffed then, drawing the eyes of everyone who sat throughout the common room; including Erik, the deceitful side of your brain chimed gleefully. He raised an eyebrow at you, cocking his head; physically daring you to speak. You did so anyway, “What the hell is your problem with me, Erik?” 

“-Y/N, please-” 

“My problem?” Erik spoke over Charles; his eyes hawk-like as they watched you, his cheeks turning with mirth as he grinned at you, his sharp teeth glinting in the evening light. If you hadn’t been overtaken with anger, with embarrassment; you would’ve thought that he looked devastatingly attractive, in some twisted way. “My problem is that lesser mutants, like you, shouldn’t be put on patrols that ensure the safety of the other, more important mutants in this house.” 

Your mouth downturned unwillingly as a clogging feeling entrapped your throat, unadulterated sadness filling your gut at the cruelty of his words. Beside you, Jean sprung from her seat; hurling insults at Erik as Scott attempted to hold her back. At the edge of the room, Charles simply rubbed at his brow, but not before sending you a sympathetic, apologetic look. It had been like this for months now; Erik disregarding your every word, suggestion, and proposal; it seemed that he simply had no interest in anything you had to offer. 

You had been appointed to the X-men with wide, open arms; having scored ridiculously high marks in your training. Erik had even been a friend, in the beginning, one of your closest- hence, the outright obvious, and regretful, feelings you harboured towards him. He had once treated you with kindness; helping you in your training, the similarity in your abilities allowing him to provide advice, tips on how to truly harness your powers. Whilst Erik could control the direct elements of the Earth; Iron, Zinc, Potassium, amongst many others- you could control, as stated within your mutant file, ‘photosynthetic eukaryotes’. You had laughed upon first seeing the description, shaking your head at the severity it suggested; Erik had corrected you then. “You can wield more than you know,” He had nodded, gesturing to the screen before you, “Your powers may seem simple to you now; but there is always more to discover,” He had paused then, turning towards you directly, smile discreet, “I will help you discover that.” 

“What more is there to discover about plants?” You had laughed, genuinely unable to grasp the supposedly absurd concept of your power being of any worth other than discreetly fixing an elderly neighbour’s yard, speeding the growth of the tomato plant they had incorrectly cared for despite their best efforts. 

Erik had shook his head, eyes misting slightly as he watched you, “More than you would know.” 

Your feelings for him didn’t exactly come as a surprise to you, whilst you did regret them greatly, you couldn’t deny the kindness he had provided you during your first months at the school; the guidance he had offered you during the day and the friendship he had offered you at night- it had been everything in contrast to the loneliness you had felt since discovering your mutant gene. Harrowing, stomach-turning nightmares would procure directly from your memories; Erik would always be there to wake you, running into your room before anyone else could even rise, shaking you awake and halting your sobs with the strength of his embrace.

In his shift, his silence; you had learned to quieten your cries- to wake yourself up from your nightmares, scared of bothering him even in sleep. 

You could pinpoint exactly when things had changed; when Erik had suddenly slipped away, succumbing you to the darkness of your own mind; to navigate the dingy, griping hallways of your mutant powers alone. It had been the depths of Summer; the sun hot and blazing upon the grounds of the manor- you spent many a day in the gardens, tending to the plants and honing your powers; barefoot and free. Sometimes, Erik would join you, using the seasonal bloom of the flowers as a ‘training opportunity’. 

The day it ended, you had been manipulating the vines of ivy that had grown upon the fence; learning how to move them as if they were one of your very own limbs. “Focus.” Erik had spoken from behind you, his arms crossed and gaze severe, “Clear your mind of everything other than that plant.” 

A difficult task, you had bemused to yourself, when the sole occupier of your mind and the object of your desires stood only a hair’s breadth away. “I’m trying,” You had gritted your teeth, pushing a splayed palm towards the ivy; your fingers trembling slightly, the sun blazing through the spaces between your fingers. 

Just as you had been about to give up, a touch lay upon your wrist, effectively silencing any thoughts intruding on those regarding the task at hand. “Here,” Erik had mumbled, his breath hot upon your neck, “Hold your hand up like this.” As he parted your fingers, practically intertwining his fingers with your own- you had found clarity in your own worry of revealing your nerves to him, of revealing the heat that clambered upon your chest and upon your neck where his breath lay, goosebumps rising in its wake. Within that sense of clarity, you had linked your powers with the twines and inky green leaves of the ivy- lifting the ivy from the fence and guiding it to hover above you; Erik’s fingers still intertwined within yours. You breathed; shock coursing through your body as you stared wide-eyed at the life-form levitating above you- the ivy floated upon the air, drifting languidly as if upon waves of a tranquil sea. The moment passed then; the initial calm of your powers passing as euphoria replaced it. Laughing,  you had instantly turned to Erik, dropping his hand in favour of throwing your arms around his shoulders; gasping and blubbering as tears of joy had formed within your eyes. Erik, too, had matched your fervour at first; grinning and burrowing a hand within your hair, another moving to rest upon your waist. 

Looking back on that moment, you knew that the pulse of power within your fingertips and the warmth within your chest and the hand within your hair had blurred your judgement entirely. So, looking back, you could see why you had pulled away and immediately pressed your lips to Erik’s. 

In other words, you had kissed him. 

At first, he had reciprocated; the hand within your hair deepening, the grip upon your waist tightening. He had guided your face to the side, gasping into your mouth as you intertwined your tongue with his own. You had felt so alive in that moment, your entire body thrumming like a tightened cord; held aloft by the grip of his hands and the heat of his tongue. 

However, the moment ended as quickly as it had begun. You had felt it as he had frozen, his body going ramrock still against your own; the heat between you retreating like a dying flame. 

You lamented yourself for that kiss everyday; whilst you knew that objectively, there had been nothing wrong with it, and it had been the best kiss you had ever experienced, even in its lacklustre length; you couldn’t see past the detrimental effect it had projected upon your relationship, your life as a whole. He had retreated instantly, some wayward excuse tumbling from his lips as he fled the garden, fled the warmth of your touch. The lingering sense of something more hanging stale, dead in the air. 

You had never forgotten the sound the ivy had made as it had slapped upon the concrete; the stems withering and rotting instantly in the projections of your regret, the scent of it bleating from you in waves. You had used every last ounce of your might, your power, to revive it; pressing your hands incessantly to the blackening stems. They did not return to their living state, too far gone in the influence of your vast emotions. Your nightmares took a new turn then, dreams of rejection, isolation; of your powers overtaking you and destroying the foundations of the world, any semblance of emotion desecrating nature and instilling desperation. Those dreams were worse than your own memories; you grew afraid of your powers, afraid of yourself, your own inability to control your emotions. As you became a shell of yourself, of the barefoot girl who grew geraniums in the palm of her hands; Erik drew further away, you could only chart it up to disgust- you had gone too far, flung yourself upon him in the light of the risen sun where others could have seen. He had been embarrassed of you. Why wouldn’t he be? You were a semblance of everything Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto, was not; whilst he could control the very foundations of the earth’s core, you could barely maintain its creations. Whilst he could stand before the students and present any lesson he desired, you shied away from an authoritative position, opting to hide in the comfort, the secrecy, of your gardens.

You felt as though you were a disappointment of a mutant; a waste of genetic advancement. Entirely undeserving of the gene. 

Days without Erik turned into weeks, and then gradually months. Day after day you sat alone in the cafeteria; staring at the side of his head, watching the crinkle of his cheeks as he smiled at something Charles said; as he enjoyed the company of those within his own mutant league. 

But, as Erik had departed from your life, Jean had entered. Silver linings, and all. She had barged into your life with her fiery hair and even brighter personality; the powers so strong that they would immobilise the average person, the average mutant- but Jean simply took it in her stride, using her staggering, incredible powers for good. 

You would forever be thankful for the way she had taken you under her wing that one random morning at breakfast. You had been sitting alone, meagerly sipping a mug of tea, your nightmares leaving you unable to stomach any solid food; unable to do anything but longingly stare at Erik across the hall, able to think of nothing but the way his lips had felt against your own. It was set to be an entirely normal morning, the same as every other; stare at Erik, tend to the plants, wallow in your lonesome. However, before you could embark on your pathetic routine, your line of sight had been blocked by a figure before you, Jean, placing her tray upon the table and chatting with you as if it were nothing new. 

“-Honestly, it’s ridiculous.” You had blinked, tearing your vision away from Erik; your finger hanging limply at your lips where you had been chewing at a loose hangnail. Shaking your head, you had been able to do nothing but gape at Jean, your brain unable to compute what had been said, why she had been sat across from you, how you had managed to find your way into the dining hall at all. She had simply nodded her head at you, gesturing blatantly down at her provided breakfast tray, “The fact that they’ve only been serving brown bread for toast recently, I mean- nobody wants to eat that.” 

You had practically shifted yourself into first gear, inwardly slapping yourself awake as you had processed what she had said, what she was saying as she continued to complain about the discrepancies the cafeteria had allowed in recent months. “Maybe you should complain to Charles, go straight to the top.” You had managed to contribute, visibly sighing in relief as she nodded enthusiastically. 

“You know what, you’re so right.” 

From there, Jean’s presence had become a normality, walking arm-in-arm with your new best friend through the halls of the manor became a daily pleasure. 

You had almost forgotten about Erik. 

But, you found within yourself, you just couldn’t. He had been so kind, so understanding, and so ridiculously attractive- to which he, in fact, was potentially even more so. 

It eventually reached the point that you had been at in the common room; the only interactions being him hurling insults in your direction, exposing every insecurity you had ever had regarding your abilities; and you sitting there utterly befuddled as to how your relationship had deteriorated so severely. The conversation had initially revolved around assignments, specifically who would enact the nightly patrols of the grounds; groups of two would simply walk the outskirts of the land owned by Charles and ensure that everything was in order. It had been clear that you were perfect for the job; the edges of the land were uncared for; flooded with wildlife and overgrowth- you would practically be in your element. And yet, Erik had vehemently argued against you taking part, so passionately to the point that it was past being insulting, and just outright deranged. 

“You are such an asshole!” Jean’s shouts brought you out of your thoughts, blinking harshly as you zoned back into the conversation to which you were the main component of, “Do you ever climb down from your high horse, Magneto?” She spat his superhero nickname in a derogatory manner, practically laughing as she procured the word; as if one of the strongest mutants on the planet was merely a joke to her. She turned to you then, where you were still sunken into the leather of the couch; gesturing towards you passionately, “Y/N is an incredible mutant, if you had showed any interest in her recent training, you would know that; in fact, Charles is right, she’s on track to be better than you.” Ending the sentence with a jab in his direction, she turned and stomped back towards the couch; muttering angrily under her breath, you could only offer her a shallow smile in appreciation. You had filled Jean in on everything that had happened between you and Erik, whatever didn’t sound like dreamful vitriol, anyway. She had simply sighed, shaking her head, “Men.” She had tutted, turning the page in her book. In turn, she had filled you in on her situation with Scott; there really wasn’t much to it, other than the usual will-they-won’t-they denial of feelings on each end. You knew for a fact that Scott harboured similar feelings for her, it was only a matter of time.

Erik had recovered from Jean’s berating easily, simply brushing off her insults with a swallow and a hand through the hair, “Y/N isn’t taking part in patrols and that is final.” 

“Charles,” You had sighed, sending him a pleading look, hoping that your other superior would take some stance against Erik, recognise your need to be useful, “Please?” 

��I’m sorry, Y/N,” Charles shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Erik has just as much a say as I do; I’m afraid his decision is final.” 

*

Despite your confidence in Jean and Scott’s mutual feelings for each other, it seemed that the potential couple themselves had been entirely unaware as to this likelihood. 

“Y/N!” Jean cheered, bustling into your room with multiple piles of clothing, you had sprung from your bed; heart thumping from the sudden nature in which she had appeared. She shook off your shock, dumping her clothes onto your bed and spinning towards you, “I need you to help me pick out a dress.” 

“What’s the occasion?” Furrowing your brows, you picked through the masses of colour that now laid upon your bed; clothes suitable for a myriad of situations.

“I’m going…” You waited as she paused for dramatic effect, “On a date!” 

“Oh!” You gasped excitedly, jumping to grasp your friend by the shoulders, “With Scott?”

Jean’s energy died instantly, freezing beneath your hold as she cleared her throat, eyes flickering nervously, “Oh- what? No, why-” 

“Wait- who is it with then?” 

“Um, well, you know Oliver, right?” You nodded, still confused, “We were in classes together and we recently started talking again and, yeah, he seems nice!” 

“Nice?” Grinning, you raised your eyebrows amusedly, moving to sit beside her pile of clothes, “That’s all you have to say?” 

“Y/N! Don’t be mean, he’s more than that, I- just,” She huffed, moving to sit beside you, on the other side of the pile, “He’s actually giving me attention whilst Scott,” She shrugged, eyes sad, “He’s not giving me much to work with.” 

You nodded, completely understanding, whilst you were determined in your belief of Scott’s feelings; the theory was based entirely on conspiracy- Cyclops’ nerves tended to evolve into silence when in the presence of Jean. You moved to rub her shoulder; a grin upon your face, “Let’s pick you out something nice then.” 

After a considerable length of time spent rifling through clothes and testing a combination of outfits in your mirror; Jean spoke up, turning towards you suddenly, “Oh! I also have a way this could benefit you; you know how Erik forbids you from taking patrols, well, since I’m going on a date tonight; I need someone to take over my shift-” She practically sung the words to you; her eyes sparkling with glee. 

“No!” You said instantly, shaking your head and hands at her, to which her form drooped; her lips curling downwards, “Erik said no, Jean; not even Charles could dispute that-” 

“Come on, Y/N!” Jean cried, her arms dropping to her sides as the dress within them drooped to the floor haggardly, “I don’t want anyone I can’t trust taking the shift I’d usually have with Scott, and I know you wouldn’t flirt with him.” 

You shook your head, becoming even more steadfast in your refusal, “Jean, I am not hanging out with Scott, I’m sor-” 

“What?” Jean’s face dropped, her eyes resembling that of a kicked puppy, “Why would you not want to hang out with-” 

“And, that.” You pointed directly at her, other hand on hip, “Is exactly why, you’re going on a date Jean-”

“So?-” 

“So?” You mimicked, “I don’t want to be the one that deals with Scott tonight, I have plans-” 

“Plans? What- spying on Erik?” 

Your mouth snapped shut, opting only to glare at Jean; as she cackled to herself. Traitor.  

“Y/N.” Jean’s tone was deadpan, posture straightened, almost stern, “Believe me, patrols are entirely uneventful; I mean, really, you aren’t missing out- but, I know you want to take part so-” 

“Fine.” You relented, allowing Jean a small, genuine smile, “I’ll cover your shift.” 

Later, traipsing through the sloping mud and overgrown grass at the edge of the grounds as rain fell in think sheets, you couldn’t help but curse Jean in that moment- curse her for deciding to go on that date and neglect her obvious feelings for Scott, curse her for being a good friend and prioritising your own troubles in the meantime, curse her for asking you to take over her patrol shift. You were all for a bit of friendly, healthy jealousy- but, oh, this was unbearable. Any joy you had initially had at being able to, finally, take over a shift was long gone. 

“Why would she do it, Y/N?” Scott practically whined behind you, stumbling along behind you; you could feel blisters beginning to form upon your heels, “Why would she go on a date? I mean, I’m right here. Do you know how many times I’ve tried to ask her out?” 

“Keyword, ‘tried’.” You huffed, spinning to watch him as he traipsed towards you pathetically; hair sopping in the rain and lips pouting like an emotionally unregulated toddler, “Scott, if you had asked her out; I would know about it, and I don’t, so you obviously haven’t tried hard enough.” 

To your chagrin, his pout only deepend; his cheeks going rosy with embarrassment, like a forlorn puppy- it made you feel slightly guilty, but only slightly. You ignored the slew of stuttered, random words that followed, opting to turn around and, physically, get to the portion of the shift that would take place beneath the canopy of trees across the field. 

Whilst you were at it, you decided to curse Erik too; curse him for forcing you to exercise such desperate measures and take whatever shift became available to you. If it had been up to you, the two of you would have shared a sunny evening shift- filled with banter, good conversation and maybe even some light flirting, if you felt brave enough. But instead, he had decided to end your friendship and had shared a shift with Raven the previous night, according to the schedule pinned up upon the notice board; to which you could only assume was a great time, seeing as though the two had entered the communal lounge smiling and laughing after it. The page of the book you had been pretending to read had almost ripped in your seething as he had paid you no mind, instead opting to continue his conversation with Raven on the couch across from your own. 

Your night had, effectively, been ruined from that point onwards; as you had been able to do nothing but listen to your so-called ‘crush’ recount memories of his long friendship with another woman. If you had not known better, if you had not known of the hatred he harboured towards you; you would’ve thought he was trying to make you jealous. You definitely did not fall for that metaphorical bait, absolutely not. 

“Did you see that?” Scott’s, grating, voice broke you from your reverie; he seemed to be on high alert- his stance frozen, like a guard dog on alert. 

You turned to him, confused, “No-” 

“Shhhh!” He hissed, moving you both to a crouch below the grass-line; he seemed to be staring at something just past the tree line, his hand poised at the ready. 

‘Scott, what the f- '' You were instantly silenced by a loud, jarring clatter; a shout following it. You squinted your eyes, attempting to spot whatever had made the noise through the dark of the night. Before you could register what was happening; Scott shot upwards, taking off towards the trees, you could only scramble after him, parting the thick reeds with your powers as you followed. Scott reached the trees before you did; instantly throwing himself head first into the darkness. You could only follow, stumbling blindly as you stretched your powers forward; making any attempt to identify what exactly was unravelling before you. 

“Scott, Scott!” You hissed, the thick bushes procuring your sight as you peered into the darkness of the canopy; nearby leaves rustled alongside the clattering beat of your heart, your powers at the ready. “Scott, answer me.” Whispering as loudly as you could, you begged him to answer, to show some indication as to what the hell was going on. 

Before you could call for him again, a beam of light flashed before you, sending you tumbling backwards from your crouched position, your pants instantly becoming drenched in mud. Scott appeared then, panting; his goggles askew, barely concealing his eyes- you gasped at the sight of him, leading him to spin around; his head flitting side to side as he desperately searched for you. 

“Y/N? Y/N, was that you?” It was his turn to hiss now, the sound quickling turning into a squeak as you wrapped a branch from the bush around his ankle and yanked; usually, you would’ve laughed, cackled even, at the sound he had made whilst falling, but instead you had dragged him backward and placed a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing any further sound. As soon as he was tucked into the overgrowth, an entourage of armed men emerged from the dark; armed to the teeth, guns drawn. As they appeared, you felt Scott’s breath quicken against your palm, your own heartbeat hopping in tandem. 

“Was that Cyclops?” One of the men called to the others; flashing his light into the trees, not far from the bush you crouched in, “Do any of the others use laser beams?” 

“Can’t be sure…” Another man replied; cocking his weapon. The entire entourage were on alert, their torches flashing dangerously close; you didn’t allow the fear to swallow you, the adrenaline and the buzz of your powers rendering you silent, aware. 

Slowly, carefully, you slid your hand away from Scott’s mouth; pressing a finger against your own in demand. He nodded, lips trembling as he kept his hand held aloft; ready to shoot if necessary. Shaking your head, you turned towards him, hoping to convey the necessary declaration within your gaze. When you spoke, your voice was barely there; lower than a whisper, each word spoken slowly, “You need to go.” 

You widened your eyes incessantly when Scott opened his mouth in protest, shaking your head firmly- eventually, he broke past your protests, managing to hiss out a word, “What?” 

“Scott,” You gripped his arm; clasp firm and angry, “You need to leave, now-”

“-I’m not leaving you here.”

“Scott, please,” You were begging now, eyes filling with tears as you sniffled at him, “I’ll be fine.” 

“Look at their weapons, Y/N-” 

“Scott, listen to me. We both know that if they manage to get those goggles off, you are a liability to everyone, to me.” You watched his face fall, his mouth falling ajar slightly in despair; his head shaking adamantly all the while, “I need you to go and get help-”

“Y/N, please, I can’t-” 

“You can.” You nodded, gathering him by the lapels of his shirt; jostling him slightly, “You can, Scott, please.” 

He nodded then, understanding. He was visibly stricken, breath laboured, traumatised by the thought of leaving you there. He spared you one last look, one last squeeze of the hand, before he took off; crashing through the bushes and onto the fields- sending any stray laser that he could towards the men. 

“Shit-” They yelled, aiming towards him and beginning to make chase, though before they could, you shot your hand forwards- the branch of a tree effectively impaling three of the men at once; connecting them all by the same gaping hole as they instantly hung limp. The remaining men froze, guns held half-aloft in shock as they stared up at their comrades hanging above. Rising from the bushes, you cocked your fingers; summoning roots from underground and wrapping them around the ankles of the men, dragging them through the mud and back into their place of origin; silencing the velocity of the men’s screams as they suffocated. The rain was blinding, falling in thick slashes, your hair clung to your neck as you manipulated any semblance of nature you could grasp; the roots, vines, leaves, branches- all elements moved in tandem, fighting back against the weapons of the men. You walked into the clearing, untouchable, unobtainable; your powers bursting at the seams as you discovered the potential you had withheld from yourself. 

As a lone soldier sprinted towards you, baton held high above his head; you spun your wrist, leading a nearby tree to reach forward, plucking him from the ground and flinging him into the air. You could almost have laughed, your powers unvanquished even by the sheets of unforgiving rain. In that moment, you felt yourself channeling Erik, the way his face hardened in the pursuit of revenge; the harshness of his stance and the cool of his metal. For the first time, you didn’t see yourself as weak compared to him, as not good enough- you felt like him. Like him in the essence that you could manipulate whatever you wanted, as long as it tuned to the rhythm of your powers. 

Though, your reign was short lived as a flash of light beamed upon you; you squinted, hand held aloft before your eyes as you looked up at the helicopter above you; it allowed only a second of thought before a heavy force knocked you to the ground, the abject press of an electrified baton burning into your side; leaving you convulsing and screaming beneath its hold, face down within the trenches of mud. A hand instantly clasped the ends of your legs, sharpened nails digging into the bare skin of your ankles, and begun to drag; your face and hands and hair sliding in the choking thick of the mud- you knew in that moment that something was going to happen, that you were going to die, even. The thought shot through your rambling brain as you heaved at the mud filling your mouth and eyes, desperately trying to blink it away. With every ounce of your being, you attempted to utilise your powers as you had been only moments earlier, stretched your convulsing fingers forward, nail beds thick with mud; but it was to no avail, the electricity having dulled the receptors within that allowed your powers to course through your bloodstream. 

To your abject relief, your perpetrator dropped your ankles, leaving you moaning and gasping in relief, a smile almost gracing your face as the pain almost stopped. You laid there, face down in the mud, unable to do anything but comply as rough hands fastened a collar around your neck; any semblance of hold you had on your powers vanished- for a long moment, you felt human, normal- no longer were you attuned to the grass bristling upon your legs and the tree branches dancing above you. They simply became fixtures of nature, living bodies unrelated to your own; the tether snapped. 

“We need to get out of here.” A voice rushed above you, the sound of a gun clicking in the deafening drum of the rain, “Leave the other one, this one’s a real freak- I mean, look at this place, look at how many we just lost-” 

The voices around you blurred as raindrops soaked the side of your face; your sopping hair strewn across the base of your neck and chin- your body could only attune to a constant shiver, your teeth chattering against the mud and the blue of your lips. You could only watch through bleary eyes as the helicopter landed beside you; men instantly jumped from it, armed to the teeth, and running to where you laid prone upon the ground. You knew that you were losing consciousness; your human body no longer strong enough to fight your injuries. 

As your eyes fluttered, your body and mind sinking into the mud; you could only watch in confusion as the helicopter’s rotors began to spin, the base of the vehicle lifting clumsily and sending soldiers scattering. It was apparent that had been the warning signal; as the clearing instantly exploded into chaos above you- gunfire and mutant force alike thrashing upon the night’s quiet. The ground below you reverberated as something fell beside you; as it did so- the pressure of the collar upon your neck eased, the device being torn from your neck as a hand shook your shoulder, turning you on your back. Warmth overtook the shiver that had embedded itself within you as a hand landed upon your cheek, calloused touch brushing the sodden hair from your face and caressing the skin that remained in its place. You knew that someone was talking, encasing your body in their hold as the chaos surrounding you continued. Allowing your head to roll to the side, you watched bleary eyed as Scott mowed down the soldiers with his lasers; his finger not straying from the button upon his goggles. A voice sounded above you, causing Scott to spin and immediately sprint towards you, he took over the hold upon you then; lifting you effectively into his arms and breaking into an immediate sprint. The jostle of his movement was the last straw; the final source of pain your body could handle. As you slipped away; slipped from consciousness, from the forest- you watched as a figure stepped further into the clearing, brandishing nothing but a long dark coat and a raised hand. The last thing you saw was the raising of hell; every last man brought to their knees as the force of the dark figure beckoned upon them.

AFTER

Thistles sung as you awoke; their tune long and drawling, carrying upon the wind that fluttered into the room. Trees just beyond the windowsill waved and chattered, their leaves basking within the midday sun. 

You awoke to their calls with a start- an intake of breath so sharp that your chest caught, a sharp strike of pain ricocheting through your belly. Cringing at the light that shone through the crack created by the stretch of curtain that didn’t quite meet the hook upon the wall, you formed your eyes into slits, peering at the room you had awoken in. It was the infirmary within the house- small, cozy but adequately equipped for the petty injuries that students with mutant abilities tend to acquire. You had accompanied a number of students to the infirmary yourself, the gardens with their thorns and brambles tended to be somewhat of a hazard to inquisitive students. 

The room was empty save for yourself; the resident healer was nowhere to be found. Even Hank, who tended to occupy the room with his technology and experiments, was absent. Adjusting the duvet upon you, you used the opportunity to unscramble your mind, to attempt to recall the events that had led you there. 

Rain, mud, light, gunfire, a dark effervescent figure. 

Sounds about right. 

Shaking your head, you moved to sit up; wincing as your body ached and creaked, your back in particular procuring a sharp burn that shot up your spine. Twisting slowly, you lifted the gown you were wearing and picked at your bandages, only to gasp. A grizzly red mark sat at the cusp of your back, tendrils of bruising and burns spanned from the focal point; the wound spread like spiderwebs, eventually meeting in identical patterns spanning over your back and hip. You could feel the pain, the burn of the baton as if it were still happening, the base still prodding upon your back as electricity coursed through your veins- muting your ability to think, see, to feel the very base of your mutant gene. 

In that moment, you struggled with that thought; turned it over and over within the palms of your hands, the reality of how easily, how simply, your mutant gene could be dulled, could be practically removed, rendering you silent, unable to think of anything but that. Before the school, before your new life, you would have jumped at the chance; burned your body until the gene that had ended your life, sent everyone you had ever loved fleeing, was gone. 

But now? 

Now, your mutant gene had given you everything; the lessons you had learned, the friendships you had made, your place within the very house you healed upon. The thought didn’t pleasure you now, it terrified you. 

Would the X-Men, the students, your friends, your family, still accept you even without the gene? If you had emerged from the attack powerless, unable to exercise your main purpose? You wondered if that was why Erik had turned such a sour note towards you, had he realised that your existence within the X-Men was fruitless? You shook the thought from your head, willing yourself to remember the way you had held those men aloft; each incapacitated by the branch that tore through their chests and left them practically dangling from your hold. 

If only Erik had been there to see that. 

Thoughts of Erik lead you directly to that cloaked figure in the clearing, the person who had saved you (alongside Scott, of course). Had it been him? Your mind whispered insidiously, the dark depths of your mind that harboured your feelings for Erik secreting poison into the, well, rational parts of your brain. 

Stop, you chastised your own mind, mentally batting away the insidious thoughts. Erik hadn’t paid any form of positive attention towards you in months, he wouldn’t drop that facade in a heartbeat just to come to your aid, surely? 

But then, no one else in the house had that form of presence. Nobody could step forward and brandish a hand, fortifying the fates of countless men, all armed to the teeth, other than Erik. His presence was always breathtaking; with his lithe, long legs and perfectly coiffed hair. Though that wasn’t the Erik you had fallen in love with, that Erik had shaggy hair and rumpled plaid shirts, pushed up to the elbow. That Erik, your Erik, kissed the girl in the garden; intertwined her petals into his own arms, clutching them between his fingers ever so gently- allowing her into the fortress made of metal. He was your own to keep, to cherish, because he lived in the safety of your own mind, locked away behind thorns and brambles never to be touched again. 

Sighing, you allowed the sadness to fill your gut for a moment, allowing yourself to bask in it; alone in that room, in an unfamiliar bed and unfamiliar clothes. 

That is how Jean found you. 

You had scrambled at the click of the lock, sitting up straight in bed and staring wide-eyed, slightly terrified at the door. A series of events had transpired then. Jean had entered, a mug of coffee balanced on one hand and a book stored beneath the same arm, and had made direct eye-contact with you, very much awake for the first time. She gasped, freezing in place for a moment before remembering the cup balanced on her hand- which was by then falling to the ground. Luckily, her telekinesis caught it just in time, leaving you staring, wide-eyed at one another as the cup and its contents hung precariously in the air. 

Jean was the first to break the silence, essentially crushing it by immediately bursting into tears, the cup finally smashing against the ground along with its contents and the book as she raced towards your bedside. “Y/N! Oh my g- I am so sorry-” 

Confused, you shook your head, moving to face her; your voice croaked brokenly before you eventually managed to speak, “Sorry? Jean you have nothing to be-” 

“No!” She interrupted you, eyes shining and tears coating her cheeks; her lips trembling all the while, “If I hadn’t have gone on that date-” 

Instantly, you shook your head, silencing her by grasping her by the hand, shaking it until she looked back at you, “This isn’t your fault, if anything, it’s Erik’s for stopping me from going on patrols in the first place.” 

Jean’s eyebrows lowered instantly, her eyes crinkling as she looked at you, confused, “Well-” 

“What is going on in here?-” Scott burst into the room then, having been summoned by the crash of the cup; he seemed ready for battle, though his fight-or-flight immediately withered upon seeing you, a grin instantly gracing his features, “You’re awake!”

“Hey Scott,” You smiled tiredly, lifting the hand that wasn’t clutching Jean’s in greeting.

“How are you feeling?” He smiled kindly, moving to pull a chair beside Jean- interestingly enough. 

Nodding, you sighed; feeling the pain within your once petrified muscles and the chill that seemed to sit within your bones. “I’m- I’m okay.” 

Both Jean and Scott looked upon you remorsefully, their eyes forlorn and mouths twisting with emotion. Scott was the first to speak, breaking eye contact and staring down at his hands, “Y/N, we-” He chewed on his lips, flexing his fingers, “We thought you were dead, I- when we got to you, you were just laying there, face down and unmoving.” 

The breath that left your nose was gusty; heavy in its weight and volume, you found yourself tearing up at his words, “Thank you for listening to me.” 

His breath resembled that of a meagre chuckle, his head shaking all the while, “That’s alright.” 

“And thank you for saving me-” 

Scott looked up immediately, his forehead creased beneath his goggles; he shared a silent look with Jean, she too opted not to speak. “Y/N-” Scott began, his posture going straight, awkward, ‘I can’t take credit for that.” 

“Sure you can. It’s the last thing I remember, you carried me-” 

“No-” Scott spoke stubbornly, refusing to take any credit, “I wasn’t the only one to help.” 

“Oh,” You spoke, shocked, despite the memory of the hand upon your face feeling all too familiar. 

“Erik was the first to reach you Y/N.” Jean spoke, her voice low, almost apologetic. 

Oh. 

You remembered then, not just the hand that had lingered upon your skin, perforated your everlasting pain with warmth and, just maybe, something akin to love. Your mind healed, and what had seemed to be poison; welling at the once-dormant temperaments of your mind, receded- the waves crashing and swelling before dissolving into a calm flow. 

Erik had saved you. 

But why? 

Had he been so furious at your inability to comply with his orders that he had taken his anger out on those soldiers before (conveniently) saving you? A job well done, a well-due pat on the back from the rest of the team for making the right call, before he inevitably celebrated his victories by screaming the walls down in your favour. 

Great, you shuddered, practically awaiting his presence; red and pulsing with fury as you had laid there, vulnerable and pained. 

All in your own stupidity. 

Jean and Scott seemed to sense your discomfort, sharing a look before both turning towards you; practically disagreeing with what they knew your internal thoughts entailed. 

Scott spoke first, his tone impeding and determined, “Y/N-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously, “I’m sorry but- you didn’t see him. He was furious.” 

Chuckling, you moved to sit up, shaking your head, “Nothing new there-” 

“No, Y/N.” Jean interrupted you, her own tone identical to Scott’s severity, though her voice lowered to a whisper, “Not at you.” 

You shook your head confused, Scott spoke; cementing the gaps that Jean had created, “He almost tore the place apart whilst you were under, when he found out that you had taken Jean’s shift,” He shook his head, breathing heavily, only calming when Jean intertwined her fingers with his own, “We thought he was going to tear the house down-” 

“What?” You gasped, shaking your head, throat clogging, “Why- he doesn’t-” You paused, collecting your thoughts; the truth gaping in its clarity, “Erik hates me, he wouldn’t-” 

“I think you need to talk to him Y/N,” Jean’s tone was firm, almost angered, “I know what he did to you but- something isn’t right. A man doesn’t act like that when someone he hates almost dies.” 

Jean and Scott didn’t stay much longer than that; the confusion and the clarity of almost dying rendering you exhausted. Jean left with a kiss to your forehead, a promise to return, a command to heed her advice. 

Despite being allowed short walks throughout the house, you didn’t leave the room until your discharge a week later; with only your thoughts, and the occasional visitor to accompany you, you utilised them a lot that week. That long, drawn-out week. The days limped by, minutes feeling like hours; yet still, your mind allowed no time for outside entertainment. On the second day, Jean bought you a collection of your own clothes, smiling sadly as she saw you slumped against the headboard, eyes misty as you watched the trees beyond the window. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to your own room?” She had whispered, stroking the hair away from your eyes, ‘I made sure your favourite sheets are on the bed..” 

Shaking your head, you turned your eyes to her, mustering your best reassuring smile, “No, I’m okay here.” 

He’ll be able to find me there, you had thought to yourself, watching Jean’s back as she left; eyes latching upon the door even after it had been pulled to a close. 

Eventually, the week came to a close and you were fully healed; physically cleared to embark on X-Men missions whenever you wished. As you walked to your own room, a bag of dirty clothes tucked securely beneath your arm, you found yourself eyeing every corner, waiting for Erik to turn it; practically creeping through the house, the necessity of not making a sound hanging over the creaks of your movements upon the floorboards.

Part of you, that insidious part of your brain that sung at the worst of times and had apparently grown and swelled in your solitude, hoped that Erik would turn one of those corners; crash right into you and be forced to speak to you- finally, after all these months. 

It took you two weeks to muster up the courage to go back to your garden, Jean sneakily having slipped the state, or lack of, of the plants within your garden; no student able to match your own power. With a huff, and many puffs, you pulled on your dirtiest clothes and trekked down to the garden. The scent of jasmine wafted upon you like a fresh breath of air as you pulled off your shoes, hand clutched against the gate of the garden for balance. After a number of pairs had been lost to the swell of the bushes with many an evening spent searching for them, Erik had eventually rolled his eyes and forged a small metal shelf; just big enough to safely slide your shoes into them. You had kept it there, beside the gate, even after his rejection, its convenience too precious to your time in the garden. 

However, when you went to slide your shoes into place; another pair of shoes already sat there. 

“I see you kept my creation.” A voice behind you spoke; your breath immediately sped, heart thundering in your ears. Slowly, carefully, terror filling your veins and pulsing at your fingertips: you turned, immediately coming face to face with Erik. Erik, with his broad-shoulders and messy hair; lips turning upwards discreetly beneath his crooked nose; his gorgeous, beautiful crooked nose. As the usual residual shock mellowed, the love you felt for him receding slightly; the anger took over; teeth gritting and fist curling anger. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt your time-”

“What do you want Erik?” You spat, lip curling in anger; your own torrid emotions instantly combatting his calm front as he tensed immediately; his eyebrows lowering in confusion, his hackles raising slightly. 

“Well-”

“What are you doing here?” Voice lower than a whisper, your words were almost a replica of your previous demand, almost. The tremble of your voice manufactured a shell of your anger, cracking and splintering at the seams. You found yourself trembling; staring straight at him, fear, dread, something awful prevalent in your eyes. 

Erik’s eyes widened, his lips pursing; he looked as if he was on the verge of retreating, waving the white flag, calling the truce. You knew that wasn’t him though; if Erik was going to do one thing, it would not be backing down from a fight. You watched as he visibly rebuilt his walls, composing himself before speaking, “I wanted to see how your recovery is going,” He paused, visibly attempting and failing to string his words together, “So that you can get back out onto the field.” 

Truly, you could have laughed; a hacking cough right in his face, right at his words. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The anger burning the back of your throat and fizzing in the air, lingering upon the garden’s roots, stopped any semblance of amusement, procuring only venom; only white-hot anger. Shaking your head, malice filling your tastebuds, you spat in his face, the sound of it echoing against the walls of the garden, “Back in the field?” Your amusement returned immediately, but it was manic; frenzied, “Your refusement to put me on patrols; your adamance that I be benched? That is what put me in this position.” 

You only felt slightly guilty as he slowly reached upwards, wiping the saliva that had landed directly upon his chin. “Y/N, you know I didn’t mean-” He seemed desperate, voice almost pathetic, his hands clenching at his sides; seemingly stopping himself from reaching for something. 

“We were supposed to be equals, Erik.” You interrupted, voice calm; frighteningly collected. 

“We were!” He objected, his own voice now seeming frenzied. You could only shake your head, unable to face him, unable to face his willingness to lie. 

“Then why? Why did you treat me that way? Why the sudden change?” Demanding, you fired off the questions in a spitfire manner, allowing him no true chance to procure an appropriate answer. 

“I had good reason-” 

“Good reason, my ass. This is the first time you’re not yelling at me in-” 

“Will you let me speak?” Erik’s words shocked you to the core; his voice abrupt and loud, nostrils flared and chest heaving. You could only muster a nod, silenced in the face of his outburst. He too nodded then, scratching at the stubble upon his jaw nervously; his demeanour changed entirely, almost shrinking within himself. “Do you know how worried I was about you?” The question shocked you; you expected anger, fury- but his eyes remained soberingly soft, gaze sad. He continued in the wake of your silence, “I knew something was wrong before Scott even reached the house; but when Charles told me that he couldn’t hear your thoughts anymore and then-” He swallowed thickly, his gaze straying from yours to the ground, he cleared his throat before continuing, “Then I saw you face down in the grass and-” 

“I’m sorry,” You whimpered, sniffling into the palms of your hands as they moved to cover your eyes, “I’m sorry I’m so useless-” 

“No.” Erik’s tone was demanding, his grip severe as he moved to lower your hands from your eyes; his face was stricken, lips downturned and jaw trembling as he looked down at you. His hands moved upwards then, cupping the skin of your cheeks,  “You were, are, incredible; you were a fighter out there Y/N, so so strong; and-” 

Moving from his grip, you shrunk into yourself, finding any semblance of comfort, respite from your own conflicted mind, within the embrace of your own arms, “Then why- why did you treat me that way?” Harried, hagged breaths heaved from your chest as you stared at him, confusion and shock and disgust prevalent within your demeanour, “You were awful to me, ever since-” 

“No, Y/N, please-” 

Stepping forward, coaxing the shock he made available to you forward; you went straight for the kill, voice lower than a whisper but sharper than a knife, “Why did you leave me here?” His inhale was sharp, lips quivering and wet; eyes sheening with tears. He incessantly attempted to hide his sadness, his fear; but you could see it clear as day. Stepping directly into his orbit, you rubbed your nose against his jaw, lips brushing against the base of his neck, “What are you so afraid of, Erik?” You repressed your shock masterfully when you felt his hands encase your waist, his head lowering to the crook of your neck; you waited, waited for him to lay his lips there, waited for him to devour you whole. Though he only cried, quiet shudders as the skin of your neck grew clammy from his tears and the moisture of his breaths. Instincts succumbed to hunger, rendering you silent as you simply stood there and practically drank the affection; the linen of his shirt brushing against your chest, your mouth against his hair, the smell of his musk and the oaky shampoo he had always used. You were being greedy, overindulging on the touch he was offering you in his lowest moments- you never wanted him to let go, wanted him to raise his head and- 

He did exactly that. 

You could only gasp against his mouth as he pressed his lips to yours, his hands moved to cup the sides of your neck as he practically devoured you. With greed and hunger and lust still residually pumping through your veins, you could only thread your fingers through his hair; desperate to reclaim what you had lost all those months ago. He seemed to not know exactly what to do with his hands, too indecisive to choose a specific spot; you gasped and moaned as his fingertips skirted your sides and front and back, his tongue entering your mouth at the opportunity you allowed him. Any semblance of apologies or hatred had vacated your mind by the time his hands reached the bottom of your thighs, only able to gasp as he effectively lifted you against a nearby wall; the cold of the concrete against your back was nothing compared to the warmth in your mouth and chest and unsurprisingly, your groin. Just as you had mustered the confidence to reach down, to pull at the ends of his shirt; he pulled away, lips red and shining, eyes hooded. 

The only word he seemed to manage to gasp was your name, the syllables spoken wetly into the space between your lips; you stared into his eyes, not blinking, not breathing. Erik seemed to be at war with himself, his eyes flitting conflictingly from your lips back to your eyes. Allowing him the time, you simply stared back, blinking owlishly as you awaited the confession that seemed to be brewing. Finally, he came to a conclusion; his eyes clearing, gaze taking a sense of clarity you had not yet seen in him before. Shaking his head, he chewed at his lip, moving his hand to cup the back of your head; allowing it to tilt back slightly, you were prone beneath his gaze.

“I was just trying to protect you.” His lips curled as he spoke, blue eyes brimming with tears. 

You moved forward at his words, pressing a kiss to the crinkle of emotion at the side of his mouth, “What from?” Your voice was quieter than a whisper, more of a movement of lips rather than a true form of speech. 

Once again, Erik shook his head; tears now spilling from his cheeks, “I’m sorry.” 

“What from, Erik?” 

“Myself.” 

He whispered the words immediately, his eyes closing in turn; his head bowing into your awaiting palm, the course points of his stubble creasing against your fingertips. 

Shaking your head, you watched him, “You were so mean.” 

Swallowing visibly, Erik met your gaze; his eyes doughy beneath a stray hair breaching his forehead. He, almost, grinned; teeth flashing and lips curling, “I don’t know how to be nice.” 

“You were nice to me.” Nodding, you moved your thumb to trace his lips; dragging along the sharp points of his teeth, breaching the jaws of the wolf. 

“I destroy everything I touch Y/N-” 

“Well, I can revive things,” Smiling, you removed your thumb from his lips, placing your own there instead for a chaise kiss. Pulling away, you repeated your words, “I can revive it, Erik.”

Grinning, truly now, Erik lowered his stance before rolling his forhead against yours, brushing your noses together in a dance only known to yourselves, “Let me help you,” He smiled, voice mellow in its tone, “Let me help you fix us.”

[hoe4kai]

no context needed 👍

[cuntiel]

Free my man he did all his crimes 🙏🙏

[purehypnotic]

˚₊୨୧₊˚𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈˚₊୨୧₊˚

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑳𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆🤎

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤, 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡-𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡. 𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥, 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞, 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲.

"𝐦𝐦𝐡𝐡," 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

"𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐞𝐝, 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧, 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤.

"𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐛," 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤, 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞. "𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞" 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, "𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐤," 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐮𝐩𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲. 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

"𝐦𝐡𝐦𝐦" 𝐇𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦.

"𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞?" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

"𝐘/𝐧" 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

"𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ��𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰.

"𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬" 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

"𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞," 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐈𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞.

𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔

𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑺𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒆🎀

[cherry-pop-elf]

TO THE KRAVEN SIMPS EXCITED FOR HIS MOVIE!

And people who just need a Kraven The Hunter run down/Information lore

As a certified Kraven know it all from his comics I am here to help give yall some advice/run down/and how to start your journey into his comics and lore! Well, at least the MAIN Kraven. Damn those comics and their multiverse!

Don’t be shy in asking me questions either, of course until DEC: 13th check my #Belladonna Rambles or #Life Update to see what I mean

Alright let’s start now!

Kravens Last Hunt

YOU MUST READ THIS BOOK

This shit here? PEAK! It as PEAK AS PEAK GETS! You really get to study and analyze what makes Kraven tick, how his family impacted him, and just the over all headspace the master hunter is. Treat this as much of an origin story as anything else. Warning though it gets dark and ENDS Dark. It is BEYOND important you read this. You HAVE to read this. It’s a defining comic story that causes a chain reaction for everything after. If you only read one comic book ever? MAKE IT THIS! If you only read one Kraven comic MAKE IT THIS! I can say how important this comic is. YOU NEED TO READ THIS COMIC

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl

A great comic series in general, but here we get to also see a story line of Kraven following into a Vigilante hood instead of staying a Villian. There’s a court arce and everything. It’s a far more light hearted story line, with amazing fun that is really enjoyable. It’s also SUPER GOOD for people NEW to comics as a whole! Very light hearted, silly, and impactful. It’ll also help get you familiar with a lot of marvel characters without it being suffocating! You also get some good insight on Kraven from a far more modern and gentler angle. Squirrel Girl is PEAK. You’ll love this I promise

The Amazing Spider-Man # 15

This is his debute, so obviously gotta read that. It surprisingly shows how there’s alot of details that haven’t changed. Such as he still has his half brother. It’s always so cool to see where they started and how they developed now

GET KRAVEN

This is actually a story about one of his KIDS. Alyosha! It’s a really interesting comic as it’s about one of his sons, and said son is a movie producer no less. It’s quite the adventure. It also leads to a good transition to the next topic-!

The Family

Ight so, given how comics are time lines can get messy. Like “Oh this Kraven is THIS kid actually and that Kraven is another time line so-“ Since Kraven is a TITLE more so then a NAME. So lots of stories about ‘Kraven’ are sometimes about his kids in general. Comics can be confusing I know, so imma help you guys with knowing bullet point facts to help keep you grounded. I got you

Sasha

The wife of Kraven. Mother to their (four MAIN) children. Aleksandra She doesn’t really become prevalent until after The Last Hunt. Can’t spoil it but she kinda goes bat shit insane and became a horror beyond measures after the incident. Oh she can be a roller coaster.

Grim

Vladimir is the eldest, and followed his father’s foot steps the closes. Even had a run in with Spider man. Unfortunately he became a victim of his mother’s insanity, and was mercy killed by his father. His father knew this was worse than hell, and wanted to do what an every good father does. Take care of his baby

Alyosha

Second son, and honestly the most wasted. His arc as a Hollywood star is super short and soon he’s just “another Kraven” which is lame. Him being a successful movie producer/actor what have you is honestly rather important, given his uncle is a failed actor. Lots of wasted potential, so I’m shining light on him. He deserves it

Nedrocci

Another victim of “another Kraven” and his role is so small that there isn’t even much detail to begin with. Hence the lack of image. His only real arc is trying to kill his older brother Alyosha and failing. Then his uncle, the chameleon, ended up killing him. Shame. Just another Kraven and meat to grind

Ana

Anastasia, named after his mother, is the baby and daddy’s girl. Also she seems to be the only person writers remember whenever doing some kind of family story for the Kravinoff’s. Writers forget her siblings and keep making throw away characters to be her brothers. Anyway! Like her siblings her major story line doesn’t really started after The Last Hunt. Like I said, that book is KEY to Kraven. She’s very capable and independent and followed her fathers foot steps all the same

Dimitri

Dimitri Smerdyakov is Sergei’s half brother. Like many villains the origin story often gets changed for the time lines but over all his important arc is he’s always trying to impress Sergei. To prove his worth to the Kravinoff name. Even had a moment where he nearly killed iron man, to show he’s the deadlier brother. As you can tell the family is very messy

Calypso

Yeah she’s your stereotypical Voodoo Priestess. Even sacrificed her younger sister for more power. Yeah this didn’t quite age well. She is rather important because she is a love interest or his, but was extremely toxic and abusive. Men can be abused to. She is also someone who was a major factor in the climax of The Last Hunt. She took joy in what happened even. Yeah she’s…..She is an abusive woman that really damaged Kraven. A important note that men can be abused to, and that despite being so big and strong he can very well be a victim to.

Key Facts/Points

His super human abilities come from potions he’s made from herbs. So yall complaining about how he got his super powers in the movie gotta remember comics didn’t have much flavor either. Literally magic potions and voodoo magic. Like come on

His mother died due to mental illness. Aka Took Her Own Life. It’s always kept vague, but it’s made more clear what it was through The Last Hunt and what happened to Kraven

He becomes an Anti-Hero/Vigilante through Squirrel Girl. He goes by the name “Kraven The Hunter of Hunters” like that shit goes hard don’t lie

He’s a Russian immigrant that escaped Russia around the February Revolution. (It varies often but it’s always escaping Russia in a downfall) Aka before the fall of Russia into communism. So he’s OLD old, and has quite the love hate for his roots

He has mental illnesses. Not like just in general. Like it’s not stated but it’s very much implied he’s suffering from extreme depression that lead to suicidal ideations

He is a big game hunter and is highly respectful of nature and its order. He respects nature and it respects him. He believes in a proper fight with animals, and understands they’re important. By proxy that def means he believes in trans rights and LGBTQ+ concepts so slay Ally! Stay mad dude bros ((fun fact. Lionesses have been shown to grow their own manes and take leadership of prides. Lions can literally say “I’m trans now” and do it. So go my children. Give us trans Kraven headcanons!))

He’s one of Spider-Man’s main villains. He’s been in nearly every cartoon there has been, and was a founding member of The Sinister Six. Safe to assume Chameleon replaced him when he took his anti-hero arc

Yes. It was stated he was based on “The Most Dangerous Game” Hence the Russian and x y z. You aren’t crazy for seeing those connections

The Kravinoff name is from a Noble class blood line. Very rich, aristocrats, rich people life. Until Russia’s downfall arc, so Kraven has money. Depending on the plot device of course

He has arachnophobia, which leads to another motivation to kill spider man. Not only is he the ultimate prey, but it’ll also be him concurring his fears

I hope this all helps. Remember, this is just a base line. There are so many versions of him. His videogame counterpart part, Spider Man 2, is very different and has his own arc and story line. Much like how so many comics have different time lines and universes.

But that’s what makes it beautiful and fun. It’s endless frankly Kraven can be whatever YOU want, because in a way it is canon. It’s just simply not spoken, but still true

If you have any questions for like specific Kravens or just advice on how Kraven would act or such don’t be shy and ask. I plan to do a headcanon list soon and get more information out there to help people new to him understand him

Hope this helps! Thank you for reading! Means a-lot you took the time to! Thank you, and have a happy comic book reading!

[newwavesylviaplath]

i'm holding space for x1 logan today

[comfxrtablykai]

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒Fandoms/characters who I write for

percy jackson

brooklyn nine-nine

bridgerton

mcu

x-men

gossip girl

friends

twisted series

sabrina carpenter

squid game

[girlkisser13]

jean grey masterlist

* indicates smut

headcanons

being married to jean grey would include

nsfw headcanons *

imagines

good luck, babe!

drabbles