#‘’he could monitor them so that it would be safer’’

[luc1-anna]

Refusing to drive home in such dark conditions, it was around 1am on a Monday, having just come back from a visit to your friend's, wanting to get home since you had something early in the morning and the roads would be packed if you left later. Parked up at the side of the road, it would probably would've been safer to stay at your friend's rather than stop halfway and wait till the sun rose.

Car lights off to conserve energy as the light outside illuminated the build of your vehicle. Though it wouldn't be obvious that someone was there if they didn't look hard enough, with bushes covering your surroundings. The sound of gravel alerting your senses, only to see the reflective colours of a police car, stopping right beside yours as one of them stepped dout, leaving the other in the car. Flashlight glowing towards your car, pointing in your face. "How you doing today ma'am?" Leaning on the open window of yours, you couldn't deny that he was attractive, he was like a model. A few minutes passing as he asks questions, finally getting to the last one. "Can I see your id?" Motioning for you to put it in your hands. Scuffling about as you were a bit nervous, normally it would be fine to hand your id to an officer, but this one was more on the attractive side whilst the others weren't.

"Well I've got to do a quick test for alcohol and substances" noticing how flimsy you were when you tried to hand him your id, barley able to remember a reason why you were nere at practically midnight, stuttering as you spoke to him too. "Step outside the car for me?" He wasn't asking, he expected you to do it, stepping out as he dragged you towards the cop car, sitting you inside as the other man glanced back for a few seconds, engulfed in your beauty. "Breath into this for me love" surely it was unprofessional for an officer to call you 'love', right?

Despite the tests come back negative he had other ideas in mind, refusing to let you go, explaining that it was unsafe for such a pretty lady to be on the side of the road, when it was practically pitch black. "Leave her alone, you being creepy." "Shut the fuck up, I don't see you getting off your ass" arguing as you sat in the back, you were grateful for the officer who sat in the driver's seat.

Somehow that arguing developed into him taking his frustration out on you. Face rubbing against the cool temperature of the metal. Body jerking forward with each thrust, feeling a shock run up your spine as he kept slapping your ass, using your hands as handlebars for his own dirty deeds, tightening the handcuffs just to leave marks on your poor wrists. "Your pussy feels good for such a slut like you." You weren't a slut, maybe he had a degradation kink, "Taking an officer's cock on the side of the road at 1am" thrusting further inside of you, the curve on his dick made it better since he was reaching places which you couldn't, tip running along your gummy walls. Gripping onto his cock, wanting to leech off every drop of his cum.

"Taking your time with her?" The other officer called out, still sat in the car as he monitored the surroundings. "Shut up!" He called back, he was so worked up in your hole that he didn't have anything snarky to comment back. Hand slapping your ass in retaliation, making you yelp as you felt the sharp sting. Hand staying gripped on your ass as he pushed further inside, cock rubbing against your walls. Balls slapping your poor cunt, creating a noise which could only be described as pleasure. Door slamming as you heard the steps onto the gravel, Stumbling backwards as he felt an arm on his shoulder. "You take too long." Dragging you off the car, letting you hold your own weight up. "What? You want a turn or something?" Joking with him as he pushed inside once again.

Hearing the zipper unfold in front of you, you couldn't see much due to the position. "Look up" bringing your chin up so you met his boxers, already noticing the imprint of his bulge kissing the exposed part of his boxers, leaving a light mark of your lips. Stroking his hands along your head, throwing his boxers down since you couldn't do it, cock popping up as it hit your top lip, light pink mushroom tip dripping with precum, leaking all over his cock. Stuffing your poor mouth with his full length, tongue having to adapt to how large he was as it swirled along, taking in every vein and detail. Throwing his head back as your mouth warmed up his cock, he didn't even have to move since your body kept on jerking forward due to his colleague. "Your good with your tongue" complimenting how well you sucked him off. Another sharp sting running throughout your body, noticing how much attention you gave him, he was getting pissed off since he was first. "Slow down, your gonna bruise her!" Helping you out as he noticed how hard your face mashed into his pelvis, balls slapping each end of your lips. "Or atleast loosen her handcuffs" he didn't like how tight they looked on you, most likely going to leave marks when they taken off. Loosening the grip on your head, stepping back a bit so you stopped gagging on his dick. Knees wanting to buckle from how hard he thrusted inside. "Shut up, I'm close" wanting to speed him up so you could focus on the nicer one. Walls gripping onto his cock, balls slapping your wet cunt, feeling some accomplishment from how you made someone cum.

"Don't get all cocky princess, he does this to most pretty girls." Clearly this officer was a whore if that was true, fucking any girl he got his hands on. Not even trying to deny it as he paid no attention to the man. Kissing his teeth. "Don't lie." Responding to the man as he felt his balls empty, seed spilling all inside your tight hole, he didn't even care that it had the risk of getting pregnant since you felt this good, plus he wouldn't mind having a kid with such a beautiful woman. Groaning in response, cum already dripping out of you since he hadn't done this in a while, removing himself as he watched it drip out, slapping your ass for one last time.

"I'm done" drying his cum coated cock with a tissue. You wasted now time getting out of that position, crouching down Infront of the other officer, hands still tied behind your back. His essence dripping out of your hole, causing the gravel to turn a different shade of white. Mouth bobbing forward to backward as you took his full length back in, gagging at the feeling of his tip hitting your throat.

[areyouwell]

Autophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of being alone. Children or adults with this condition often suffer from severe panic attacks at the thought of being completely alone.

Ch.5.5

Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Paring: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of a depressive spiral, atypical methods of self-harm, severe mental breakdown

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: just a little follow-up chapter cuz if i put this all in one it would have been almost 20k words. let's not talk about how my mini-chapters are over 6k words i'm fluent in yappanese let me monologue

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck

The last twenty-four hours had been a complete blur. Numbly going through the motions of packing a rucksack, letting your body take you to where you needed to go whilst your mind was stuck in a loop. Eighty years. Eighty years. That’s how long you were kept from the world. That’s how long you’d been fed lies and bullshit. Eighty fucking years. And everything about your life, about who you are, what you’d been through, was in that venomous folder you couldn’t bring yourself to open. Nobody looked at you the same way. Ororo could barely stand to be in your presence, having to leave every time you entered the room. Charles kept looking at you with fucking sympathy and you wanted to knock his bald head clean off his shoulders. Scott kept apologising every time he passed you in the hallway, saying he didn’t know and would have done things differently if he had. Kurt and Hank barely knew what the fuck was going on and you hadn’t seen Jean since before the raid. 

And then there was Logan. Who kept almost tiptoeing around you, asking if you were alright every five fucking seconds, asking if you needed anything or if you wanted him to do something. Honestly, you wanted him to shut the fuck up. You wanted them all to shut the fuck up. You hadn’t processed anything. Hadn’t been allowed to process anything. After you woke up, you’d explained to those in the med-bay what Dr.Kremlin –or whatever his stupid fucking name was– had told you. Charles filled in the gaps, and you were given all of thirty seconds before you were taken upstairs to pack a bag and to meet Logan in the garage. You felt nothing as you swung your rucksack in the backseat of the beaten pickup truck, clambering into the passenger’s side and falling into dead silence. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Not to Jubilee, not to little Artie. Not even to Kitty. 

At least your trip away made more sense now. Charles wanted you out of the mansion so he could monitor those neurotransmitters from the supposed environmental research facility without you catching wind of anything. Not that you’d know anyway, but maybe he thought it was safer if you didn’t know. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right?

How ironic did that feel?

You’d been driving for around four hours in complete silence, your head resting against the slightly smudged window, eyes trained on the outside world as it blurred past, a kaleidoscope of greens, browns and greys. Feet perched on your seat, your arms tucked atop your knees as you subconsciously made yourself as small as possible. You didn’t know how long left you had of the drive, and honestly, you didn’t care. He could keep driving forever and it wouldn’t matter to you. 

“Y’alright?” Logan broke the long silence a little tentatively, his voice hushed as if not to disturb you. You found it vaguely amusing. He could shout at the top of his lungs and it wouldn’t disturb you. Not at the moment. You didn’t care. Didn’t even care to respond. It was a stupid fucking question anyway. You’d felt like this only once before. At least, only one time you could remember, if that was even real. And it was the days that followed after Jade’s death. A bus could have hit you and you wouldn’t have been able to find it in yourself to care. 

Logan sighed through his nose. Stealing a glance at your huddled form, staring unblinking out the window, he went to rest his hand on your shoulder but thought better of it as you tensed. Seeing you like this, so utterly devoid of emotion, was almost jarring. He was used to seeing your smile and hearing your laugh. Fuck, even when you lost control and tried to kill him was better than this. At least he could smell the fear on you. But he couldn’t smell anything right now. Just the oil of the engine and dust of the seats. You’d faded. Not just your personality or your mental state, but everything about you had faded. Suppressed. This was nothing like when you lost control. He had an idea of how to bring you back then. But this?

He was way out of his depth. 

“Talk to me,” he urged quietly, and he thought his pleas had fallen on deaf ears until you finally raised your head, turning to look at him blankly.

“About what?” Though your voice was completely flat, he was still glad to hear it. If he could get a response out of you, then perhaps he could bring you back after all. If he could just get you to talk to him…

“Anythin’. How you’re feelin’. What you’re thinkin’. We have a long ways to go yet.”

Your shrug wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. “So? You’ve never had a problem with silence before.” It was all he was going to get out of you before you returned to leaning against the window, your vacant eyes falling to watch the grey skies beyond. Suffocating quiet consumed the truck once again, only the hum of the wheels against the tarmac acted as a symphony for your thoughts. “Ya know what’s fucked?”

Logan almost jumped as you talked again, not expecting you to continue the conversation. Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t glad. “I don’t even know what’s real. If it was all a simulation… I don’t even know if this is real. If you’re real. Or just another sick twisted plot produced to make me believe I’m living a life that I’m not.” It was a thought that had plagued your mind since the raid. If everything in your past had been a lie, how did you know any of this wasn’t just more bullshit spun to widen the web?

Stretching out his hand, this time he didn’t hesitate to pry your own from your folded arms, clasping your knuckles in his palm. “‘M real, sweetheart. This is real. We’re real.” He held his breath, waiting for you to pull away from his touch, but you didn’t. Instead, you raised your head from the window again, offering him a small smile that didn’t even come close to reaching your eyes. He squeezed your hand and found a kernel of hope kindle in his heart as you weakly squeezed back. You’d be okay. He’d make certain of it. It didn’t matter how long it took, or what he’d have to do. He wouldn’t stop until you were okay. “Get some rest, we’ll be on the road for a while.” He pulled your hand up to his face, pressing a light kiss against the front of your wrist where the scars from your past fed into the present, before interlacing his fingers with yours. 

“Logan?” your voice was barely audible, timid in a way that had him fighting the urge to pull over, gather you in his arms and hold you until all of this blew over and you could be safe again.

“Mmm?” was all he could say instead, always ready to listen.

“You–” you paused, finding the words heavy in your throat and stuck on your tongue. You hated feeling like this. Feeling the need to be reassured. Hated coming across as insecure or needy, but just this once, you needed to know. “You’re not gonna leave, right?”

Wordlessly, Logan flattened your hand over the centre of his chest, and you felt his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “Not whilst this is still beating.” 

It was the first emotion you’d felt since waking up, and you couldn’t stop a silent tear slide down your cheek. His devotion to you incarnate, beating beneath your palm. You knew the weight of his words, and felt their meaning in your soul. He wasn’t going to leave you. Not now. Not ever. And it was one of your fears put to rest, knowing that he wasn’t one for lying. 

“Okay.” You responded quietly, your free arm shifting to hug your knees whilst he returned your other, not letting go of your hand. And you found you didn’t want him to. You were afraid earlier that any kind of touch would send you into a spiral, but now he held your hand in yours, you never wanted him to let go. 

“Sleep, firefly. I’ll wake you when we get there.” He hushed, and you nodded, curling up against the humming door, letting the soft vibrations of the truck lull you to sleep. 

True to his word, a slight shake to your shoulder had you jolting awake, eyes flying open, heart racing as you tried your best to gauge your surroundings as quickly as you could. 

“‘S okay,” Logan soothed, and your breathing calmed slightly, whatever dreams had been haunting your unconscious mind faded into nothing with each swipe of his thumb against your shoulder. “We’re here.”

Your eyes scanned the woods beyond the windscreen as he opened his door, the hinges squeaking with age. It was dark out, meaning you’d been on the road for at least eight hours and four of those you’d been asleep for. There was the distinct smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the upholstery of the seats, and you looked down at the source, a burnt-out cigar lay discarded in the central unit, brown paper blackened at the roach. 

The door to your right opened and Logan offered you his hand. It wasn’t that you needed help, and you really fucking hoped he knew that, but you took it simply as an excuse to touch him as you stepped out of the truck, the smell of pine needles hitting you almost instantly as your feet touched soft earth. Wherever he’d taken you, this was certainly off-grid. It was so peaceful here. To the point where you’d surpassed tranquillity and landed right back into unease. It was too peaceful here. 

“Where are we?” You asked as Logan retrieved both rucksacks from the back seat, mindful not to slam the door shut before locking up the truck. Swinging both backs across each of his shoulders, he took your hand again, leading you around the hood of the truck and you finally saw your new halls of residence. 

A sizeable pinewood log cabin. Dark on the inside, but it looked homely enough. A small pair of antlers adorned the front door, piles of firewood stacked neatly beneath little shelters around to the left. You could imagine this as a forest getaway for some rich family who owned several yachts and a sports car. But when Logan produced a thick iron key from his pocket, you blinked. “Is this yours?” 

It was the most emotion he’d heard from you since he’d started driving eight hours ago, your words delicately laced with surprise. He smiled back over his shoulder. “Belonged to an old friend, left it to me when he passed.” He wasn’t ready to launch into that whole story, not yet. You had enough to deal with without him banging on about his own past. Sliding the key into the lock, he turned it anti-clockwise until the iron gave way, giving the door a gentle shove as it swung open. It definitely needed doing up, but he was happy to do that himself. “Home sweet home,” he murmured, vaguely hoping all the electrics still worked as he flicked the light switch.

The cabin was illuminated in a soft orange glow, the faux candles on the walls giving the same ambience as torch flame. The interior was cosier than you could possibly have imagined. A comfy-looking, though slightly faded brown sofa faced a broad hearth with yet another stack of kindling piled next to it, a red and green tartan print blanket draped over the back of the sofa. Logan shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on one of the multiple cast iron coat pegs lining the wall by the door, setting the rucksacks down next to the dark wood dining table. There were no arches or doorways that you could see, an open floor plan joining the small, rural kitchen area to the lounge.

A set of stairs led up to another floor behind the hearth, various antlers and horns of different woodland animals hung on almost every available wall, as well as a TV, which you weren’t expecting. Every cupboard looked identical, even the fridge, learning which one it was due to Logan immediately grabbing out two bottles of larger for you both. 

You smiled as you inhaled, and recognised the distinctive amalgamation of smells. It was him. Pure, unfiltered Logan. 

Crossing to one of the windows, you ran your fingers over the corrugated radiator, noticing the various blankets and pillows set up on the windowsill looking out into the dark green woodland beyond, brown woollen tassels hanging a little too close to the heater, to the point where you tucked them in. Staring out into the forest, you held your arm tightly until Logan’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, tucking you into his side and handing you the second bottle of golden liquid. 

“What’ya think?” He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and you moved your hand from your arm to hold his wrist against your shoulder. 

“It’s very you.” You offered as much mischief as you could muster, which wasn’t much considering your circumstances, and unfortunately resulted in a confused raise of his brow. 

“That’s a good thing, right?”

You huffed an exhausted chuckle, pressing your head into the space between his shoulder and chest. “Yeah. It’s a good thing.” You breathed, before raising the bottle to your lips and taking a long sip of the icy cold beverage. He held you in silence, offering to be whatever you needed him to be, and for right now, you just needed him close to you. You didn’t know what had happened in the past, and you didn’t know what was going to happen. You couldn’t hide forever, and there would come a day where you would have to face the contents of that folder. But it was enough for now just knowing you weren’t alone, and when that time came, you wouldn’t be alone. 

“There’s a bathroom down the hall or you can use the ensuite upstairs if you wanna freshen up. I can get started on makin’ dinner, should have some preservatives lyin’ around somewhere.” He looked towards the cupboards and you wished you had the energy or emotional bank to tease him properly about his cooking. But you didn’t need to, he looked back at your face of slight mock disbelief, a small, almost bashful smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’ve picked up a few things over the last couple months.” 

He didn’t resist as you weakly shoved at him, his smile widening as you showed small signs of your old self before your eyes took on that faraway look again and you retreated back into your protective shell. He knew it was a defence mechanism, he’d seen it in the kids now and then. When things got overwhelming or something went wrong, they’d shut themselves away behind emotional walls, appearing almost hollow before he’d sit them down and pry their emotions out one thread at a time. It nearly always resulted in them sobbing their eyes out, but it was a tried and true method.

One he was planning on using on you when he felt the time was right. You couldn’t shut yourself away forever. He wouldn’t let you, for one. There was no future where your past wins over and you remain this way. Even if it resulted in you drowning the cabin in shadow as you lost control, he didn’t care. In this state, any emotion is a good emotion. 

Setting down your bottle, you clung to his wrist for as long as you could before the increasing distance forced you to let go to retrieve your rucksack. You’d packed essentials, being under a strict time limit. A few spare pairs of clothes, toothbrush and toothpaste, cleanser, moisturiser, a Swiss army knife and as much underwear as you could stuff in the little space that remained at the top. You swing the bag over your shoulder, heading to the stairs before Logan caught your forearm.

“Shout if you need anything. I’ll be right here, ‘kay?” He looked so sincere, so serious it almost broke you. The first time he’d said those words to you, you’d laughed them off, teasing him for being overprotective. You couldn’t find the energy to do the same now, thinking back to how things had changed so much in the last day or so. Well, since you returned, really. You simply nodded in response, attempting to offer him a smile that could ease his worries but clearly failing miserably as his brows pinched in concern.

You had nothing left to give him, your emotional reservoir completely drained. So you simply turned away to head up the stairs, guilt gnawing at your chest. You didn’t want him to worry about you. Fuck, you hated it when he worried about you. Even about mundane things, you’d wave off his concerns. But you knew this was an issue that couldn’t be solved by telling him to ‘take his concerns elsewhere’ because where else would he go? You’d pried him away from his home, from his friends and teammates because he had some twisted obligation towards you. It was selfish of you to ask if he was going to leave. You’d all but trapped him into staying by asking that very question. He was too good of a man to say no, he was going to dump you off and dip. 

You hated it. Hated how much he was giving up for you. You didn’t deserve any of this, and he certainly deserved so much more. A wall erupted in your mind, locking your guilt away with everything else you were supposed to be feeling at the moment, your heart once again emptying of the hurt it had felt, leaving you with blissful numbness.

Cresting the top of the stairs, you were faced with one of the homeliest scenes in the house. A large four-poster bed piled high with various pillows, cushions and blankets stood against the back wall, yet another window seat snuggled against the window straight ahead of you, overlooking the opposite side of the forest. Two hunting rifles, one barrel crossed over the other, hung triumphantly above the headboard, yet another set of antlers positioned between the two guns, larger than the other sets you’d seen yet. You couldn’t imagine the choice of decor was Logan’s idea, at least you vaguely hoped it wasn’t, but it made you wonder who this place originally belonged to. 

Your shoulder went limp as you carelessly dropped your bag to the floor at the foot of the bed, turning to your left to see the door to the bathroom slightly ajar. Crossing over the thick rug on the floor, you pulled the door open, eyes widening in slight surprise. It was a lot bigger than you’d expected for an ensuite. A large bathtub took up most of the space, the shower standing right next to it. You were glad they weren’t one and the same, for some reason you had a vendetta against bathtubs that doubled up as a shower. Maybe the reason lay in that fucking folder, who knows?

Stripping yourself of your sweaty clothes, you cracked the window open, allowing fresh air to circulate around the room before fiddling with the taps and switches of the electric shower. You wondered how often Logan visited, considering how well kept the place was, and how well everything still worked. Steam rolled from the shower into the rest of the bathroom as you stepped beneath the stream, your skin tingling with the heat. It was a pleasant sensation, to feel something other than all-consuming guilt, sinking despondency or nothing at all. You cranked up the dial on the temperature, hissing slightly as the water increased from warm to scalding, staining your skin red raw. 

The feeling was addictive, turning ever so often to get that kick of pain on whichever side of your body wasn’t beneath the volcanic stream, inhaling as the pain drowned every other sensation in your chest and head. There was no room for anything else other than the burning against your flesh. You only wished you could turn the dial further, but it seemed you’d reached the maximum. 

It could have been anywhere between a few minutes and twenty years before Logan came up to check on you, you’d lost complete track of time. There was a soft knock at the door, a vague call of your name you barely heard and partially ignored in favour of getting lost in the heat. At what point you dropped to the floor, knees hugged against your chest, you couldn’t recall, eyes too focused on the pattern of the droplets against the tiled floor to look up as he entered.

“Christ it’s like a sauna in here, can’t fuckin’ see anyth–” He stopped instantly as he saw you huddled on the floor in the same position you’d spent a good portion of the journey in. But that wasn’t what scared him. It was the angry red of your skin that had alarm bells ringing loudly in his head. He rolled up the sleeve of his flannel shirt, preparing to plunge his hand through the cascading fall to switch the power off. But the moment his skin came in contact with the water, he hissed loudly. “Fuck! ‘S fuckin’ scalding sweetheart.” You didn’t move. Didn’t even look as if you’d noticed him. Panic surged in his veins, gritting his teeth tightly as he endured the searing burn of the lava stream to twist the handle for power, taking a breath as the waterfall eased from a deluge to mere droplets. 

Only then did you look up, as if snapped from a daze. He crouched before you as you blinked at him, remembering where you were and what you were doing. However, what you should say in this moment never came to you, only able to stare straight ahead at him, his pinched brows and wide-eyed concern only fuelling the self-loathing in your gut. You hated the way he touched you so gently as if you deserved to be touched like that. You despised the way he draped a large, fluffy towel around your shoulders as if you’d done anything to warrant such comforts. 

And you couldn’t stand the way he hooked his arms beneath your knees and carried you from the bathroom, all without a single word. And you loathed how your body reacted, leaning into his touches like you had any right to comfort. You’d all but dragged him away from the life he’d built for himself. Dragged him away from people like Marie and Bobby. Fuck, you couldn’t even think about them right now. You’d stolen one of Marie’s best friends from her, how could you ever go back there now?

Would you ever go back there now? You hadn’t even thought about it. Most likely not. Why would they let you? You’d killed a team member, been sent away for two years, lost control of your mutation, tried to kill not only another team member but the man you love, and have been lying to everyone you’d ever met because the life you thought you’d lived never fucking existed and it turns out you were over eighty fucking years old. Scott was right. 

He should have killed you years ago.

“Lemme grab some aloe gel…” you’d been so lost in your head you hadn’t even noticed Logan removing the towel from your shoulders to inspect the raging raw burns on your back and arms. You barked a harsh, joyless laugh.

“Why? What does it matter?” you asked savagely, and Logan turned from where he stood near the bathroom doorway, slowly looking at you in suspicious bewilderment. “I mean, I can just heal, so who cares? I’ll just disappear into shadow and come back good as new, so don’t bother.” You shrugged, feeling burning hatred bubble in your gut. “That is, if I come back out at all, of course. Because that threat still hangs over my head every fucking day.” The shadows writhed with your growing fury, only furthering your tirade of self-deprecation. “And hey, would ya look at that, my mutation only fucking works when I’m insanely pissed off. And I lose control completely when I’m terrified, my only fucking instinct being to survive. How fucked up is that?” You continued, laughing bitterly as you stood from the bed. “Probably some result of whatever the hell is recorded in that file. Eighty years, by the way. Eighty fucking years. Here I was, the fucking asshole who thought she was thirty-two. Imagine that?” Your fingers found your scalp, scratching desperately at the roots of your hair as if to claw your way into your own mind and pry out your memories. “And you just seem to be fucking fine with everything!”

Logan didn’t so much as flinch as you directed your inferno of rage toward him. Sure, his heart shattered with your every word, but not because they hurt him.

“I’ve lied to you. For the past couple of months, I’ve straight-up been lying to your face. About everything! I’ve dragged you away from your friends, from your family, all because I manipulated you into thinking you owed me fucking anything. All those bullshit sob stories are lies. None of them even happened. And ya know what? I can’t even say if that’s true or not because I don’t fucking know.” You gestured to your surroundings wildly, laughing manically as the shadows whipped out from the walls like vines. You always knew the day would come when you completely lost your mind. 

“I killed the woman I loved because I couldn’t control myself. I tried my fucking damnest to kill you too, because it seems I just fucking bleed toxicity. And I don’t even know how twisted that makes you for still being here. For still caring. It’s fucking pathetic. I tried to fucking kill you, and all I can see is your ridiculous, unwavering sense of devotion. Do you know how fucked up that makes you? How little must your self-worth be that you’re still here? That is if this isn’t just another simulation created to test my mental durability because who fucking knows at this point? I sure as shit don’t. And ya know what’s worse? No matter what happens, I still have to read that fucking folder. Because we sure as hell can’t hide out here forever, and the only way I can even begin to understand anything is the one thing I can’t bring myself to do.

“So instead, instead I’ll just make everyone suffer along with me. Strength in numbers, right? I’ll just force you to isolate yourself away instead of getting the fuck on with it and reading that fucking file. Nah, I’d rather torture the people I care about, because that’s just what happens. That’s what always fucking happens. And I can’t seem to stop,” your hands returned to your hair as you slowed down, squeezing the sides of your head as if to silence your mind. “It never seems to stop. It’s all just so fucking loud. I just want it to stop… I just want everything to stop…” You sank to the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest, your back pressed against the end of the bed. “I’m so tired, Logan. I’m so fucking tired.” Your voice faded to a whisper as you screwed your eyes shut, your mind still a roaring tornado of anguish and heartbreak. You didn’t want to hurt him. Fuck, that was the last thing you wanted to do, but you did it in a desperate bid to keep him safe. Maybe, if you sank enough knives into his chest, he’d walk away. The shadows receded into their natural places as you withdrew back behind the walls inside your head. 

Logan thought he’d seen vulnerability before, both in you and in others. But the way you looked now, naked, trembling on the floor, your head tucked behind your knees, hands clawing at your own hair… 

Nothing could have prepared him for that. 

He said nothing, silently crossing the floor to kneel next to you. Softly, he removed your nails from your hair, setting your arms limp by your side as he cupped either side of your jaw, raising your head to look at him. Tears flowed freely from your eyes as you desperately searched his face. What for, he didn’t know, but he let you look. He let you hunt in the corners of his brows, digging around the slope of his nose, finally returning to his eyes. What you found, or rather didn’t find, pulled a sob from your chest, and he tucked your face beneath his chin. Wrapping his arms around your naked body, he just held you as stuttered sob after stuttered sob wracked your body.

Grief was a funny old thing. Always lurking around the corner, rearing its bittersweet head when you least expected it. You cried. You cried for Jade. You cried for Rowan. You cried for the other members of NLMO. You cried for Kitty, and her guilt for hating you. You cried for Ororo, having been burdened with the knowledge not even you wanted to know about yourself. 

You cried for Logan. Holy shit did you cry for Logan. You didn’t want this for him. Only the previous morning was he talking about being a normal couple and doing ‘normal couple things’, and now he was stuck in a relationship with a woman who didn’t even know who she was. Who didn’t know what parts of her were real and what parts were fabricated? Your voice scratched your throat raw, every breath like rusty nails in your lungs as you sobbed harder than you ever remember in your life, both real and fake. 

And he held you through all of it, gently whispering sweet nothings against your damp, tangled hair, soothing soft caresses against your bare skin with his calloused hands, fingertips grazing every scar he could reach, from the healed burn on your calf to the serrated needle in your neck. His hatred for the Kreva’s only grew with each newly discovered scar on your body, even as your full-bodied cries quietened to mere hiccups of despair. 

Tentatively he drew your head away from his damp neck, using his thumb to wipe away the salty lines carved down one side of your face, and using his little finger for the other. “C’mon firefly, let’s get you changed. Gotta do somethin’ ‘bout these burns too…” 

You shook your head with teary incredulity. “I don’t understand… why are you still doing this? Why do you still care? After everything I've just said. After everything I’ve done… why?”

“Because I love you.”

Your mind fell completely silent as you stared up at him in utter, petrified shock. “What…?” you managed to whisper, to his slight knowing smile.

“I love you.”

You shook your head again, though this time you looked horrified. “You’re insane.”

Logan nodded as if he already knew this. Of course, he was insane. But not simply because he loved you. He was insane because if anything happened to you, nothing and nowhere would be safe from him. He would walk through hell itself to get you back, and make as many deals with as many devils as he needed to. What was insane was the lengths he would go through to protect you. 

“Who am I, Logan? You read the folder, you’ve seen everything… how can you love what’s in there? Who am I?” You almost pleaded with him, and he caught the sides of your neck in his palms. 

“‘M gonna need you to listen real close, okay? That folder doesn’t define you. You are who you are in spite of what’s in that folder. I didn’t read all of it… I– I don’t know if I can. But from the reports I did see, you’re still you. You were almost killed because you stepped between your brother and four bullets to the chest, and I’ll be fuckin’ damned if I said you wouldn’t do that with who you are now. What you endured is fuckin’ harrowing, I’ll be honest. There were very few happy moments from what I saw, and fuck, if you don’t you deserve to be happy, none of the rest of us do.

“I don’t know if I’d read that entire folder if you gave the rest of my life, which I’m thinkin’ is a real long time. But if that’s how long it takes for you to read it, I’ll gladly spend the rest of my days with you. I don’t give a shit where we are. At the school, in this cabin, hell, we could be squatting under a bridge for all I care. I’m tired of being too damn scared of saying I love you. Because I fuckin’ do. And you’re crazy if you think any of this changes a goddamn thing about how I feel.”

It was your turn to be rendered completely speechless. Somehow, in one fell swoop, he’d put the fears that hovered around your head concerning him to rest. The terror that he was going to leave you, the fear that you weren’t good enough, that you didn’t deserve him melted away as you peered into his hazel eyes shining with such conviction you wanted to sob into his arms all over again. 

“You love me?” you asked a little diffidently, and Logan rolled his eyes with a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth. 

“It wasn’t obvious? I love you. And before you ask; yes. This is real.” you blew out a breath as he answered your question before you’d even had a chance. How did he know you so well? His hands moved from either side of your neck to your waist, helping you back onto your feet. You continued staring at him in awestruck adoration, still unable to quite believe what he’d said. He loved you. You don’t know why it came as such a shock, he’d shown you almost every day since you danced in the kitchen. Probably before that, in the way, he’d helped redesign your room. In the care he’d taken to learn about your mutation and adapt your new living situation accordingly before he even met you. Before he even believed you existed.

You followed almost blindly as he led you back into the bathroom, opening the cabinet behind the mirror and retrieving what he went to get before you exploded in front of him. Turning you around, he swiped your hair to one side, and you winced slightly at the cooling balm touching your shoulders, his hands gently kneading at the stiff muscles. The aloe took almost instant effect, soothing the angry burns left behind by your shower.

He worked in comfortable silence, snapping the lid back of the bottle and placing it back on the shelf when he was done. His fingertips grazed up and down your slickened arm, before placing both hands back on your shoulders and guiding you back out the bathroom to sit atop the bed. 

“I love you, too.”

Logan froze. Though it seemingly came out of nowhere, you’d said it like you’d wanted to say it for a long, long time. In the moment, he didn’t think he’d cared all that much that you hadn’t said it back to him, but hearing you say those words now, those words he’d been yearning to hear since he first set eyes on you and you teased him for something or other filled him with a warm sense of belonging. 

You smiled and his heart stopped as your eyes shone along with it. How did he get so damn lucky?

Bending at the waist, he tilted your head up with a finger beneath your chin, his other hand braced against your cheek as he moulded his lips against your own, finding an instant, slow rhythm. And if he hadn’t known you were utterly exhausted, he’d have you there and then, gasping and whimpering on his cock. But he could tell by the way you kissed him back, you were shattered. Not that he was in any rush. From the looks of things, it seemed like the two of you would be hiding away for some time.

Pulling away a fraction, Logan reached for the clothes he’d pulled out for you earlier from his closet before he interrupted your shower. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a pair of incredibly loose sweatpants and a faded t-shirt of his. He slipped the shirt over your head, biting back a smile as it all but hung off your shoulders, and you shot him a flat look. 

“I have my own clothes, ya know?” You pretended you were reluctant, though showed no signs of hesitation when he opened the waistband of the sweatpants for you to step into, pulling the drawstring tight around your waist. 

“I know.” Was all he responded, and you snorted a small laugh as he stepped back, almost to admire his work. You were positively drowning in fabric, the short sleeves of the t-shirt reaching your elbows, sweats hanging low off your hips. But it was comfy and smelt like him, so honestly it didn’t matter to you. “C’mon, I made soup.” He outstretched his hand toward you for you to take, which you did with a suspicious raise of your brow. 

“You had fresh ingredients for soup?” You asked, following behind him as he led you back down the stairs, the crackling of the lit hearth filling you with a sense of cosy tranquillity you never expected to feel again, not after everything that had happened.

“A’ight so I found a couple cans of soup and heated 'em up, same difference.” As if being parted from you robbed him of breath, Logan brought you back into his arms, feeling his chest loosen when you didn’t resist the way he walked you over to the gas stove.

“I’m going to ignore that,” you instinctively took the wooden spoon from the rack of utensils to the right of the backsplash, stirring the bubbling pot and grimacing slightly as you felt the bottom of the pan. Definitely burnt. Though you couldn’t exactly blame that on him. He’d been a little preoccupied with making sure you didn’t plunge the cabin into suffocating shadow. “A gas stove in a wooden cabin is a bold choice.” You mentioned absently, turning the dial for the gas down and watching as the blue flame lessened beneath the iron pan. Logan set his chin atop your head, arms still circling your waist.

“Not my decision. Previous guy’s choice.” he offered as a means of explanation, and you shrugged in acceptance. Much like you thought with most of the decor in the cabin, whilst there were a few things you’d noticed that you were sure were his, the rest you couldn’t see being his interior design choices. Not that Logan had much interior design, even his room at the mansion was pretty barren. 

Reaching above you, Logan pulled open one of the cupboards, keeping one of his arms still wrapped around your middle, and started rifling through the contents. There was a slight clatter of boxes before he pulled one of them out, setting it down on the counter. You eyed it curiously, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you read the italic cursive on the front of the box. 

Honey and Chamomile tea. You dropped your head back against his chest, heart almost exploding when he left briefly to retrieve two mugs, one of them you knew like the back of his hand. 

When the fuck had he found the time to grab your favourite mug? He stood next to you, gas clicking rhythmically as he went to light a second burner, the huff of ignition breaking you from your stare of wonder and watching as he placed the black kettle atop the flame. It was rudimentary, old school but you kind of liked it. It suited him. 

Logan’s heart and eyes softened as he looked down at the top of your head resting against his bicep, not bothering to fight the urge to press a kiss to your hair. 

“I love you.” You whispered, and the words struck him like a bolt of lightning, still completely unused to both saying and hearing them. He let the warmth in his chest wash over him, let the encompassing adoration flood his veins and fill his heart. He couldn’t be by your side in the past, couldn’t save you from the horrors you’d endured. But he was going to make damn sure he was there for your future, whether you’d stayed in the cabin or managed to return to the mansion, he’d ensure he was by your side for all of it. 

Never again would you face these things alone. 

“I love you, too.”

[heliads]

Hello!! So excited that your requests are open! Would you do a Peter Pevensie X reader where they get trapped after battle (maybe in a cave waiting for the other pevensies to reach them) and the reader is injured so Peter has to care for her and some fluff and comfort?? Thank you! 💗💗💗 If you don't choose to write it thats ok!

masterlist

There are two soldiers in a cave, waiting for rescue. One is a king; the other, one of his subjects. He is sitting upright, alternating between anxiously scanning the mouth of the cave for intruders and staring back down at the girl. She is less active, but that is due in part to the ever growing pool of blood underneath her ribs. 

They have been here for quite some time already, and although the king will not admit it, he fears that it will be quite some time again before they are rescued. He must have faith, though, for both of them. It is hard not to worry. Not when Peter Pevensie can picture so plainly how they got here, and why they were forced into the cave to begin with. 

They were not supposed to be attacked, but it happened anyway. Narnia is a kingdom, and kingdoms fall. Rival kings lust for power that isn’t theirs, and peaceful homelands must rally to protect themselves. Soldiers turn to bitter struggles, cowards turn to run. You had two choices when the banner of war was lifted:  stay and fight, or leave and live.

You chose to stay. Will that be what kills you, wanting to be there for your friends? No one can tell for certain, but your blood is darkening the stones beneath you with a deeper stain than you’d like, and the thought of rescue is quite far off. There is no guarantee that anyone will reach you in time, regardless of what Peter is trying to whisper to you. There is no guarantee that you can hear him at all anymore.

Instead, you can hear him yesterday morning, strangely strong despite the early hour of the morning. Narnian spies had come back around dawn bearing news of an approaching army, one that didn’t look friendly. The Pevensies had been carefully monitoring threats to their kingdom for years, but no one could tell for sure that one would attack until they were already on horseback with hands on weapons.

There had been limited time for defense. Peter had rallied his army and their allies, and his siblings frantically evacuated the surrounding townspeople to a safer location, all the while battening down the hatches at home so that Cair Paravel would not be taken. Battle plans were drafted long ago, but it is one thing to write them up in the safety of peace, and something else entirely to have to use them.

The attackers didn’t arrive until midday. They gave an announcement that Narnia was to surrender peacefully or fall violently. Standing on the ramparts of the castle, looking down on the swarms of soldiers, you could feel anger burning in your chest at the insult of it all. As if Narnia would fall to a paltry foe like some neighboring king. As if there was any among your ranks that would not fight to their last breath to defend their kingdom.

Peter had given an answer somewhat along those lines, although, as coached by Susan, with a little more tact. You could tell he was fighting to keep his rage in check, though, if the red crescents imprinted into his palms from where his fingernails had bit into his palms were any sort of warning sign.

After that, the only thing left was to go to war. Before the fighting started, Peter had pulled you aside and asked if you really wanted to do this. You were a soldier of Narnia, a force fighting for good, but more than that, you were his friend, and Peter did not want to lose anyone if he could avoid it.

Tucked into a quiet alcove of Cair Paravel, golden hair rusted over with the shadows of the dark corner, Peter’s hands had tightened around yours as he said, “You can leave now, Y/N. If you want to. I want you to be safe.”

You had shaken your head. “Absolutely not. Narnia is my home, Peter. I can’t leave when she needs me.”

Peter had sighed ruefully, but the spark of pride behind his worried expression had told you what you wanted to know the most:  having you there with him meant more than he could possibly describe. The two of you are friends, just friends, but sometimes, you think that the sort of friendship you have with him has long outstripped any sort of bond of camaraderie either of you have held with anyone else. If you die, you will do it by his side. If he falls, he wants you there to see it.

Thus the battle was waged. You donned your armor as quickly as you could, grabbing your weapons before helping the other soldiers. It was time to defend your homeland. No cause could be more important. No risk could be as worthy.

The sun is setting over the hills; Peter cannot see much of it, tucked into the cave as the two of you are, but the loss of light is enough to cause him significant worry. The attackers, although arrived around noon the previous day, had waited until the dark of night to close their ranks and begin the fight. It had added a deadly edge of danger to an already perilous battle, what with the reduced visibility. 

The battle had been fought well through the night and into the next dawn, but Peter is not sure that another midnight spent in this stone refuge will prove a good idea for either of you. Mainly for you; Peter looks down again, noticing that your eyes flutter closed more than they stay open, and your skin looks dull and tired even without the loss of light. He pulls you closer to him, shuts his eyes, and prays to anyone who will hear, anyone worthwhile listening, that someone will save you. Not even him. It just has to be you.

Night falls and you hear the clang of steel against steel reverberating around you. Your soldiers, though kept in rigorous practice, have not been to war in a while. They do not exercise the cruelty that the enemy fighters seem to have in spades. What you do have is heart, though, and Narnia has taught you that even the most formidable of odds can be overturned in time.

Slowly, surely, light begins to creep over the sky, and the Narnians manage to push their attackers back from Cair Paravel, over the uneven, rocky ground and towards the mountains once more. Smooth ground twists itself with stone outcroppings, making the fight even trickier than it was before. You step over bodies on the ground, unable to tell whether they are friend or foe, but you force yourself to keep your head. It would not do to lose control now.

Dawn is upon you at last, touching rosy fingers over scarlet blood and pearlescent bone. There is no such thing as a good fight, an honorable war, and if you return home, the lingering knowledge of what has been done upon this land will sit with you for a long time to come. When you come home, that is. After all of this, you must survive. Narnia must survive.

A shout, a scream; soldiers pour over the hills again, and you realize with a chill that your enemies had reinforcements in line, waiting for something like this to happen. You managed to get yourself stuck on the outskirts of the battle in an attempt to go after some higher ranking officials in the enemy army, and now you’re lost in the downstream current of dozens of opposing soldiers flooding towards you. 

Too many for you to fight by yourself, that much is certain, but you have no choice now. They encircle you, and even as you manage to take down some, there are too many of them. One raises his sword as you parry another soldier, and when you blink, it has pierced your armor, threading your ribs. It doesn’t hurt and then it does, an agony like lightning rattling through your entire body.

You might scream, you’re not sure of it. You wait for them to kill you, but strangely enough, the death blow does not come. Someone catches you before you fall, and the early morning sun shines on golden curls. Peter. He’s found you, somehow, in the tumult of the battle. You can just hear him shouting to his men that he’s going to take you to cover, and then he’s picked you up, cradling you in his arms like a bride, and running for shelter.

There’s a cave not far from here. Peter stumbles in, twisting past boulders and turns in the tunnel before he gently puts you down behind the cover of a rocky outcropping. There are too many of them out there, running past the mouth of the cave, so Peter does not dare leave you even when you tell him that you’ll be fine. It is a lie. He knows it. He stays.

Peter tells you that, despite the arrival of the enemy reinforcements, he believes the battle will be settled in favor of the Narnians. The enemy fighters were desperate, they knew they were going to lose, which was why they called in more men. They’re still being forced past the Narnian borders, though, even with a king and a soldier pulled out of the fight like this.

Peter won’t risk leaving you, not with the precarious shape you’re in. Besides, the landscape is so messed up with rocks that he is not sure that he could find this particular cave if he steps outside of it to fight again. You can hear the shouts of men, but neither of you can tell whether they’re Narnian or not. To shout back is to risk death.

Instead, the two of you stay there in the cave, feeling the hours tick by, unable to do a thing about it. Peter grows more restless as you grow more still. He tells you that his siblings will look for the two of you, that when they come, you will be safe.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, voice unnaturally slow, like a schoolboy repeating a lesson he’s learned by heart, “We’ll be fine.” You’re not entirely sure if he believes it.

And then it is dark again, and there is still no one here. Peter does not know if you are alive. He is telling himself that you are, because to keep up desperate hope is far better than giving in to the fear that he has lost you like this. There is a chance you have survived; the enemy soldier who hit you had slashed you across the front instead of stabbing you directly, which is what Peter did when he stumbled upon the scene and realized that he was about to lose the only person that matters to him more than anything else. We all have our demons, our secrets.

A scratching sound at the mouth of the cave, somewhat like a mouse but heavier, too, more purposeful. Could an enemy soldier have come back to finish the job? They may not have been able to take Cair Paravel, but they could at least slaughter the High King while they were running away.

Peter feels his entire body tense, his hand resting on his sword. He dares not draw it, too afraid of risking the noise. He’ll fight for both of them if he has to. He’ll keep them alive a little longer. Y/N does not stir by his side.

And then– a voice, just a few meters away. “Peter?”

It’s his sister. It’s Susan. Peter lets out a gasp of relief that could be a sob and calls back as loudly as he dares, “Susan?”

A clattering of footsteps and three siblings descend into the cave. Edmund’s eyes are wide and scared, but the fear starts to go away when Peter carefully gets to his feet and pulls his younger brother into an embrace. Ed starts to say something about how he thought– he thought– but Peter says it’s okay, he is not hurt, but then the words roll back on his tongue because Y/N is not okay, and therefore he cannot be, either.

Lucy has already found her friend lying motionless on the ground and hurriedly rummages through the small red bag on her side, reaching for the healing cordial she received so long ago. She carefully lets a few drops fall onto Y/N’s mouth, and the entirety of several millennia passes before Y/N coughs quietly and starts to sit up.

Peter falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around her. Distantly, he hears Susan ushering his siblings away, something about wanting to give them space, but he does not care, he does not care because she is alright, Y/N is alright, and that means he is, too, very much alright.

Y/N whispers in his ear, voice still hoarse but healing, slowly. It’s okay, they have time. “You stayed?”

“Yes,” Peter says back, choking on some unnameable emotion, “I did. I would never leave you, Y/N. I– I love you. You know that.”

She does. “I love you too,” she says, and Peter can find it within himself to smile at last, to help her up, to walk back with her to the castle. They have time. It is okay. They will all, somehow, be alright after this, and that means that far fewer worries crown Peter’s head tonight and all nights after that.

requested by @ajwild220, i hope you enjoy!

narnia tag list: empty for now, message me to be added!

[binarypictor]

He hasn't taken a break. Not a single one. Sebastian couldn't take a break. He had to get his brother's body done as fast as he could. Not only for the sake of pAInter himself, but now that active dangers were in the site, having them together would be far safer.

As he lowers the altered monitor into the casing, attaching the main unit into place he shakily lets out a sigh. He'd tested the voltage of the new battery already, having to be absolutely sure there won't be issues after a few alterations-- It should work. It should all work.

Carefully sitting them against a wall he holds his breath turning his friend back on, hoping they'd still be alright.

"Heeey Arty.... You're all ready... I used more of those clips so you're just... In right now. Not attached... Let me know if being on battery feels strange at all, okay?"

-@aquaticshopkeep

As pAInter boots up, the first thing they notice is they're tired, the second is they're exausted.

They blink a few times, their internal clock tells them it's only been a few days since they last shut down, since him, since they reached their breaking point.

They should've been excited, finally a body, they could finally leave and move around and do things. But instead they're exausted and with a shattered spirit.

pAInter barely registers Sebastian's words but they muster up enough willpower to talk.

"It's...different, a bit tiring but fine..."

The poor AI sounds like death itself, how does a drawn face manage to have eyebags is a mystery but pAInter certainly does.

[galaxymagitech]

Depending on the version, it is somewhat feasible that Bruce couldn’t talk Dick out of being Robin. Like…yes. If he really tried, he could stop him. He could lock him in a room he can’t escape. He could quit Batman and watch Dick until he’s 100% sure he’s asleep, monitor his vital signs or something. He can prevent Dick from leaving the house so he can’t run away. But all of this would mean he’d basically have to become the warden to a traumatized kid, and I can see how he’d think that letting Dick be Robin is a better parenting decision than the alternatives.

With Tim, Bruce had no legal authority over him. He could try to stop Tim, but in order to really succeed he’d have to either wipe his memories (and thus delete significant events in Tim’s life) or kidnap a thirteen-year-old and keep him prisoner. Bruce’s best option was to let Tim be Robin.

Damian is similarly difficult to control. He’s a trained assassin, and Bruce can’t ground him forever. He didn’t even make him Robin. When he came back from being lost in the timeline, Damian was Robin for a year. At that point, what else could he do?

But Jason. Unlike the others, Jason didn’t insist on being Robin. In post-crisis, Bruce was taking him to Wayne Manor and then basically went, “hey, kid, you can be Robin” in the car ride and Jason was like “cool!” But Jason didn’t ask, and I don’t think he would have. He might’ve struggled with feeling useless, might have wanted to become a vigilante later, but I don’t think he would have been anywhere near as insistent as Dick or Tim were. There are other ways he can help, and he’d accept it.

With the other kids, Bruce made them Robin because he couldn’t stop them, and his guidance and training at least could make them a little safer. But Jason, he made Robin because he thought it would fix his issues and prevent him from going down the “same criminal path as his father” and like. Therapy exists? Maybe a loving home where Robin is not intrinsically tied to Jason’s place there (because what other conclusion was Jason supposed to draw from an immediate offer of Robin?) would help?

I don’t blame Bruce for making the other kids Robin, but I don’t understand why he thought that taking a kid with issues and what he saw as a potential for violence would and making him a vigilante who beats people up would be a good idea.

[sunflw3r]

school boy (댕댕이)

younghoon x male reader reader prns: he/him word count: 1546 fluff, non!idol au, highschool au

younghoon was difficult to ignore

content warnings: mention of throwing up, content overview: petnames, rushed plot

unedited</3

(masterlist)

a/n: i love younghoon sm i think it’s a disease! sorry for the rlly late upload 🤕 school just started and im losing the battle against the demons. happy late younghoon day!! i love yall sm🫶

younghoon’s stare from across the room was starting to irk y/n.

it was his big, brown eyes staring down his back, probably full of sparkles as he mouthed about how much he wanted to kiss y/n right in that moment made him go insane. how was he ever supposed to focus with a boyfriend like younghoon? school was boring compared to him, but he would still like to pay attention sometimes.

“i think your boyfriend is wanting some attention.” jacob muttered, y/n laughing quietly, knocking his seatmate's shoulder. much to y/n’s embarrassment, jacob saw most of younghoon’s hidden affections. he constantly tried to pester his seatmate about it, never failing to embarrass y/n.

“shut up.” y/n grumbled, taking his pencil and writing over the top of jacob’s page, jacob gasping quietly. “if you need an excuse to get away i can say you got to go throw up.”

shocked laughter made a choked escape from y/n’s mouth, the teacher monitoring their study hall turning around to stare at them. “y/n, if you’re not going to pay attention to your work, can you make sure everyone else can?”

the sound of muffled giggles flowed from the back of the class, the teacher’s gaze turning to younghoon’s shrunken figure. “and younghoon,” the teacher started, letting out a loud sigh as she looked between y/n and younghoon. “just- please pay attention to your work. the left side of the room doesn’t have what you’re looking for.”

younghoon’s eyes squeezed closed, the embarrassment of being semi-called out enough to remove the stars from his aura.

should i say something? y/n dropped his head into the palms of his hands, younghoon’s bright smile contorting and twisting in his head, a beautiful nightmare that made him go insane. younghoon made him insane.

but it was because he loved him.

y/n had never really thought about that before. younghoon and him had been dating for a while- long enough to where every single day felt short compared to the past ones, like he could never get enough time with him.

and so he was pretty sure he loved him. the only things they really said were ‘i like you’ or ‘i enjoy spending time with you’ but y/n felt like that couldn’t encapsulate the feelings in his stomach that all were labeled ‘younghoon’.

so he was going to say something.

turning his head, y/n’s eyes locked with younghoon’s, the constant flutter of butterflies at bay in his diaphragm unleashing at the glow of younghoon’s eyes and bright, subtle upturn of the corners of his lips. he was the definition of safety. just looking at his face made y/n feel safer.

“i reallyyyyy like you.” he mouthed, the curves of his lips moving animatedly as he watched younghoon’s smile - somehow - grew blindly larger. “i really like you too.” he replied back, y/n looking at him with content in his eyes.

he really was so content.

tearing his head away from younghoon’s gaze, y/n attempted to focus on his work. math was boring. this math worksheet was boring. he couldn’t bring himself to do this.

turning back to younghoon, he was met with the top of his boyfriend’s head, a sigh escaping from his lips. he just craved his boyfriend.

these emotions were so new to him. he had always felt some fluttering way to younghoon - of course he had, younghoon was his boyfriend. they wouldn’t have dated if he didn’t like him. but the overwhelming way he felt when they met eyes… it made him go insane.

y/n’s thoughts spiraled into a tornado, the memories of him and younghoon intertwining with heart wrenching emotions. he couldn’t focus on anything but them. he had his friends, his family, and his boyfriend. but why was his boyfriend starting to become more than just the boy he liked and more like…

“babe, are you coming?”

snapping out of his daze, y/n stared up at younghoon with blank eyes. “u-um yeah, hold on hoon.” he spoke, packing up his assignments with shaking hands. “i’ll help.” younghoon replied, picking up y/n’s pencils and putting them in their spot in his backpack.

looking up from his now cleared desk, y/n smiled brightly as he gazed into younghoon’s eyes. “do you want to hang out after school?” the words escaped from y/n’s mouth before he could regulate them, younghoon nodding happily at the request.

“of course. now let’s go to lunch. hyunjae probably stole our seats.” the sentence was said with a chuckle intertwined with it, y/n feeling his heart return to ease as he grabbed younghoon’s hand.

a heat ran up his face as younghoon pecked the top of his head before they walked out, y/n leaning against younghoon’s shoulder.

i think i love you.

“school was so boring.”

younghoon’s voice joined the breeze that carried broken off leaves, the fleeting spring air creeping up y/n’s neck as he leaned into his boyfriend as they walked. y/n proceeded to hum in response, stretching his fingers while clasped with younghoon’s hand.

he loved younghoon.

he loved younghoon.

his conscious was bumping around in his head as younghoon continued to talk into the afternoon, ever section where their skin touched creating an unbearable heat. “are you alright y/n? you’ve been quiet.” younghoon asked, his eyebrows laced with concern.

the area around them became the han river park, younghoon stopping on the concrete pathway. opening his mouth, a lack of vibrations coming from his vocal chords. “babe?”

as his lips turned into a frowned, younghoon pulled them off the pathway and onto the grass, moving them to stand under a tree. “what’s up?”

y/n wasn’t sure how younghoon knew something was on his mind. how he was so attentive to the fact that almost no words escaped from his mouth while they were walking. he had no idea how younghoon could understand him so well. did younghoon love him too?

“can we sit? we’re going to be here for a bit.”

the words escaped from y/n’s mouth, the tone low as the rushing past them with a lack of inflection in the sentence. younghoon slowly nodded, concern lacing every fold of his face as he stared into y/n’s eyes. the two adjusted into their positions on the ground, y/n reaching out to hold younghoon’s hand.

how could he tell his boyfriend he loved him…?

“babe, i’ve been thinking this for a long time.” y/n paused, letting out a loud sigh. how could he tell him. younghoon’s eyes turned down, the glimmer present in his neutral state fading away. “don’t tell me-“

his heart crumbled into a pile of dust. younghoon had jumped to the worst conclusion out there. he had assumed the ending of this story was starting now, even though that was quite the opposite tale.

“no no no oh my god hoon- baby i’m not going to break up with you.” extending the hand that didn’t hold younghoon’s out, he gently cupped the right side of his boyfriend’s face. “i…”

younghoon’s eyes started to brighten, an idea of y/n’s next train of thought coming to him. it was now or never.

“i love you. i, y/n l/n, love you, kim younghoon.”

younghoon didn’t reply, but y/n wasn’t afraid. instead, younghoon’s next step was to lean forward, connecting his pink lips to y/n’s.

it was… perfect. everything y/n had dreamed of, life and relationship like a youth drama.

the wind blew through y/n’s hair as younghoon pulled him closer, hand resting against the small of his back. their lips opened and closed against each other, the standard, sweet taste of younghoon’s favorite green grape candy filling his mouth like it was it’s second home.

was he getting the more he so craved and longed for?

pulling away slowly, the bright sparkles had returned to younghoon’s eyes. he was so utterly beautiful that y/n wished to block him from anyone else’s view and make sure younghoon only looked at him.

“i love you too. god, i love you so much.” younghoon whispered, pressing a soft kiss to y/n’s lips. he moved away quickly, y/n pouting. “why didn’t you kiss me for longer?”

he asked, younghoon laughing.

“you have to pay extra for that!” he said, y/n rolling his eyes as younghoon giggled and hit y/n’s shoulder. “i’m your boyfriend.” y/n deadpanned, younghoon matching his stare. “so? what’s my payment?”

trying to continue staring, y/n broke and let out a laugh, younghoon smiling. “well, do you take payment in hugs?” tapping his cheek, younghoon shook his head. “nope.” groaning, y/n jumped on younghoon, his boyfriend’s back hitting the grass as he pressed pecks to his face. younghoon giggled, the sensations of y/n’s soft lips tickling.

“you win, you win!!” younghoon yelped, y/n pushing their lips together in victory. “let’s go.” he whispered, younghoon pinching the side of his chest. “you’re lucky i like you silly.”

at the words, y/n’s heart began to flutter. younghoon loved him.

“i love you too.” he said. and he really did love him.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Chains of Destiny - Decision (Ch.2)

Summary:Eva needs to make a decision, whether she stays and tries for s new life or she gives up completely.

Content Warning: hurt, pain, angst a bit of fluff if you squint

Author's note: There's no Logan in this one, so please bear with me. I feel like the things are going a bit too fast, but let me know :)

Tags: @danicl25 @mxrtiaxv @ayamenimthiriel @jinndesu

Eva lay in the quiet stillness of the med bay, her body half-covered by the scratchy hospital blanket. The constant hum of machines monitoring her vitals droned in the background, but her mind raced, unable to settle. The last week had been a blur—rescue, confusion, pain. Now, a strange quiet surrounded her, the kind she hadn’t known in years.

The sterile smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, but it wasn’t the harsh scent of the lab. It was… clean. It felt safer. Safer than she ever thought she’d feel again. But safety felt foreign, unsettling.

Jean had been visiting her every day, checking in on her physical and mental health, her voice soft, patient. And Hank—Dr. McCoy, though he insisted she call him Hank—had been the one taking care of her wounds. The care they gave was strange, unearned, she thought. They looked at her like she was something worth helping, something worth saving. Eva couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen those kinds of eyes. She didn’t know how to respond to it.

As much as she wanted to believe she could trust them, there was always a voice in the back of her mind. *What if it’s just another trap? What if they’re just pretending?* Her thoughts would drift to the things Logan had said—the things he hadn't said but showed in every look of distrust he shot her way. His words had stung more than the countless needles she’d been subjected to in that lab.

"You're dangerous. A threat." 

She closed her eyes, the weight of those words heavy on her chest. Logan didn't want her here. Maybe he was right. 

Every time she thought about him, that cold, distant stare, her resolve faltered. It was hard not to believe him, especially when he didn’t even try to hide his contempt. His distrust sat like a stone in her stomach. Even when Jean would try to reassure her that things would get better, that she had a future here at the school, Logan’s words would echo, pulling her back into the dark place inside her.

But there were other moments. Moments when she felt a flicker of something different. Like when she saw the students outside the hospital window. Some of them had powers like hers—strange, impossible things that she would’ve never imagined. Yet here, they laughed, played, trained… like none of it was a curse. Like it was just part of them. They weren’t afraid. Or, if they were, they were trying to overcome it. 

It had been so long since she had seen people… living. Free. 

Part of her longed to be part of that. 

*Could that ever be me?* 

The question haunted her, gnawed at the edges of her thoughts as she watched the kids go about their day, training with the X-Men, studying with each other, and even bickering like they didn’t carry the same weight she did. Could she fit in here? Could she be more than what she had been made into?

But every time she felt that small spark of hope, Logan’s glare extinguished it. He was right, wasn't he? She was too dangerous, too broken. A ticking bomb. And even if she wanted to trust the others—Jean with her kindness, Charles with his calming presence, Hank with his warm humor—Logan would always be there, waiting to prove that she didn’t belong.

She sighed, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. Her body still ached, though the physical wounds were healing. It was the mental ones that refused to fade. She still felt trapped, like at any moment the walls would close in, the straps would tighten again, and she would be back in that lab. A puppet, a weapon, a monster.

And yet, Charles had said she was more than that. He had sat beside her just two days ago, his eyes kind and gentle as he spoke of the school, of the other students who had found their place here, despite their struggles.

“Eva, you don’t have to be alone anymore. You’re among people who understand you. People who want to help.”

She had wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But a life of torture and manipulation had taught her to be wary of hope. Hope was a trap. Still, there was something about Charles, about the way he spoke, that made her want to believe. 

She ran her hand along the handcuffs they had placed on her wrists, the ones that dulled her powers just enough to keep them in check. They weren't like the ones in the lab. They weren’t meant to hurt her, just to protect the others. Jean had explained that gently, as if she knew how much Eva hated anything that restrained her.

Even so, the cuffs were a constant reminder of why she couldn’t let herself believe she belonged here. A reminder that no matter how much Charles, Jean, and the others might try to make her feel welcome, she was still dangerous. She was still a threat.

The door to the room creaked open, and Jean stepped in, her red hair catching the low light. She gave Eva a small, reassuring smile.

“How are you feeling today?” Jean asked, pulling up a chair beside her bed.

Eva hesitated, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know… Better, I guess.”

Jean nodded, her eyes full of that same quiet understanding she always carried. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

But that was just it. Eva wasn’t sure she’d ever have the answers. What if Logan was right? What if she didn’t belong here? What if she was just putting everyone in danger by staying?

“I don’t know if I should be here,” Eva whispered, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at her all week. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Jean’s face softened, and she reached out, gently placing her hand on Eva’s wrist, just above the cuff. “We don’t want you to hurt anyone either, Eva. But we also believe that you deserve a chance to learn, to control your powers. That’s what we do here. We help each other.”

Eva looked away, her chest tightening. "Logan doesn’t think I can be helped. He thinks I should… leave.”

Jean sighed softly, her thumb brushing lightly over Eva’s skin. “Logan has his reasons, but he’s not always right. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of. And… he’s been hurt, too. In ways that make him put up walls. But I believe in you. Charles believes in you. We’re not giving up on you.”

Eva wanted to believe her. She wanted so badly to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to live without hurting the people around her. But Logan’s words still weighed her down, pulling her back into the darkness she had barely escaped.

“I just don’t know if I can do it,” she whispered.

Jean squeezed her hand gently. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Eva stayed quiet, her thoughts swirling in confusion. She didn't know what her future held, but for the first time in a long time, there was a part of her—a small, fragile part—that wanted to try. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to belong here. Maybe she could learn to trust herself again. 

But Logan’s shadow still loomed large, and she didn’t know how to silence it.

***

“Can I ask you something?”

Hank raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. It was the first time Eva had initiated a conversation. She usually only answered his questions with short, guarded responses. But this—this was new.

“Of course,” he replied gently, tapping a few keys on the monitor. It had become a routine now. She’d been at the mansion for over a week, and her vitals had steadily improved. She was gaining weight, her cheeks less hollow, and her eyes not as sunken as before. Slowly, ever so slowly, she was beginning to look like the young woman she was, rather than the starved, haunted figure they’d first brought in.

“I actually have three questions,” she continued, her voice hesitant, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks when Hank chuckled softly at her tone. 

“Go on,” he encouraged, giving her his full attention.

She swallowed and shifted her gaze toward the window, her fingers fidgeting nervously. “I haven’t seen Logan lately. I know he... hates me, but I was wondering... did something happen?”

Hank smiled gently, sensing the weight of the question. “I don’t think Logan hates you,” he said, turning his chair to face her fully. “He’s... complicated. A tough guy with a past that haunts him. He can seem like a jerk, but in the end, Logan always does the right thing. He just... needs time. If that’s something you’re willing to give him.”

Eva frowned, her expression tightening in confusion. Hank could see the uncertainty in her eyes—the idea of being given a choice was still foreign to her. 

“And he’s away on a mission,” Hank added quickly. “Charles sends him out from time to time, so don’t worry—it has nothing to do with you.”

“So... it’s not my fault he’s not here?” she asked quietly.

“Not at all,” Hank assured her. He noticed the small shift in her posture, a slight easing of tension. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “What’s your second question?”

Eva hesitated again, her eyes darting back to the floor. “Is this really... a school?”

Hank laughed, a genuine, lighthearted sound that made her blush even more. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, seeing her embarrassment. “It’s just that you’re not the first to ask that.”

She bit her lip, unsure. “It just... doesn’t feel like one.”

Hank smiled, trying to put her at ease. “It’s a school, just like any other. We have classes on math, science, history—boring, normal subjects. But we also have classes for mutants. Those help our students learn to control their abilities, to understand what makes them unique.”

Her curiosity piqued, Hank could see it in the way she sat up a little straighter, eyes more focused. “Mutant classes?”

“Exactly. As Charles mentioned, many kids come to us unable to control their powers. We’re here to help them adjust, to make those abilities second nature. And we’d like to help you do the same, if that’s something you’d want.”

There was a fleeting smile on her lips, small but noticeable. Hank knew it would take time for her to fully trust them—to believe that they truly wanted to help her. Her powers, though dangerous, could be an incredible asset. He was patient, willing to wait however long she needed.

“I...” She paused, her entire body tensing. Her fingers started to twist around each other nervously, and Hank remained quiet, letting her gather her courage. “It’s kind of embarrassing,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t push, simply waited.

“I... never went to school,” she admitted, her gaze shifting to the window, as though she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “I don’t even know how old I am, not exactly. I’ve been with them... for over fifteen years, they said, So I must be in my 20s. But... I never learned to read. I don’t know... anything, really.”

The revelation hung in the air, and Hank felt a knot tighten in his chest. It wasn’t surprising, not after everything she’d been through, but hearing her say it—hearing her speak the truth of her stolen childhood—hit him harder than he expected.

“It’s really stupid but...” Her voice wavered, and she opened the small drawer next to her bed, pulling out a thin book with a worn cover. “Mrs. Ororo gave me this. She was so kind, and I... I felt bad telling her I can’t read it.”

Hank’s heart clenched as he saw a few silent tears land on the book’s cover. Despite everything—despite being trained and used as a weapon—Eva still had a gentleness about her, a kindness that hadn’t been destroyed by those who had hurt her.

“Ororo,” Hank began, noting how she always addressed them with such formality despite their efforts to get her to relax. “She also teaches some of the younger kids. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you learn the basics too.”

Eva’s eyes widened, a spark of hope flickering in their depths. “Isn’t it... embarrassing though? I mean... I’m an adult.”

Hank gently took her hand, careful to move slowly, watching for any signs of discomfort. But she didn’t flinch—not like she used to. That, in itself, was progress.

“Eva,” he said softly, “the ability to learn was stolen from you. You’ve lived through things no one should have to. But the fact that you still want to learn—that you want a chance at a normal life—well, that’s something to be proud of.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she smiled, just a little. “Professor Charles said I have a right to a normal life... but I don’t know if I believe that yet. I don’t know if I deserve it. But... that book does look interesting.”

Hank smiled back, warmth spreading through his chest. He promised himself to speak to Ororo and Charles, to make sure Eva would receive the education she deserved—not out of pity, but because it was her right. Like any human being, she had the right to learn, to grow, and to live.

And for the first time since she arrived, Hank believed she was starting to realize that too.

***

Charles Xavier sat in the stillness of his office, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. Outside the mansion, he could hear the faint sounds of students laughing and playing, the echoes of a life he had built to protect and nurture the young minds of mutants. But his thoughts were with one particular student, the one who had just arrived—the one who lingered in the hospital wing, far from the warmth and hope of those outside.

Eva.

He closed his eyes, resting his hands on the arms of his wheelchair, and let his mind drift back to when they first found her. It had been worse than anything he could have prepared for. The physical scars, the hollowness in her eyes, the way she had flinched at every movement—it was as though she had been broken down to nothing. Tortured, manipulated, turned into a weapon by those who saw her not as a human being, but as something to be used.

He had seen many broken souls come through these doors over the years, each with their own pain and trauma. But Eva was different. There was something about her—a weight she carried that went beyond the torment she had endured. Her powers were unlike anything he had encountered, and that alone made her a danger to herself and to those around her. It wasn't just the sheer force of her abilities, but the instability that came with them, the unpredictability.

Her mind was a labyrinth of pain and confusion, walls erected so high he could barely touch the edges. He had tried to reach her, to offer some form of comfort or understanding, but each time he felt her pull back, retreating into herself. It was as if she didn’t know who she was anymore, as if the very concept of herself had been stripped away, leaving behind a shell. 

And her powers... Charles had seen snippets of them, enough to know that they were both incredible and terrifying. She was capable of immense destruction, and yet, there was a delicate balance, an untapped potential that could shift either way. If they didn’t approach her with care, if they didn’t handle her powers with the right method, she could be lost to that destruction—or worse, others could.

But how do you teach someone to control something they barely understand? How do you guide someone whose life had been ruled by fear and cruelty into believing they deserve a place in the world? These were the questions that weighed on him, gnawing at his mind every time he thought about her.

He knew she needed time, patience. He knew they had to approach her gently, to make her believe in her worth before they could even begin to tackle the complexities of her powers. And yet, time was something they didn’t have the luxury of. The people who had taken her, who had done this to her—they were still out there. And there was always the chance they could come back for her. They had turned her into a weapon once, and Charles had no doubt they would try again.

And then there was Logan.

Charles sighed deeply, opening his eyes and staring out of the window at the expansive grounds of the mansion. The truth gnawed at him, but he had been avoiding it for days now. Logan was... volatile, a man who had his own share of demons to wrestle with. He had kept his distance from Eva since her arrival, and in many ways, Charles understood why. Logan was a man who preferred to keep others at arm's length, especially when it came to something—or someone—that touched his own vulnerabilities.

Yet, Logan was the only one who could truly help Eva. As much as Charles wanted to guide her, as much as Hank and Jean had been there for her, Logan was the one who understood the darkness that lived in the corners of her mind. He was the one who had fought tooth and nail against the forces trying to control him, the one who had found his own way back from the edge of the abyss.

It was a painful realization, but it was true. Logan, in all his rough edges, had a connection to her that no one else could mimic. He had survived being used, being turned into something against his will—and that was what Eva needed now. Not just someone who could show her how to control her powers, but someone who could teach her how to fight back against the pieces of herself that had been stolen. Logan knew that struggle better than anyone.

But Charles also knew what it would mean to ask Logan to step in. Their relationship, already fragile, had become strained over Eva. Logan had been one of the loudest voices against bringing her to the school. He had seen her as too dangerous, too far gone to be helped, and Charles feared that in his heart, Logan still believed that. It would take a lot for him to see past the fear and the pain that Eva reminded him of.

He didn’t want to force Logan into this role, but he also knew that if anyone could reach her—truly reach her—it would be him. The question was, how could he convince Logan of that without making him feel like he was being burdened with a task he hadn’t asked for?

Charles rubbed his temples, the weight of his thoughts exhausting him. He had faced many challenges in his life, many difficult decisions, but this one felt different. Eva wasn’t just another student. She was fragile, vulnerable, and one wrong step could send her spiraling further into the darkness. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake with her.

Eventually, with a sigh, he came to a decision. He had to speak to Logan. It wasn’t going to be easy, and he wasn’t sure how Logan would respond, but he knew it had to be done. For Eva’s sake, and perhaps for Logan’s too. Maybe, in helping her, Logan could find a way to heal some of his own wounds.

But convincing Logan—that was the challenge.

Charles leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as his mind began to plan out the conversation, rehearsing words he knew would be hard to say, and even harder for Logan to hear.

***

When Charles first heard from Jean that Eva wanted to speak with him, it caught him off guard. He had heard from Hank about their conversation earlier that week, but he never imagined she’d reach out so soon, let alone initiate a conversation herself. She had only been here for two weeks. Both Jean and Hank had discussed moving her out of the infirmary, but given everything she had been through, Charles hadn’t expected her to progress this quickly. Still, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride for the quiet strides she was making.

He also had to reluctantly agree with Jean—her progress seemed to have coincided with Logan’s absence. Without Logan’s brooding presence, Eva had started to relax, just a little. She was still closed off, fearful of those around her, but she was no longer the hollowed-out shell of a person they had first rescued. Slowly, step by step, she was beginning to resemble the young woman she was meant to be.

When Charles wheeled into her room, he found her sitting by the window, staring out at the evening sky. Her eyes, though still guarded, were filled with a curiosity that gave him hope. Despite all the horrors she had endured, despite the darkness that had been forced upon her, Eva had not completely given up on the world. Not yet.

"Mind if I join you?" Charles asked softly.

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice but quickly nodded, offering him a shy, almost apologetic smile. He rolled closer to her bedside and gave her a warm, reassuring look.

"I think you’ll be able to see those stars from outside soon enough," he began, noticing the way her body tensed at the mention of leaving her sanctuary. “Jean told me you’ve been making wonderful progress with your recovery.”

Eva fidgeted with her fingers, her eyes still cast downward. “I… I wanted to talk to you about that,” she murmured. "I’m still not sure I can become the person you think I can be."

Charles stayed silent, letting her find her words, knowing that initiating this conversation was a big step for her.

"But I…” She glanced nervously at the small book on the shelf nearby, her gaze landing on the book she’d been reading. “Mrs. Ororo… she’s been teaching me how to read,” she said awkwardly, swallowing hard. “It would be… mean to just leave now.” Her eyes darted around the room, as if searching for the right way to express herself. "You know what I mean?"

Charles couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity. Beneath all the fear, she was still a person trying to find her way. “Yes, I’ve heard Storm is taking your reading lessons quite seriously. It would be a shame to quit now, wouldn’t it?”

A small, relieved smile tugged at the corners of Eva’s lips. For the first time in the conversation, she seemed to relax. But Charles knew there was more on her mind.

“There’s something else you want to talk about, isn’t there?” he prompted gently.

Eva sighed, knowing she couldn’t hide her thoughts from him. She appreciated that he didn’t pry, that he kept his promise not to read her mind unless necessary, but his insight into people’s emotions was uncanny. 

"I can’t stay here," she said finally, her voice firmer this time.

Charles tilted his head slightly, waiting for her to continue.

"This school…" Eva hesitated, her eyes darting out the window again. "I’ve been watching the students, the staff… and I can’t be around them. I could never forgive myself if I hurt someone. You’ve all been so kind to me, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I can’t… I can’t train here. I can’t learn here. Me being here, so close to everyone—it’s too dangerous."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the burden she carried. Charles’ heart ached for her, for the way she was still trapped in a prison of fear and guilt, even after escaping the people who had turned her into a weapon.

“I know I’m dangerous,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve heard it enough—first from them, and then… from Logan.”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could.

“He’s right,” she said, shaking her head. “I am dangerous. What you’ve all seen of my powers… that’s not even the worst of it. There’s so much more. And if I let myself have a chance at life… I need to know I won’t take that chance away from someone else.”

Charles looked at her, the weight of her words sinking in. Despite everything she had been through, she was still thinking of others before herself. She still saw herself as a threat, but it was her selflessness that stood out to him.

“There’s a safe house, not far from here,” he said softly, his eyes shifting to the growing twilight outside. The first stars had begun to appear, tiny specks of light against the darkening sky. “It’s secluded, away from the main campus. We’ll move you there at the end of the week. You can stay there, away from the students, until you feel ready.”

Eva’s eyes widened at his words, a mixture of surprise and disbelief flickering across her face.

“You… you’ll still want me here? After I’ve learned to control my powers?” Her voice wavered, as though she had never even considered the possibility.

Charles frowned slightly, concerned by the depth of her surprise. He reached out, placing his hand gently over hers. "Eva, we’re a family here. You are part of that now, whether you believe it or not. We’re not going to cast you aside the moment you learn control. We want you here."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hide the emotion that overwhelmed her. "I thought… I thought once I wasn’t a danger, you’d want me to leave."

Charles smiled softly, squeezing her hand gently. “We don’t give up on people, Eva. Not here.”

She looked at him through tear-filled eyes, a soft smile finally breaking through the sadness. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there was a sliver of hope, a glimmer of possibility that maybe—just maybe—she could have a future. A life.

"We’re all in this together," Charles added, his voice warm. "You’re not alone anymore."

Her smile grew, and even though through the tears, it was one of the most beautiful things Charles had seen in a long time.

[cookidoughlilac]

Space

It's been 5(ish) years since I've written for the Thunderbirds community, but I am back with something new! It's an alternate ending to Impact, because if you don't hurt or kill your favs every once in a while, are they really your favs? :)

Enjoy~

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

“All hands abandon ship. This is not a drill.”

She’d never had to give an evacuation order before. Though, if Ridley had time to sit back and consider the situation, she’d never had a rocket-controlled comet hurling through space towards her before. In a way that could only be regarded as humorous in the face of imminent death, the fact that she’d arrested pirates before she’d ordered a full abandonment of Global One was… funny. 

Could she call it funny? There was a giant comet headed her way with no way of stopping, the final shuttle to leave the impact zone was short one seat, and, upon looking out of the window of the central hub, she could see the march of death inch ever closer. Even if said deathly omen was disguised as an obnoxiously large ball of frozen water and rock.

Yes, the situation she found herself in was funny, she decided. Hilarious, even.

Why do I feel so numb?

The holographic image of John appeared back in her line of sight, an expectant look on his face. This was the face he used when on the job. It was rare she saw it - usually he was offering her a smile, or a look of amused delight. He never showed her this face, the one reserved for total concentration on life-or-death situations. Right, of course, she had to clue him in about what was happening. She was the captain of Global One after all. She had a job to do as much as he did.

“The shuttles are clear.”  Ridley couldn’t tell if her voice sounded different. She quietly hoped that she’d been able to hold her composure for four words.

When John let out a breath of relief, her heart sank. She’d wanted to fool him, to make him believe that she was safe, but oh how it felt wrong to lie. She knew that he was only doing his job. He didn’t mean to be the bearer of bad news. It was his job to offer the facts. The main fact being that Global One was about to undergo rapid disassembly not by builder bots, but by a bit of space rock. 

It’s not lying, her mind supplied, the shuttles are clear. You’re just not clear with them. You’ve not lied, you’ve just omitted parts of the truth.

If only omitting parts of the truth could ease one’s nerves.

“Good. If the comet hits at least no one’s on board.” John’s voice was calm, relieved. He believed her to be safe. She’d be touched if she wasn’t so preoccupied with what to do next. 

What were the dwindling options available to her? 

She could try turning on the station’s jets, moving Global One to a safer position outside of the impact zone. An option borne from wishful thinking - Global One wasn’t built to move great distances in such short windows of time. Attempting to move with so little time could cause the comet to hit one side of the station, resulting in a spinning wreckage or worse. Cleaning up a large space wreck was difficult enough - the cleanup after Eden had taken weeks - but catching a wayward wreckage before it became a hazard to other satellites? Even for the famous Thunderbirds, it would be a hassle. Not to mention that John and EOS were probably monitoring Global One and would be alerted to any movement.

No, Ridley quietly considered, We can’t risk moving.

Another option was to play the damsel in distress and plead for John to rescue her. Morally, it was the wrong thing to do. She’d be asking John to put his life at risk to save hers. Worse, she knew it wouldn’t take much to convince him at all. Between his duty as a member of International Rescue and their ‘friendship’… it would be all too easy to bring him into the impact zone. 

It would be killing two birds with one stone whichever way it went. If the combined manoeuvring power of Global One and Thunderbird 5 were enough to clear the impact zone before the comet hit, everyone would be safe.

But if they weren’t quick enough…

Thunderbird 5 and Global One would be destroyed. John, EOS and yourself would die.

Another option out of the window.

With no alternative means of escape, her metaphorical wings were clipped. Ridley was no better than a sitting duck, left to await her fate. The most realistic of all options was to find a cosy corner aboard Global One, sit back, and accept that there was little else she could do to remedy her predicament. If she was lucky, the comet’s collision would put an end to her misery instantly. She didn’t want to experience oxygen deprivation again. The Eden Incident was enough to last a lifetime. 

Perhaps music will help. 

Listening to her favourite songs would certainly make for a cinematic end to her life as a GDF Captain. Granted, Ridley assumed it would be a little less glamorous than the movies made it out to be, but if her flame was to be extinguished, she wanted it to be memorable. Perhaps she’d rig the music to play across the speakers of Global One, to make the affair truly spectacular. 

Would she sit by the window to watch the comet get closer, or would that make her too nervous? A window seat would give her the best view in the house. House? Space station? No, house definitely worked better in that phrase. 

Ridley involuntarily shivered. Dread was starting to seep into every fibre of her being.

“O’Bannon?”

Pull yourself together woman!  Take a breath. Perform. Everything’s alright.

“Hm? Oh, sorry, John. I was just preparing a message to command. Gotta warn them of our unexpected arrival.” She paused, chuckled, cleared her throat and then continued, “What did you say?”

I should warn command that the crew are on their way, not just claim that I am.

“Is there anyone else on board?” John’s voice was patient. Understanding. As though he knew she’d be distracted with captaining her crew. 

What if the crew alert him to my remaining on Global One?

“Everyone is accounted for, John. Global One is as empty as the day she was completed.”

“That’s a relief to hear. Virgil and Alan are attempting to drill to the comet’s core and plant an explosive, but with their current progress it’s unlikely detonation will occur before Global One is hit.”

Ridley winced at the wording. She couldn’t blame John. If he knew she was still on board, he wouldn’t have mentioned how close the comet truly was. Granted, if he was aware that she was forced to stay behind, he would have figured out a way to come to her rescue. 

Tell him.

“How long do you think it will be before the comet hits?” Ridley asked, glancing at the flickering image of John to offer him a half-hearted grin, “Command will want as many time stamps as I can give them.”

“EOS estimates about five minutes at most.”

Ridley blinked, taken aback momentarily at how quickly time had passed. She braved a look at the window, blood running cold at the sight of the comet taking up the entire expanse beyond the glass. With the closing distance, she could see Thunderbird 3 attending the scene, attached to the comet’s nucleus as they drilled further into the rock.

Five minutes until her life would come to a grinding halt. 

At most, a song and a half. 

I suppose there’s no place like the central hub to await the embrace of death. Would it be wrong of me to put on Space? I know it’s a love song that has nothing to do with this beautiful, endless void… but…

“John? Are you still there?”

Tell him. Ridley, you have to tell him.

“I’m here, Captain. Is everything alright? You sound… tired.”

Tell him what? I'm still on Global One? There wasn’t a seat spare for me? I’m about to die? Your brothers will discover my body amongst the wreckage? I’m scared? I love you?  Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t do that. I can’t do that to John.

Ridley tore her eyes away from the comet outside the window, settling on John’s flickering image. His previously serious expression had morphed into one of concern. It tugged painfully at her chest, knowing that she was the cause of his worry. 

“I’m fine, John. I’d forgotten to mention during the match earlier that I wasn’t going to be around next week for our usual handball. I was going to be virtually sitting in on a meeting, but now I’ll probably just attend it in person.”

Another glance at the window confirmed that the comet was still edging closer. She could see the damned orange rocket emblazoned with the logo of Fischler Industries clearly at this distance. Compared to the dull rock, it stuck out like a sore thumb. No doubt it would look just as out of place amongst the clean blues and whites of her space station. 

Around two minutes until impact.  Tell him.

“Oh, is that so?” John’s voice took on a hint of disappointment, shattering her heart further in guilt, “I’ll just have to use next week to practice my technique. When you come back, I’ll smash you.”

Tell him.

Ridley couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at him. “Is that so, Tracy? Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

At John’s stammer and rapidly pinkening blush, she laughed. The cold numbness she’d felt before had given way to lightness. Acceptance of the inevitable. Not even the looming presence of the comet outside could rattle her anymore. It felt nice.

It’s now or never. Ridley, tell him. Or you’ll never get the chance to.

“I’m only messing with you, John, don’t worry. But you know I won’t believe it until I see it! Either I have a natural talent for handball, or you’re purposefully letting me win!”

“Ha, I suppose you’ll just have to find out at our next match. I’ll even the scores, just you wait, Captain.”

30 seconds, if we’re lucky. This is your last chance to tell him. Please don’t let him go.

“Anyway, as much as it’s a joy to talk with you, I’m sure command will require me soon to give an account of what’s happened. I’ll talk to you later. See you round, spaceman. You too, EOS, since I know you’re listening. Bye!”

I’m so sorry John. Please don’t forget me. I love you.

[yanderes-galore]

I think a romantic or even platonic Tony vs Steve rivalry is hella underrated, especially during Civil War! Do ya mind writing a concept about it? Thx! <3

Of course! I'll keep it around the Civil War era yet I'll talk about a general idea of it. Been awhile since I saw Civil War so I did what I could do :)

Yandere! Tony Stark vs Steve Rogers

(Civil War Era)

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Overprotective, Manipulation, Tracking, Kidnapping, Trust issues, Violence, Dubious relationship, Trauma mention, Isolation, Attempted murder, Possessive behavior.

For this I'll be focusing more on the chaos this pair causes rather than how you meet the two.

You could meet in many ways, honestly if you somehow have connections with one of them you most likely know about the other.

Out of all the times this rivalry could take place, this is the most intense time.

The Avengers are already being torn apart by different ideals... with you in the picture?

You will not know peace.

Tony wants you on his side as he feels he can protect you better if he supports the Sokovia Accords.

Superhuman accidents would be monitored and with his tech you'd surely be safer than with Steve.

Steve's always been one for freedom and feels he would be limited if he agreed with Tony.

As a result he feels you'd be in danger if there wasn't anyone to help you... which makes him want you to join him.

They both have similar ideas at their core.

They're heroes... they want to protect the people...

They want to protect you.

The two can't agree or share in the slightest.

It would be better for you if you distanced yourself from the situation as best you can.

In fact, going into hiding is definitely better.

They'd both be desperate to have you on their own side.

Tony may try to bribe you while Steve does genuine attempts to convince you.

Tony feels Steve wouldn't protect you.

Steve feels Tony would restrict your freedom (which is ironic).

They would fight verbally and physically.

You just become another reason they can't agree, tearing apart The Avengers even more.

There would be differences in the rivalry depending on who you side with.

>> Choosing Team Captain America

If you choose Steve, you have to deal with Tony's team hunting you down.

Steve's protective and caring with you.

He brings you into hiding with him and Bucky, promising to protect you both.

His best friend... and his darling....

Steve asks Sam, Clint, Scott and Wanda to defend you and Bucky with him.

He knows damn well how Tony feels about your decision.

The man is no doubt pissed.

Steve's right.

Tony gets his team to scan everywhere for you.

He can't believe you!

He offers you protection and you go with Steve?

Unbelievable!

Tony isn't going to rest until he finds where you and Steve are.

Meanwhile... Steve tries to reassure you that you made the right choice.

With a comforting yet eerily possessive hold, Steve promises he'll never let you go.

Even if it requires him to have blood on his hands.

>> Choosing Team Iron Man

If you choose to side with Tony, you now have to deal with Steve's team.

Tony praises you for your choice and gets straight to business.

He's caring yet a bit more cold... he's stressed about Steve and his war criminal friends.

Tony is more paranoid due to trauma and locks you up in a secluded building he has.

He claims it's for your own safety and it appears he's one of the more unstable of the MCU yanderes.

Would you rather be caught by Steve? It's too dangerous, baby....

The isolation is much better for you.

You won't be alone... after all, he's here.

If he isn't? Then there's James, T'challa, Natasha, Vision, and even Peter to help him.

You're under much higher security with Tony, yet not much freedom.

Steve would try his best to locate you but it may take longer.

No matter who you choose... at some point the two team will clash and you may even be traded among them.

You'll get tired of it fast.

Tony and Steve get violent towards each other.

You're surprised they haven't killed each other yet.

In fact... they just might go through with it.

For plot reasons they may not entirely murder each other.

Their respective teams will prevent that...

But they REALLY try.

They may just come to the conclusion the only way to guarantee your safety is to... get rid of the other.

Safe to say they've lost their minds due to the stress and obsession rooted in their mind.

Steve doesn't like the idea of killing Tony... but he has to defend himself and you, no?

Meanwhile... Tony?

Tony's so self-absorbed he doesn't care if Steve is thrown in jail or dies.

He just needs to be out of the picture.

By the end of Civil War, one of them will emerge "victorious".

It could be either of them.

By the end of it... you just want to rest.

You just want to be alone.

Yet... you'll be stuck with one of them in the end.

They both say they want to protect you...

But is their protection really what's best for you?

[gayshroomboi]

Yandere headcanons for the rise boys!

Nothing overly graphic, deep or detailed will be here! Just some base heascanons!

—Mikey—

He’s the baby of the boys but also knows emotions, but that being said I don’t think he would realize his own right off the bat.

He’s touchy normally but after feelings start he’s going to cling and hold on no matter what like a koala!

He wants to be touching or around you constantly. Day, night, awake, asleep, if you know he’s there or not.

Mikey would get more attached as time goes on to the point where after a few weeks his clinging evolves into stalking and constant monitoring.

He would expense his love through cooking and touch.

Everything you do seems amazing to him, he’s obsessed with you.

He would do anything you asked him to do.

That person keeps bothering you? Forget them! They won’t be able to bother you with a broken jaw!

He’s far more likely to scare and slowly separate your family and friends away from you than to hurt them. If a overly nosy family member goes missing? Oh I’m so sorry how can he help?

He’s slow to violence as a yandere but will stoop to it if need be, never against you! Everyone other than you or his family is free game though!

I doubt he would kill in front of you if possible but if push comes to shove he would not hesitate to protect you and himself

If he’s not constantly near you once he’s obsessed he’s anxious, pacing, paranoid and coming up with ways to get you to stay longer.

I doubt he would purposely harm you, he knows your not made of glass but he still worries. Besides it’s far more fun it tie you up and watch you try to escape while all wrapped up!

He’s unlikely to jump to kidnapping you unless he feels it’s necessary or that you would simply be safer and happier with him. You would be constantly with him! It would be amazing!

—Raph—

This boi is protective

Protective to an extreme degree, you will not be allowed to walk on your own if you so much as bump your knee or step on your ankle weird.

He’s going to carry you around like one of his plushies and act like your made of porcelain.

He would probably realize his feelings early on but not quite realize his obsession isn’t normal

He isn’t exactly quick to anger but his is a Raph, the anger issues may not be as evident in rise but they are there.

His anger would never be turned on you but god help anyone who has ever wronged you in the slightest.

He would probably loose himself in fights if it involved you, killing something becoming very likely the longer the fight goes on.

He would be brutal, aggressive and cruel when it comes to making those who have or wish to harm you hurt.

He would probably scare himself into kidnapping you. What if you leave one day and don’t come back? What if someone finds your apartment and hurts you? You would be safer where he could always find you!

He’s gentle with you most the time but sometimes hugs tight enough to be painful or sometimes clips you on his spines and shell

If you ever said he had hurt you he would lock you in his room with him with his plushies and blankets where it’s safe till he can find a suitable apology.

Your his most precious thing after all, no plushie or person could compare to you.

The only way to keep you safe is with him and maybe his brothers, but they’re reckless with you. Your better off sat among his plushies and pillows, comfortable and safe.

—Leo—

I feel like Leo’s main go to wouldn’t be manipulation right off the bat. He’s the face man, his going to entertain and try to make you want on your own to stay before manipulating you to stay.

Probably the second most likely to kidnap you, thinking out every way to safely get you to the sewer and every way to keep you there.

He’s the most likely to use physical violence against you, not as far as broken bones but a dislocated ankle or shoulder to keep you from trying anything a second time is worth it in his mind.

He would probably deny his feelings at the start before giving up and going out of his way to woo you.

He knows his obsession with you isn’t healthy but he can’t bring himself to care to much, as long as your his he will happily be yours.

He feels useless so he would constantly do anything you ask of him, help you reach something, beat a difficult level in a game, make a teacher/boss ‘leave’. ANYTHING

He’s going to constantly show off to you, he’s going to learn things just so he can show he new skills off to you!

He trusts his family to look after and protect you when he can’t but it upsets him if you get to close or prefer one of his brothers over him.

You belong to him after all, your his! Not his brothers, his! Your his and he’s yours. Anything other than that will not stand

If he can’t convince you to stay with him without manipulation then he will slowly start to manipulate you into believing your family and friends hate/don’t care about you.

He’ll convince you the world is out to get you and your not safe but if you stay where he can keep you safe you will be alright. Just stay with him!

Killing isn’t his go to, he would much rather mutilate them so they live knowing what they did and what they are, animals. How dare the threaten your divinity with harm. Your are his, not theres.

—Donnie—

He’s obsessed, not as much as Mikey but still obsessed.

Touching is a sensory no for him but when it comes to you it’s not so bad, bearable, desirable almost.

He wants you with him everywhere, trailing behind him when he goes to a new room or him following you everywhere you go.

He definitely takes the longest to realize his feelings and obsession. He knows his obsession is bad but will convince himself he’s not obsessed and what he’s feeling is rational.

One of the first things he ever did was bug and track your phone. How can he protect you if he doesn’t know where you are after all!

Gifts! He constantly gives you gifts. Whether they’re for your or his benefit doesn’t matter!

A digital wristlet like his so you can contact them directly with a built in panic button! Cool now he knows your safe and where you are at all times, built in tranquilizer in case something goes wrong and he can always see you!

He’s the most likely to kidnap you, the thought would come to him randomly and he would latch on to it. Imagine having you with him constantly, listening to him and actually seeing him.

He would probably get the bear basics before kidnapping you on a whim, just wanting you with him already.

If he ever decided you were going to cuddle with him you would not be able to leave until he was done. Doesn’t matter if your uncomfortable, he’s going to take what he can get.

He’s likely to use physical violence against you, not in an attempt to actually harm you but if you ever try to escape or harm him or his brothers he’ll do anything to restrain you and keep you safe.

Your just scared, once you realize he just wants you with him you’ll stop fighting

[hoes4hoseok]

how you get the girl part iii: jake’s not-so-secret admirer

previous ☆ next ☆ series masterlist

your neighbor, heeseung, gets on your nerves. he’s full of himself, makes more noise than all of your neighbors combined in the middle of the night, spreads anti-superhero propaganda in your political science class, and, unfortunately, is the most attractive man you have ever laid eyes on.

pairing :: lee heeseung x fem!reader featuring :: jake sim, jeon somi, kim sunoo, yang jungwon, & more! genres/au’s :: superhero au, neighbors to lovers, sorta-enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, angst, nightwing!heeseung chapter warnings :: mentions of and references to sex, minor violence, suggestive, intoxication chapter word count :: 4.8k (including the texted parts!) tag list (open) :: @thejjrl @grace1852 @tsunchani @hanniiesuckle17 @mjr4fnaf1997 @goldenhypen @3nh4luvr @hobistigma @ditzie-s @nomy0520 @koroktsuya @beansworldsstuff @ronnierites @simplhee author’s note :: posting this early because i can't help it YAY i had missed writing this <3. please let me know if you liked this or have constructive criticisms (or if you have predictions 👀) because they really help me. i hope you enjoyyyy beta reader :: @fandomgirl489 thank you for your help! playlist :: here's to you

3. Gestures of Appreciation No one likes to have their effort and affection gone unnoticed — show her you care and appreciate her being in your life.

“Wow, this childhood friend is super rich, isn’t he?” Y/n peered inside the sizable truck in awe as Heeseung opened the door, its lights turning on the moment he did. The truck itself wasn’t too flashy, but Y/n could immediately tell that its contents cost more than her tuition.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied sheepishly, offering his hand for Y/n to brace herself as she stepped in. She took it, giving him a small smile of gratitude.

“Alright, first thing’s first — let’s see if we can get a visual on Somi,” Heeseung began, closing the door behind him, “I, uh…I think Jungwon can access security cameras from his set-up,”

Perhaps Y/n could have detected how odd that was if she wasn’t blinded by gratitude for Heeseung’s friend, but she didn’t.

“Okay,” she nodded as Heeseung sat down, gesturing for her to do the same before unbuttoning the top two buttons on his shirt. In front of them were five to six monitors, all mounted to the side of the truck.

“Lee Heeseung,” he stated, bending over slightly into the microphone. Y/n’s eyes widened in astonishment as the screens turned on simultaneously.

Heeseung typed persistently, ignoring her gaze, but it felt like she was burning holes in his neck. He didn’t want to know whether or not gears were turning in her head — that was tomorrow’s problem.

Y/n had several questions, but she knew that would slow everything down, and ensuring Somi was okay was the priority.

“Okay…” Heeseung mumbled, “here…is the live fee—”

“KNOCK, KNOCK,” 

Y/n’s hand flew to Heeseung’s arm, instinctually moving further from the door and closer to him.

In the future, Heeseung would insist that she felt safer with him, to which Y/n would roll her eyes. And maybe secretly agree.

“It’s alright,” Heeseung stood up, Y/n’s hand grazing down his arm as he did so, “it’s probably just Jungwon,”

Y/n nodded, looking back at the door in anticipation while it swung open.

“Heeseung!” Jungwon grinned, engulfing the man in a hug, “Ah, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Heeseung replied before hushing his voice to a lower volume, “remember what we talked about,”

Jungwon nodded as he let go of Heeseung, redirecting his attention to a now-standing Y/n.

Jungwon was shorter than Heeseung, definitely younger, but carried himself in a similarly confident way. He didn’t seem to cross over into cocky like Heeseung did, though.

“Y/n, Jungwon. Jungwon, Y/n,” Heeseung gestured between his “friends”. He wouldn’t label either of them with that term.

“Hi,” Jungwon walked over to Y/n excitedly, extending his arm, “I’m Yang Jungwon, an old friend of Heeseung’s from Gotham,”

“Y/n,” she replied, shaking his hand, “Heeseung’s neighbor,”

“Ah, that neighbor,” Jungwon nodded, his smile turning to something of a smirk.

Heeseung cleared his throat, “So, Jungwon, where’s Jake?”

“He’s coming,” Jungwon was almost wincing, “but there’s been…an unexpected complication,”

“Jake’s here?” Y/n tilted her head in confusion, “Why?”

“I just can’t believe that I never noticed how kind and handsome you are, Jake,”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed. Sure enough, Jake and Somi stood a few feet from the truck, her arm wrapped around his. 

Jake stared down Heeseung as he stepped into the truck with his new admirer, eyes wide as if to say, “What the hell is happening?”

“So…how did this happen?” Heeseung asked, closing the door before pointing at the two of them with an amused expression.

Somi grinned, “Well, Jake was so brave and rescued me from those horrible people. And then I realized how much I’ve overlooked him while pursuing a lover. But here he is. My perfect man,” Somi touched his face with her left hand, brushing her finger over his cheek.

Y/n’s mouth fell agape in disbelief, “Somi, what the—”

“Somi, let’s have Jungwon give you something to change into,” he cut Y/n off, gently pushing her towards the boy.

“Oh — okay,” Somi frowned but followed Jungwon to the back of the truck.

“Wow, you’re quite the ladies' man,” Heeseung joked as soon as Somi was out of earshot, earning a punch to the arm from Jake.

“Not funny,” Jake heaved a sigh, crossing his arms, “something’s wrong with her. I don’t know why she’s acting like this. I didn’t even save her, I just told her to follow Jungwon and me when she was already out of the building,”

“Yeah, she didn’t even act like this with old boyfriends,” Y/n added, glancing at her friend with a look of concern.

“Well, I’ve seen this happen with—” Heeseung stopped himself, “I mean, I’ve seen this happen in movies. It’s usually an aphrodisiac of some sort,”

“Oh my god,” Y/n rubbed her forehead, “Phenylethylamine. It’s phenylethylamine,”

“What’s that?” Heeseung asked, crossing his arms.

“You know, the love molecule? Just look it up,” 

Jake pulled out his phone as she continued, “It’s what Somi and I think was stolen from my biochemistry professor’s lab,”

“Web MD says…” Jake began, “phenylethylamine is a chemical with stimulant effects — it’s found naturally but can also be made in a lab. Phenethylamine stimulates the body to make certain chemicals that play a role in brain chemistry,”

“Okay, but on its own, there’s no way one of those goons could just spray some diluted phenylethylamine on her and make her act all heart-eyes over Jake,” Heeseung countered, “They must have done something to it to make it an actual love potion,”

“True,” Y/n nodded, “plus, we know they don’t have the exact sample from the lab because Nightwing stopped the robber. Who knows whether the original sample was even an attempt to make a love potion?”

Jake and Heeseung took a wary glance at each other. The conversation had turned to Nightwing. Of course.

“What did I miss?” Somi sang, making a beeline toward Jake, now wearing a large graphic tee and sweatpants.

“Not much,” Jake started, feeling especially grateful for her now, “we were just talking about going back home for the night, it’s late,”

“It’s only 10 PM, Jake,” Somi reasoned. “If we’re not gonna storm back in there to demand to know what the hell Mr. Kim is up to, then let’s go have fun! We could do karaoke or something!” 

“Somi,” Y/n took her friend’s hand, “Jake will still be around tomorrow. He’s not going to disappear. Right, Jake?”

“No, I won’t disappear,” Jake smiled, “in fact, I’m spending the night at Heeseung’s with Jungwon,”

“Oh, perfect! I can see you first thing in the morning then,” Somi replied, “I’m staying with Y/n tonight,”

Y/n shook her head with a grin, “the minute we figure out how to snap you out of this, I’m teasing the living daylight out of you,”

“Says the one who gave Lee Heeseung a lap dance,”

Jake gasped, an unmistakable grin on his face as he looked at Heeseung, “She did?!”

“Did what?” Jungwon asked, approaching the rest with a neatly folded pile of Somi’s angel get-up in hand.

“Please, in his dreams!” Y/n scoffed.

Well, it would be after today.

“I just…sat on his lap so no one got suspicious,” Y/n explained, hoping Heeseung wouldn’t notice her cheeks growing hot, “it wasn’t a real lap dance at all,”

“Exactly,” Heeseung nodded insistently, “it wasn’t,”

Jungwon raised his eyebrows as he looked over at Jake, but decided to let them have the win.

“Oh and Y/n,” Jake began, “Do you want a change of clothes too?”

“I think I’m okay for now, thank you” she replied, stuffing her hands in the pockets of Heeseung’s suit jacket, “We’re going home now anyways, right?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung smiled, pushing the sleeves of his button-down shirt up to his elbows, “Let’s get home,”

“Poison Ivy’s victims were infected with a kiss,” Jake began, staring up at the ceiling. “Unless I planted one on Somi without being aware of it, they can’t be related,”

The boys had fought briefly over who got the bed, but Jungwon ultimately won, being ‘the guest’. Jake may have acted annoyed, but he had missed Jungwon just as much as Heeseung did.

“That may be true, but figuring out what’s in the antidote could help us, right?” Jungwon asked. 

“Yeah, maybe Jungwon could look into that tomorrow while I work on the antidote using the lab sample,” Heeseung proposed. “I have a bad feeling that Somi will only fall further in love with you until we find a solution for this,”

“What should I do?” Jake asked, “Stay away from Somi, I presume,”

“Well…maybe,” Heeseung clenched his jaw slightly, “but I think you should still see her once or twice so she doesn’t get mad. If she does get worse, I don’t want to endanger Y/n,”

“Heeseung, Y/n will be fine,” Jake reassured his friend, “she can handle it,”

“I don’t wanna find out that she can’t,” Heeseung swallowed, taking a deep breath, “and Somi is in danger now, too. They know what she looks like. They know what all of you look like,”

Jungwon peered down at Heeseung from the edge of the bed, a small smile of sympathy on his face. “They’ll be fine, Heeseung. I’ll make sure of it,”

Heeseung nodded, muttering a small thank you before the room grew quiet. The curtains on Heeseung’s window were far from opaque, so Jake found himself watching the array of lights dance across the room intently as his friends drifted off to sleep. 

“Jake,” Jungwon whispered after a few minutes, “does Heeseung know about…”

“No. He doesn’t,” Jake sighed, voice soft, “I don’t think I’ll tell him, either,”

“What? Why?” Jungwon sat up to look down at his friend. 

“Even if I’m lucky and Heeseung and Y/n get over themselves and start dating, it just feels so odd to say, ‘Hey, I’m in love with your ex-girlfriend! Who probably doesn’t even think of me in that way, so I’m jeopardizing both of our friendships for fun!’”

Jungwon lay back down, letting the quiet sounds of Bludhaven traffic fill the room momentarily. “I’m sorry, Jake,”

“Don’t be. I get some damn great friends instead,”

Y/n woke up to the smell of something burning. “Somi?” she asked, still groggy.

When she got no response, Y/n pushed the comforter off her feet and stood up, making her way to the kitchen. “Somi, whatever you’re cooking is definitely bur…ning,”

Okay, now she was awake. Somi stood in the kitchen with a bowl in hand, peering over a pan filled with butter that had likely already turned black.

“Oh, good morning, Y/n,” Somi smiled, “I’m just making some pancakes to bring to Jake and his friends,”

“Okay…” Y/n came closer, tying her hair haphazardly, “Do you need some help maybe?”

“Nope, I’m alright,” Somi insisted, continuing to pour way too much batter into the pan as she dismissed her friend.

“Somi, don’t you have work to do?” Y/n inquired, tilting her head in disbelief.

“Eh, I’m thinking about quitting,” Somi shrugged, “if I’m going to be devoted to Jake, I need to give him more of my time. And my job takes up way too much of that time,”

“What?! You’re going to quit your job over a guy? Before a single date, too?!”

“You know what, you’re not being very supportive right now!” Somi yelled, waving her arms around, “I am head-over-heels in love with Jake Sim and if you cared about me you’d see that!”

Y/n sighed in defeat. “I do see that. Just please take a day off of work before you decide to quit altogether,”

“Fine,” Somi nodded, her voice lowered, “and I really do need help with these pancakes,”

Y/n smiled mischievously, scooting in next to her friend to remove the possibly ruined frying pan, “so Jake, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s sweet, isn’t he? For saving me?” 

Y/n knitted her brows. She had been so caught up in all that happened last night that she never stopped to wonder — why did Jake save Somi? Why was Jungwon there? Sure, they were probably there to help Heeseung find out who attempted to steal from his professor, but why would a guy like Heeseung care enough to do that? And now that she thought about it, as much as she thought she was commanding the situation, it was Heeseung who had the cards in his hand all night.

So…either Lee Heeseung is hiding something, or he’s secretly…a good guy?

Y/n had meant to thank Heeseung for whatever the hell happened yesterday, but he had already left for class by the time she and Somi delivered the pancakes next door.

Throughout the day, she found herself checking her phone more often than usual, especially since she and Somi were both working from her apartment. She didn’t know what she was waiting for — after all, Heeseung never texted her. Why would that change today of all days? 

She’d just have to trust him and his friends to knock on her door with a cure for her best friend in the next few days. Y/n knew she could be useful in that pursuit, but they insisted she stay with Somi for the day and make sure she didn’t get into any trouble. Trust him. Why was she trusting him with something so important? Someone so important?

She didn’t take the time to rehash her questionable thought process, choosing instead to immerse herself in her classwork and article for the Scoop once she managed to convince Somi that Jake would come over after his classes.

He and Jungwon both came to see them around dinner time, which came as a surprise to Y/n. They even managed to get Somi’s favorite type of pizza and played board games with her until she fell asleep. Damn. Was that making Y/n the slightest bit…bitter?

Y/n stared down at her laptop screen intently — it was now nearly 10 PM. Though she managed to finish her work for her midnight deadlines, she had made an embarrassingly small amount of progress on the article she offered to take on for Somi. Out of the Five Ways to Win a Girl’s Heart Y/n had to come up with and write about, she had only completed two. Sincerity and Reliability.

Y/n scoffed at herself. ‘Hm. That’s funny. The two things you can’t decide whether Heeseung has,’ 

She didn’t even bother lying to herself this time. Y/n was interested in Heeseung. Sure, she’d always had the tiniest urge to make out with him, but the more she started to question everything she knew about him, the more she enjoyed his company. 

Y/n shut her laptop with a soft groan before glancing at her watch. Somi was fast asleep. Heeseung should still be awake — at this time a week or two prior, he was probably making his and his girlfriend’s sex lives the whole floor’s business.

This was a bad idea, right? 

Ah, who cares? No one was awake to tell her it was. 

Okay, so there was no response to Y/n’s knocking. Maybe Heeseung was asleep. Maybe he was working late. Maybe he was just listening to music. Maybe he was…with someone else?

No matter what the case was, Y/n wasn’t going to let this rattle her, even if she did leave feeling a bit dejected. 

With hand warmers in her pockets and her trusty pepper spray and taser on her lanyard, she looked back at her door in consideration before turning around and heading up the stairs. She wasn’t in the mood for walking tonight. 

Luckily for her, there weren’t any of the usual smokers on the roof — it was too late for them and too early for the drinkers.

Somehow, she felt colder in her parka now than she had in her stripper corset and shorts from the night before. It was probably a result of not having the time to notice the temperature while running from fugitives, but now all she could think of was how bitter it was. This night, she decided, did not feel like a synth-pop album. She missed home and Sunoo and her warm bed. The quiet one. The one that wasn’t attached to the thought of Lee Heeseung and all the subsequent thoughts. And it was nights like these that made her so eager to graduate early and get the hell out of Bludhaven.

The ground was still damp from the previous day’s downpour, but Y/n sat against what she assumed to be a broken air conditioning fixture (summers were hell in this apartment for a reason) anyway. There was too much light pollution to see any stars, but she liked getting to look at the sky regardless. She sat there for several minutes, taking note of the planes passing overhead and which lights turned off through the course of the night.

“Uh, Miss?”

Y/n jerked her head toward the source of the gravelly voice, grabbing her pepper spray instinctually. Her eyes widened. “It’s…it’s you,”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Nightwing put his hands up defensively. “No need for pepper spray then, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Y/n dropped the bottle from her hand, letting it dangle from her lanyard once again. Her heartbeat could’ve powered a freight train. “W-what brings you here?”

“I was wondering what you were doing all alone out here this late,” Nightwing explained, “It’s not safe for — for anyone,”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m just fine, thank you very much,” she sat back down, returning her hands to her pockets. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone, especially not the man who was (sort of) the reason Somi may never have free will again. Okay, Y/n, that’s a bit of a stretch.

“Do you…have something on your mind?” Nightwing offered, looking down at her while she avoided eye contact, “I’m a pretty good listener,”

“No…” Y/n lied, gnawing on her lower lip. “You can stay if you want, though,” she added, half-expecting him to turn around and leave.

“Sure,” Nightwing smiled and sat down next to her. “I can stay,”

On their last encounter, Y/n hadn’t gotten closer than 20 feet to Nightwing. Now, he was right beside her. Wait. Now, he was right beside her.

“I don’t want to talk, but I’d like to listen to you,” Y/n quickly pulled her phone out from her pocket, “Would be willing to interview for the Scoop? I’d have to record it, but only for formality's sake. I only use quotes, so no one would be able to hear your voice,”

Nightwing smiled at the ground for a moment before nodding. “I’ll agree to three questions, but no recording. Only transcriptions,”

“Okay, I’ll take it,” Y/n beamed, “let me just pull up Somi’s — er, my colleague’s questions,”

“You never told me your name,” Nightwing reminded her as she searched her pockets for a piece of paper.

“Y/n L/n,” she replied, scrambling to retrieve a creased paper from her pocket sitting against her knee and a pen in hand. 

“Good to know,” Nightwing nodded. “You have a lovely name, by the way,”

“Thank you,” Y/n contained a smile, “First question: What do you have to say about the accusations that you’ve caused an increase in crime in Bludhaven?”

“Are you asking if I believe them?” Nightwing began, “Because if so, the answer is no. The crimes that usually go under the radar are being accounted for now rather than just muggings and violence. That’s why crime rates have gone up,”

Y/n nodded, not taking the time to look up until she had finished writing his response word-for-word. Somi would kill her if she got an interview with Nightwing and somehow fucked it up.

Heeseung Nightwing, on the contrary, was smiling to himself as he noticed how Y/n knitted her eyebrows in focus as she wrote.

“And…” Y/n finally looked up, “why did you choose the name ‘Nightwing’?”

“I was inspired by a hero Superman told me about. From his home planet,” he explained, eyes darting away to avoid suspicion, “Nightwing was the great rebuilder; the catalyst of change. So that’s where I took the name from,”

“Oh,” Y/n tilted her head in surprise, “that’s interesting. I’d love to hear more abou—”

“HELP!”

Y/n’s eyes widened at the distant cry for help.

“Duty calls, Ms. L/n,” Nightwing stood up, backing away from her as he spoke, “I promise to answer that last question that I owe you if you go back to your apartment now,”

“Uh, sure, yeah,”

“Perfect,” Nightwing gave her a wink before disappearing off the edge of the building with a jump.

Oh. Wow. These were foreign feelings.

“Hi,” Y/n blinked in surprise — how many times was she going to be surprised today? Heeseung at her doorstep.

“Hey,” Heeseung gulped, trying to suppress his nervous energy as he lifted the plastic bag he had in his hand. His hair was disheveled and seemed slightly damp, which, as Y/n noted, was not a bad look for him. “I, um…I got some Thai takeout to eat after work if you maybe…wanted to join me,”

Y/n knew better than to take anything other than the words “I want you” as a sign, but the thought of the overconfident and flirtatious Lee Heeseung being nervous because of her made her giddy.

“Yeah, sure,” Y/n nodded before looking down at herself, suddenly self-conscious of her Bat-symbol pajamas, “Let me just change real quick and I’ll be over in a minute,”

“Don’t worry about it,” Heeseung stifled a laugh, “I think they’re cute,”

“Thanks,” Y/n smiled, hesitantly pulling the key out of her pocket and locking the door, “My friend Sunoo got them made for my 16th birthday because the guy doesn’t sell them himself,”

“Oh yeah?” Heeseung asked, pushing open the door to his apartment.

“Yeah!” Y/n continued, following him inside, “It seems like an untapped market, but I know selling stuff with the Bat-insignia would make it less meaningful. That didn’t matter to me when I was 15, though,” 

“Well, legally sourced or not, I like them,” Heeseung declared as he started to empty the plastic bag on the table.

Y/n raised her eyebrows — Heeseung took what seemed like ten boxes of food out of the bag.

Heeseung only noticed her expression once the bag was empty. “What? I didn’t know what you liked,” He shrugged. “I’ll just donate the rest tomorrow before class,”

Y/n pretended not to be as (oddly?) touched as she was by that, nodding in agreement before picking up a box of flat noodles and a plastic fork. “Do you donate food often?”

Heeseung seemed to hesitate at that question; as if he was going to admit that he just said that to impress her. But to Y/n’s surprise, he said, “Yeah. I do,”

“Oh. That’s kind of you,” she continued, “Where should we sit?”

“Well…we could sit right here,” Heeseung gestured toward the table, “Or we can sit on the couch and put on a movie. Whatever you’re comfortable with,”

“Okay, pause,” Y/n put down her fork to place her hand on Heeseung’s shoulder, “I know that willingly spending time together isn’t something we’re used to, but you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me now that you’ve seen my legs. I know you liked what you saw,”

Wow. Y/n didn’t know what came over her to be confident enough to say that, but it worked — because the Heeseung she knew was back. “Oh, I liked what I saw?” Heeseung scoffed, his cockiness returning with a vengeance, “You nearly choked on your saliva when I unbuttoned my shirt like a Victorian woman,”

Y/n glanced at Heeseung’s chest momentarily, only making his smirk widen. “So, the couch then?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung grabbed a box and a fork, “the couch is great,”

The neighbors, despite their arrogant smack talk about being unaffected by each other, sat on opposite edges of the couch in silence as they started eating. The two of them were far too busy overthinking the implications of the conversation that just finished to find it awkward.

“So…you like Batman but not Nightwing? What about Superman?”

Heeseung shook his head, eyes fixed on his food. “I’m not a huge fan of any of them, to be honest,”

“Oh,” Y/n said softly, an air of disappointment filling the room. Right. The other reason they weren’t friends. She could ask why, but she already knew why. He had listed all the reasons just a couple of days ago in class. Y/n noticed him clench his jaw in the slightest — he was biting his tongue.

After a moment of silence, Y/n continued. “Nightwing got me coffee too, once,”

Heeseung broke a smile. “Are you trying to make me dislike him more?”

“Nope,” Y/n shrugged, “Just gauging your reaction,”

“Oh my god,” Heeseung’s mouth dropped open in faux disbelief, “You don’t care if I like Nightwing, you want me to be jealous of him,”

“No, no, I do,” Y/n replied. He was half-right, so she wasn’t really lying. “Besides, you’re the one who assumed I was trying to make you hate him,”

At this point, the two of them had put their food on the coffee table and gotten considerably closer to each other. It was very intentional.

“You’re blushing,” Heeseung added, still grinning. “You totally have a crush on me,”

“What are you, 14?” Y/n scoffed, touching her right cheek instinctively, “I don’t get crushes. I either date someone or I don’t. And clearly, this is an ‘absolutely not’ situation,”

“Huge crush,” Heeseung repeated, leaning in closer to Y/n as his gaze trailed down to her lips. 

Y/n, despite acknowledging that it was a huge exaggeration, knew that already. She knew she liked Heeseung. But she found it odd that he only started being nice to her the night of the stripper fiasco…all she knew was that he was attracted to her. And maybe nothing else.

She winced. “No,” Heeseung’s eyes darted back to hers in surprise, his flirty energy dying on impact. “I won’t be your week-long rebound,”

“Y/n you’re not a—”

“I know what a rebound is, Heeseung,” she continued. “Don’t feel guilty. I just uh, can’t be that for you,”

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows, “I…I like you, though, I mean that,”

Y/n scoffed. “That doesn’t carry a lot of weight considering when you started acting like…” she moved her hand up and down to gesture, “…like this. The night after you got dumped, you saw your kind of hot neighbor in a strip show — I get it!”

“So you don’t believe that I like you?”

“I think you’re into me, but no. I do not think you like me,” Y/n crossed her arms protectively, “I think you’d date me for a month or two, realize you’re still in love with your ex-girlfriend, and then dump me because you ‘don’t wanna string me along’ as if that wasn’t what you were doing the whole time,”

Y/n watched as Heeseung swallowed, struggling to come up with something to say in return. He opened his mouth for a moment, but closed it again. Giving Heeseung a pity-laced smile, Y/n stood up, touching his shoulder as she did. “Thank you for the food. That was sweet of you,”

She walked out. He didn’t follow her.

She wished he did.

3. Gestures of Appreciation No one likes to have their effort and affection gone unnoticed — show her you care and appreciate her being in your life.

Hold on…what?

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[deejadabbles]

Safehaven (Thorn x Reader)

Summary: Who can blame you for falling for your bodyguard? Rating: G (but Minors DNI) A.N: A continuation of this drabble, I tried to keep this one thematic with the first, but it... got away from me and came out much longer than the first. Word Count: 1,405 Warnings: None, besides mentions/explorations of loneliness. Masterlist /// Tag List Sign Up  /// AO3

You had never felt more alone in all your life, than in the first year of the war. Lost and alone.

Life was never particularly easy, growing up on a planet far from the comforts of the core worlds. That's why you had devoted your life to science, to the betterment of your people. You wanted to help, to pave new ways for your home.

But then, they turned their backs on you.

Your world was now a safe haven for tyranny and pain, your leaders bowing and scraping at the feet of those who would twist your inventions into weapons- into tools used for killing, not healing. It sickened you, sickened you to your core.

So, you had turned to the Republic. The lesser of evils, the safer danger, the only real option if you wanted you and your family to live. And now, now you were lost and alone. Your loved ones smuggled away to some secret hideaway, while you were put to work for the Republics oh so Grand Army.

You made the most of it. Always, you wanted your inventions to help, to better, so you did what you could. Especially since this side of war had real, living, breathing men fighting on it. You did all you could to ensure your contributions could help, could protect.

Then, just when the height of your lost isolation hit, you met him. Commander Thorn.

The bounty placed on your head had hardly phased you. They could come all they wanted, as long as you and your inventions weren't under a separatist thumb. But the Republic wasn't willing to risk losing an investment, so, they gave you a bodyguard done up in red plastoid.

Thorn. He was...so unlike anything you had expected.

You weren't stupid. You knew no one on this godforsaken city planet trusted you. You saw the way your "colleagues" looked at you. The strict rules on your comings and goings. How all your comms were monitored. Coruscant was not your safe haven, it was a glass cage where everyone expected you to turn on them, just as you had turned on your own home. It didn't matter to them why you had done it in the first place.

Except Thorn.

At first, he was professional enough, but even then, you heard the lightness in his voice. The modulator did little to hide the tease in his tone, and that T visor couldn't mask the way his gaze lingered when you offered him a smile.

Commander Thorn treated you as if...as if you were worth protecting. He never made you feel like a burden, or as if you were just another job to him. He talked, and listened and never once regarded you as if you hid a treacherous mind.

But even more, he took the duty of protecting you to heart and it was the first time he touched you that you realized just how much your loneliness had started to ease with him around.

The moment you cried out, skin burnt while working on a prototype, he had swooped in, taking your hand so delicately that it made your breath hitch in your throat. He was so tender and caring, over nothing but a small burn.

And funny. Maker, he was funny.

"You know, it's in my job description, I should totally punch that prototype for endangering you." It was said with a wink as he bandaged your hand, and you hadn't been able to stop the bubble of laughter that took you over.

Before that moment, you couldn't even remember the last time you laughed- and it felt good. It felt so good to laugh again, even if it was over a such a silly joke. It made that hole that had been growing in your heart a little easier to bear.

You loved how humorous he was and, to your surprised delight, that first laugh seemed to make him want more. He seemed to stockpile silly jokes like a dragon horded treasure. They were stupid, and he knew it, but they made you laugh so he said them anyway, day after day.

Slowly, it became easier to smile. Joy came easily now that he was there.

Once, in a more serious moment, he had thanked you for your craftsmanship, thanked you for wanting to keep his brothers safe with armor worthy of them.

"It's nice to know you have our backs. People like you...you help make all the fighting feel worth while." The rare, far away look in his eyes in that moment could have broken your heart, if it wasn't for the fact that Thorn seemed incapable of causing you any amount of pain.

His gratitude was sweet, but wholly unnecessary. The mere idea that giving soldiers a fighting chance was something that needed thanks made you scoff. But, given the way you'd seen his brothers treated by some, maybe Thorn was shocked over even that small amount of care.

It gave you a new determination, to show him all the care in this maker-forsaken galaxy. You had discovered that your handsome, funny, charming bodyguard needed little encouragement to bend the rules, and you used it to your full advantage. Making him meals in the small kitchen of your cage that started to feel more like a home. Asking him about his wants, his dreams, even if he had little to say at the start. Begging him to partake in your hobbies, in the hopes that he might find more of his own.

Thorn was a rule bender, but, when it came down to it, he was still damn good at his job.

The danger was almost over before you even had time to register it in your shocked state. The bounty hunter was down with only one shot fired. A shot that had barely grazed you thanks to your loyal protector. Then, when the ringing in your ears stopped, his voice was the first thing you heard.

And it sounded like home.

More like a home than your birth place, and certainly more than this heart of the republic.

It was all you could do to stay in the present and follow his guidance to keep you safe, to ensure your safety. You let him do his job and the danger passes swiftly, with nothing but a grazing burn to your arm for that that bounty's trouble. It was a rather small incident, all things considered, but Thorn was still the picture of concern, even when he guided you back to the safe haven.

Once again, Thorn made you feel like you were someone worth protecting. Not because it was his job, but simply because you were you.

It was possibly one of the purest forms of love you had ever witnessed.

Though, you were wrong about one thing, Thorn could cause you some small prickle of pain, even if it wasn't his fault. Because longing could hurt, and you hadn't realized how much it had been hurting you this whole time. Not until that night, not until you were worn thin from reporting the attack to Fox and sick to death of the medical staff looking you over; not until Thorn took your hand again and firmly told everyone that it was time for him to take you home for privacy and rest.

The longing for your tender protector had been growing for so long that it was almost easy to accept, but not tonight, not when he had shown you so many different kinds of care. Now, having him so close made you feel comfort and heartache in a bizarre tandem.

You almost made it to your front door, before everything was finally just too much.

When the fear, and pain, and bone tiredness of the night finally hit you, Thorn was there. He caught you when your knees gave way and swept you up into his arms with ease. Your bodyguard carried you as if you were a blushing bride, to the place he made feel like a home. Like a true safe haven.

Commander Thorn needed little encouragement to bend the rules, so, when he placed you safely on your bed, you kept holding on, pulling him close. You asked him to stay and he didn't even hesitate. Not because it was his job, but because you were you.

That was all the reason Thorn needed to love you.

Tag List: @blueink-bluesoul @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @arcsimper5 @littlemissmanga @wings-and-beskar @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen @briefartnaturewolf @kimiheartblade @littlemissbshine @funeralreunion @chubbyhedgehog-blog

[fursasaida]

Tumblr won't turn the URL into a link card for whatever reason, so, here's a Washington Post article about Israel using white phosphorus in Lebanon. Some key points here, full text under the cut:

White phosphorus is technically legal when used to obscure military activities and at a distance from civilians. In this case it was directly targeted at homes in Dheira, a village near the Lebanese border with Israel. 4 homes were incinerated and 9 people injured in this particular attack on 10/16. Residents have been displaced.

Amnesty International has called for this to be treated as a war crime.

The white phosphorus munitions are US-made according to unnamed weapons experts, Amnesty International, and the Post itself. They appear to have been manufactured in 1989 and 1992. The Biden administration claims not to have included white phosphorus in arms transfers to Israel since 10/7.

The IDF claims these were used to create obscuring smoke and not to target civilians; they possess safer munitions that would do the same thing without contaminating bodies, soil, and buildings, but did not use those.

A part that deserves highlighting in full: "Israeli forces continued to shell the town with white phosphorus munitions for hours, residents said, trapping them in their homes until they could escape around 7 a.m. the next morning. Residents now refer to the attack as the 'black night.' Most fled the town when the shelling stopped, returning during a week-long pause in fighting and leaving again when it resumed. Uday Abu Sari, a 29-year-old farmer, said in an interview that he was trapped in his home for five hours during the shelling and was unable to breathe because of the smoke. He suffered respiratory problems for days after the attack. 'Emergency services told us to put something that was soaked in water on our faces, which helped a bit. I couldn’t see my finger in front of my face,' he said. 'The whole village became white.'"

"White phosphorus fell onto several homes and ignited fires, incinerating furniture and stripping appliances to scorched metal. Remnants of the sticky, black chemical littered the ground 40 days after the attack and combusted when residents kicked at it."

US officials, as usual, expressed "concern" and an intention to "learn more," which of course means nothing.

As a reminder, this is not a unique attack on Lebanese soil since the slaughter started. "Israel has used the munition more than 60 times in Lebanon’s border areas in the past two months, according to data collected by ACLED, a group that monitors war zones. Lebanese Prime Minister Najib Mikati said on Dec. 2 that Israel’s use of the munition has 'killed civilians and produced irreversible damage to more than 5 million square meters of forests and farmland, in addition to damaging thousands of olive trees.'"

By William Christou, Alex Horton and Meg Kelly

Updated December 11, 2023 at 3:48 p.m. EST | Published December 11, 2023 at 6:00 a.m. EST

DHEIRA, Lebanon — Israel used U.S.-supplied white phosphorus munitions in an October attack in southern Lebanon that injured at least nine civilians in what a rights group says should be investigated as a war crime, according to a Washington Post analysis of shell fragments found in a small village.

A journalist working for The Post found remnants of three 155-millimeter artillery rounds fired into Dheira, near the border of Israel, which incinerated at least four homes, residents said. The rounds, which eject felt wedges saturated with white phosphorous that burns at high temperatures, produce billowing smoke to obscure troop movements as it falls haphazardly over a wide area. Its contents can stick to skin, causing potentially fatal burns and respiratory damage, and its use near civilian areas could be prohibited under international humanitarian law.

Of the nine injured in Israel’s attack on Dheira, at least three were hospitalized, one for days.

Lot production codes found on the shells match the nomenclature used by the U.S. military to categorize domestically produced munitions, which show they were made by ammunition depots in Louisiana and Arkansas in 1989 and 1992. The light green color and other markings — like “WP” printed on one of the remnants — are consistent with white phosphorous rounds, according to arms experts.

The M825 smoke rounds, fired from 155mm howitzers, have legitimate use on the battlefield, including signaling friendly troops, marking targets and producing white smoke that conceals soldiers from the eyes of enemy forces. The rounds are not intended for use as incendiary weapons.

The weapons are part of billions of dollars in U.S. military arms that flow to Israel every year, which has fueled Israel’s war on Hamas in the Gaza Strip, launched after the militants attacked on Oct. 7. At least 17,700 people, many of them civilians, have been killed since the Israeli operation began, according to the Gaza Health Ministry.

Following publication of this story, National Security Council spokesman John Kirby said Monday the administration is “concerned” about the use of white phosphorous munitions and that they would be “asking questions to try to learn a bit more.”

Tensions along Lebanon’s southern border between Israeli forces and Hezbollah, the Iranian-backed militia, have boiled over from a simmer to near-daily exchanges of fire in the weeks since Oct. 7.

Dheira, a town of 2,000, has become a focal point for fighting. Just across the border from an Israeli radar tower, it has been used as a staging ground for Hezbollah’s attacks against Israel. At least 94 people have been killed on the Lebanese side of the border since tensions escalated, according to data released on Dec. 5 by the Health Ministry — 82 have been militants, according to Hezbollah. In addition, at least 11 Israelis have been killed, most of them soldiers.

Photos and videos verified by Amnesty International and reviewed by The Post show the characteristic ribbons of white phosphorus smoke falling over Dheira on Oct. 16.

Israeli forces continued to shell the town with white phosphorus munitions for hours, residents said, trapping them in their homes until they could escape around 7 a.m. the next morning. Residents now refer to the attack as the “black night.”

Most fled the town when the shelling stopped, returning during a week-long pause in fighting and leaving again when it resumed.

Uday Abu Sari, a 29-year-old farmer, said in an interview that he was trapped in his home for five hours during the shelling and was unable to breathe because of the smoke. He suffered respiratory problems for days after the attack.

“Emergency services told us to put something that was soaked in water on our faces, which helped a bit. I couldn’t see my finger in front of my face,” he said. “The whole village became white.”

White phosphorus ignites when in contact with oxygen and burns at temperatures up to 1,500 degrees, which can cause severe injuries. The chemicals left in the body can damage to internal organs, sometimes fatally, according to a Human Rights Watch report.

It is unclear why the Israeli military fired the rounds into the evening, as smoke would have little practical use at night and there were no Israeli troops on the Lebanese side of the border to mask with smokescreens. Residents speculated that the phosphorus was meant to displace them from the village and to clear the way for future Israeli military activity in the area.

In a statement, the Israel Defense Forces wrote that white phosphorous shells launched by Israel are used to create smokescreens, not for targeting or causing fires. It said its use of the weapon “complies and goes beyond the requirements of international law.”

Israeli forces possess safer alternatives, such as M150 artillery rounds, which produce screening smoke without the use of white phosphorous.

The U.S. origin of the shells was verified by Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International. The same manufacturing codes also appear on white phosphorus shells lined up next to Israeli artillery by the city of Sderot, near the Gaza Strip, in an Oct. 9 photo.

The United States is under an obligation to track the behavior of its partners and allies who receive its assistance in order to comply with U.S. law, humanitarian law experts said. The use of white phosphorus smoke is permitted if used for legitimate military operations, but like other weapons, its misuse can violate laws of armed conflict. Rights groups have warned its use should be restricted around civilians because fire and smoke can be spread to populated areas.

“The fact that U.S.-produced white phosphorus is being used by Israel in south Lebanon should be of great concern to U.S. officials,” Tirana Hassan, the executive director of Human Rights Watch, wrote in an email. “[Congress] should take reports of Israel’s use of white phosphorus seriously enough to reassess U.S. military aid to Israel.”

The United States is not conducting real-time assessments of Israel’s adherence to the laws of war, Biden administration officials said.

“Anytime that we provide items like white phosphorous to another military, it is with a full expectation that it’ll be used in keeping with...legitimate purposes and in keeping with the law of armed conflict,” Kirby said.

It is unclear when the United States delivered the munitions to Israel. The U.S. has not provided white phosphorous munitions to Israel since the Oct. 7 Hamas attack, Pentagon spokesman Maj. Gen. Pat Ryder told reporters Monday.

“When it comes to our relationship with Israel, we’ll continue to communicate to them the importance of mitigating civilian harm,” Ryder said, adding that the department could not yet verify the weapons were from U.S. stocks.

White phosphorus fell onto several homes and ignited fires, incinerating furniture and stripping appliances to scorched metal. Remnants of the sticky, black chemical littered the ground 40 days after the attack and combusted when residents kicked at it.

In 2009, Human Rights Watch documented Israel’s use of U.S.-made white phosphorus munitions in violation of international law in its 22-day offensive in Gaza. At least one of the shells found by The Post in Dheira was from the same batch of white phosphorus used by Israel in 2009, according to lot production codes.

In 2013, the Israeli military pledged to stop using white phosphorus on the battlefield, saying it would transition to gas-based smoke shells.

Israel has used the munition more than 60 times in Lebanon’s border areas in the past two months, according to data collected by ACLED, a group that monitors war zones. Lebanese Prime Minister Najib Mikati said on Dec. 2 that Israel’s use of the munition has “killed civilians and produced irreversible damage to more than 5 million square meters of forests and farmland, in addition to damaging thousands of olive trees.”

Tyler Pager aboard Air Force One, Missy Ryan in Washington and Mohamad El Chamaa in Beirut contributed to this report.

[shu-box-puns]

You wanna be one of them (Tsu’tey x Reader) Act 3

Previous chapter <- Act 3 -> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Word count: 7677

Summary: Tsu’tey dropping hints, and everything going over Reader’s head.

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

The long helicopter ride back to Hell’s Gate was painfully awkward. 

Quaritch had been quick and efficient in getting everyone evacuated out of the compound and moved to the waiting Sampson.

You refused to speak when addressed. Seething that you’d been pulled out at such a crucial time, and before dinner of all things. The hunters had brought in fresh yerik this morning, which you’d been greatly looking forward to until Neytiri and Jake rocked up freshly mated and turned everything to shit. 

At least Trudy had been spared. Upon landing, Quaritch had sent her on her way with little more than a slap on the wrist and a promise of getting her grounded if she stepped out of line. She went easily enough, looking hesitant until Grace shot her a firm look. 

That was half an hour ago. Now you were in headquarters, lined up with the other three whilst Quaritch and Selfridge attempted to negotiate the chaos. The colonel had wisely left you cuffed, even after removing everyone else’s. He’d taken one look at the burning fury in your eye and decided he’d be safer if he left you restrained. 

You stood stony faced as Grace attempted to negotiate with Quaritch and Selfridge who clearly were not understanding a word of what she was saying. You could already tell from Selfridge’s expression and the firm set of Quaritch’s crossed arms that they’d already made up their minds. 

You busied yourself with looking around the room while they talked. The other workers in the large office blatantly ignored the conversation whilst Wainfleet guarded the door. 

There was a na’vi bow mounted on the wall in Selfridge’s office. It hung above his head like a bad omen. You recognised the finely carved wood from HomeTree. Took into account the decorative swirls at the tips. Whoever had calved it was definitely dead. Their hard work reduced to a trophy in a dusty office.

Grace finished her small monologue and Selfridge laughed. Any lingering hope that this could be resolved without bloodshed abruptly evaporated. 

Quaritch spoke up, ushering the small group to gather around a nearby monitor. The guards followed suit, intrigued by Jake’s exhausted face popping up on screen in the form of a video log. Even Wainfleet was drawn away from his position so he could look at the monitor. 

You didn’t bother drawing closer. A glance at the date confirmed that you’d been present during that late night rant, tucked out of frame but staring bug eyed at the tired marine as he ranted.

Taking the distraction for what it was, you glanced at the open door and saw your chance.

Knowing the sound of your boots would draw attention, you slipped out of them. One careful footstep after another. The guards hadn’t given you time to lace them up back at the compound, so they came off easily. Then you simply walked out, head held high and your strides confident. No one called you back.

Your footsteps made no sound against the freezing metal floors as you calmly walked out of the main office and took the stairs two at a time down three flights. If you encountered someone in the hallway, you offered a friendly smile and they mostly waved back. It was easy. Unnervingly easy.

By chance, you encountered Trudy outside of the main avatar link room. Her eyes bugged out of her head when she noticed you, head snapping from your triumphant grin to your still cuffed wrists.

She shifted her stance, hands on her hips with an easy grin. “I didn’t know you were so slippery.”

“It was all the training.” You assured her, to which she nodded, looking you up and down with newfound respect.

“Glad to see you’re okay. Are the others?”

“Still trying to talk Quaritch out of hitting HomeTree.”

“So, they just let you go?” Trudy pressed, still looking confused by the cuffs and your lack of shoes.

“About that. Got any good hiding spots around here.”

She rolled her eyes with a taxing sigh before nodding, face splitting into a mischievous grin. You abruptly recalled why the two of you had always gotten on so well. With your crazy ideas and her willingness to follow along despite the dangers, you made a formidable team. You’d only wished you’d spent more time here to remind yourself of that. 

Trudy took great pride in comically looking left, then looking right before grabbing your forearm and hauling you down the nearest corridor towards the hangar. 

“I like your attitude Dr.” 

>_<

<”Tsu’tey.”> Mo’at voice was kind, her hand grounding on his shoulder, but the warrior barely spared her a glance. 

His heart was pounding, hands shaking as he cradled the face of his limp friend. Y/n did not stir at the feeling of hands on their face. They looked dead. He almost believed they were, but there was breath against his skin. The steady rise and fall of their chest. A strong pulse beneath his fingertips.

<”We must move them to the healing cove.”> Mo’at continued, soothing in her tone. Numbly, Tsu’tey nodded, but he did not move away. Not at first. <”I will do everything I can.”> The Tsahik assured him, whistling for a couple of her apprentices to rush forward and scoop up the still body. 

With that, Y/n’s body was whisked away, following Jake and Grace’s that had already been taken to the medical chamber to be tended to and prayed over.

Tsu’tey did not follow. His limbs were heavy. Mind still jared from the sight of the life leaving Y/n’s face. He’d never witnessed such a sudden unlinking. It was unnatural. It had almost looked painful, his arm still stinging from the indents of their nails raking down his skin as their knees gave out.

At his side, Neytiri was in a similar state. Her expression hollow, eyes unseeing as if a piece of her had followed Jake to wherever he had gone. 

Tsu’tey stilled. The compound. Y/n had said something about the compound.

A half-baked plan formed in the back of his mind as he grabbed Neytiri’s wrist. <”Come.”> He urged, taking off at a sprint for the spiral staircase. Dazed, Neytiri obediently followed, keeping pace with Tsu’tey as the pair ascended through the levels of HomeTree and emerged into the roost.

<”What are we doing up here?”> Neytiri asked, her voice lacking any real emotion.

<”You wish to save Jake, do you not?”> Tsu’tey asked, already knowing the answer. The woman visibly collected herself, expression reanimating as Tsu’tey whistled for his ikran. <”There is a base within the mountains.”>

<”Then we must hurry.”> Neytiri agreed, hollering for Seze who was quick to break through the canopy. 

As soon as his mount touched down, Tsu’tey connected his kuru. His ikran immediately responded to the adrenaline coursing through his blood and was swift in manoeuvring himself to the lip of the branch. Seze followed suit, shadowing the larger ikran as Tsu’tey urged him into flight. With twin whoops, the pair launched themselves from the branches of HomeTree and sped towards the direction of the mountains.

They made good time. The compound coming into view as a shining speck on the horizon. The metal ikran that had been nesting in front of the shack the last time Tsu’tey had visited was gone, leaving a clear landing strip for the ikran.

Touching down, Tsu’tey threw himself down from his mount, running a hand soothingly along his neck before disconnecting his kuru. He was careful in approaching the eerily still building. Ears pricked for unexpected Sky People or for familiar movement inside. 

Elegantly, Neytiri slid down from Seze. <”This place is too still.”>

He could only nod, stooping before the small metal door and knocking. His fist left an indent in the weak metal, but he was too stressed to care. Nothing moved within the building. The scent of many Sky People plagued the wind of the mountain, their smells poisoning the door and the grass all around. If he focused, Tsu’tey could tell that they were stale. Hours old.

His expression morphed into a scowl. Neytiri appeared at his side, peering into one of the windows, whilst Tsu’tey dropped into a crouch and gingerly reached the door handle. His large fingers mimicked how Grace had opened it before, the weak metal barrier opening easily under his touch. It had not been locked. 

<”Check the surroundings.”> Tsu’tey ordered his companion, only waiting long enough for her to nod before he tucked himself in small and shuffled into the airlock. With the door closed behind him, he listened to the wheeze of pandora air being sucked out of the tight space before the light overhead flashed green and the second door unlocked.

The scents here were more intense. Hinting towards a lived in space. There was food on the table, a tap still running against the far wall, the sink almost overflowing with dirty dishes. 

Discarding all that useless information, Tsu’tey moved further into the space, his tall body contorted to fit. The deeper he ventured, the more signs of struggle he found. Furniture had been overturned and doors left open, a couple barely hanging on by their hinges. Scattered papers carpeted the floor underfoot, books opened wide, their pages disfigured.

It distantly reminded Tsu’tey of the school. How it had looked after the Sky People had ransacked it. The scents were the same, the fear and rage poisoning the air. 

The only comfort was that there was no blood. Bullet wounds did not scar the walls of the tight space, nor did smoke poison the air. 

But that did not set his heart at ease. There was no one here. 

He had been too late. 

He felt the loss like a blow to the chest, his teeth grinding as he desperately rechecked the small space. Looking in cupboards and under the table in search of hiding places or survivors. He came up empty handed each time.

With nowhere else to look, he emerged back out into the sunlight to find Neytiri pacing beside Seze. She caught his gaze across the clearing, all movements stills as she looked at him with such heart shattering hope. He shook his head. She crumbled before his eyes.

<”They took him.”> Neytiri whispered, voice on the verge of breaking. Tsu’tey was quick to go to her, to drag her into his chest and hold her firmly as her shoulders shook. <”They took my mate!”> She yelled, pain twisting her words as she clawed at him. Desperately seeking comfort. 

Tsu’tey held her through it, shoving down his own grief in the face of her panic. He needed to be strong for her. A rock. Just as he had always been.

<”Come. We must return to the clan.”> He said, giving her something to do in hopes it would help her recollect herself. <”There is nothing more we can do here.”>

>_<

HomeTree was burning. 

And you could do nothing but listen to the victory announcement over the comms echoing throughout the deserted hangar.

Tears streamed down your face as you bit into your fist in a feeble attempt to quieten your sobs. Tears dripped onto the floor of the footwell of Trudy’s helicopter; heart aching for those lost and those left behind. There was no way of knowing who had survived, and who had already died. How many? How many of your friends had been crushed by the falling tree? And how many had passed afterwards in the aftermath?

You should’ve known. Should have spent more time around Hell’s Gate. Should have figured out Quaritch’s plan and foiled it. Instead of frolicing in the forest, greedily spending as much time with Tsu’tey as your days would allow. You should have-

You cut off your train of thought.

You had to get back. Somehow, you needed to relink and warn the People. You needed to be useful by either providing another pair of hands or bringing back valuable information. 

Trudy had to come back soon, it had been two hours since she’d shoved you in here and locked you inside with a swift promise to return with the others. You’d managed to snap the link of the handcuffs ages ago. 

You were pulled from your internal spiral by people climbing up onto the side of the helicopter and reaching for the engine covers. You tensed, making yourself smaller in the cockpit as the doors at the rear of the helicopter opened and someone boarded.

“I got them.” Trudy called by way of greeting as she fell into the pilot’s seat and began flipping buttons and pulling levers. She was grinning from ear to ear as she thrust an exo pack into your lap, which you busied yourself with putting it on. “You doing okay?”

“They got HomeTree.” You replied brokenly. Trudy winced. 

“I know. But we’re gonna get you back in there.” She replied stubbornly, “we’re gonna steal the mountain compound and drop it somewhere near the Tree of Souls. That’s where the clan has gone.” You nodded along to her hurried explanation, eyes catching on Grace and Jake tearing across the tarmac towards the helicopter.

In the rear, Norm was yelling at them to hurry up as a door on the second level banged open. You inhaled sharply as an armed figure stormed across the upper landing, shoulders hunched as they typically did when carrying a rifle. 

Norm was hauling Jake up into the helicopter, dragging him in as Grace threw his chair in. 

The figure opened fire. Bullets bounced off of the windshield as Trudy kicked the engine into gear, screaming at the others to hurry the fuck up. 

Grace lifted herself into the rear, and Trudy gripped the cyclic stick. 

With the rapid pump of pedals, the overhead propellers roared to life and the machine took flight. Bullets chased the aircraft out of the hangar as Trudy aimed for the open doors. 

Then you were free. Soaring over the tarmac before Trudy pulled up hard and the helicopter went racing towards the stars. You whooped as Hell’s Gate disappeared far below, nothing but its lights marking its position on the ground below. 

“You all alright back there?” Trudy called, as the joyous whoops in the back died down.

“Grace got hit!” Jake yelled from the rear, and your previous joy evaporated. 

>_<

You tried to make Grace comfortable in the spare link unit. After tightly wrapping her stomach, Jake had tossed a blanket over her shivering form before wheeling away to Norm’s active pod in search of a shot of tranexamic acid. Propping her head up on a pillow, you tried not to let your eyes stray to the strip of red peeking out from beneath the blanket, instead choosing to adjust the material so it was out of sight.

High above, you heard the heavy footfalls of Norm walking along the roof, securing the supports which would lift the compound from the floor. Above the distant hum of the samson engine, you could hear Norm yelling to Trudy that the lines were secured. There was no audible reply, but you could tell from the groan of cables and the slight lurch that the compound had been lifted clear. 

“Are you going to keep scowling all evening?” Jake asked from across the room with no humour. Your expression hardened as you made a conscious effort not to give him the satisfaction of getting a response. Instead you refocused your attention on Grace, your touch soothing as you pushed her sweaty hair away from her damp forehead, your stomach twisting at her ashy complexion and the laboured puffs of her breath.

You begrudgingly moved aside as the marine wheeled up to the lip of the unit, leaning over Grace to inject the tranexamic acid into her bloodstream. With luck, it would offer a larger window of time in which you could get her help.

Grace barely flinched at the sharp pain, her eyes slipping open but unseeing. You remained close, clutching her hand tightly between your own. It was limp and cold in your grip. 

She didn’t snap at you to let go. That she was fine and that you were overreacting. And it made your heart crumble like it was a piece of paper that someone had clutched harshly in their fist. 

Jake momentarily forgotten, you felt your knees go weak as you lowered yourself into a kneel beside the unit, head bowed to hide your face. This couldn’t be happening. 

At your side, Jake sighed taxingly. He sounded exhausted. Drained. “Look, I know you’re pissed-”

You hissed at him, hating the sound of his voice in such a delicate situation. Grace was dying and he was still talking about himself, still trying to defend himself. Deep in your chest, amongst the festering wounds of grief and fear, a white hot slice of anger made itself known. 

You didn’t let go of Grace’s hand. Couldn’t bring yourself to sever this precious connection, despite the rage in your tone. 

“Will you just shut up!” You snapped back bitterly. Grace’s fingers twitched against you, a weak squeeze. It helped ground you, to reign in your anger somewhat. 

Beside you, Jake didn’t look like he was breathing. He was frozen in time. Eyes carefully tracking your every movement as if you were a thanator and he was back in his avatar body trying to decide the best way to survive. 

Distantly, you wished you hadn’t jumped in on that day. That you had allowed Eywa’s creature to tear this man to shreds as the Great Mother had intended. At the time, you would have felt guilty, but perhaps, if Jake had not had access to his avatar, none of this would have happened.

A thought struck you, as jarring and shocking as a frying pan over the back of the head. “It was YOU that gave Quaritch that information, wasn’t it?” Jake’s mouth closed with an audible click, eyes bugging wide. Your stomach clenched as you realised that that reaction told you everything you needed to know. Silently, you thanked Eywa that you didn’t have your hunting knife on you and that your gun was well out of reach. Grace’s poor heart would not be able to survive the sound of you murdering this stupid man just feet from her wounded body.

The marine held your gaze, even as he refused to speak up. It made you want to smack him. “I know it was.” You continued on, voice venomous with every word. Grace’s hand had gone completely limp in your own, the pain having finally knocked her out. With great effort, you pulled yourself away from her grasp, filtered air sawing in and out of your lungs with each desperate inhale. 

You heard Jake swallow audibly as you hauled yourself to your feet, glaring down at him. “How else would Quaritch know how to hit HomeTree? To go for the supporting outer structures? That the helix staircase acted as a skeleton for the entire thing?” The image of HomeTree burning flashed across your mind. That ancient, ancestral monument brought to its knees, toppled like a fence in a strong wind.

“It was me.” Jake admitted, in a way that foretold a ‘but’ was on the horizon. “But that was before, when it was only about the mission.” 

You laughed, the sound strained and painful. “You did this.” 

It felt like you were cursing him. An underlying threat despite the simplicity of the phrase. Jerkily, you skirted around him, hands clutching the bolted shelves as the compound swayed and lurched as it got batted around by the wind. 

Jake struggled to find the right words to defend himself. He spoke in a rush, as if terrified you’d cut him off before he could fully explain himself. Still defending his image. Still trying to play the hero. “I did. But I’m gonna do everything in my power to make it right-” Another barked laugh left your tightening throat. You had reached your end of the room now where your belongings sat. Buried deep in the bottom of your satchel sat a RDA issued handgun. “What power Jake? There is nothing we can fucking do.”

“This isn’t over.” He said it so simply. Like that was all there was to it. Just emotion, and a drive to stick together.

“Jake.” You turned in place, fighting every instinct and burning desire to whip out your weapon and finally get him to shut up. “Wake up already.” 

Jake’s passive expression finally turned hostile, his brow furrowing into a scowl as the words hit home. You’d heard it spoken countless times over the past few months in regard to his extensive time spent in the link. Had heard it yourself during your early weeks on Pandora before you’d groan a backbone and forced everyone to back off. 

His tone was furious as he finally raised his voice. “Will you stop being negative for two seconds?!”

The shout had your own rage rearing its head in challenge. It was refreshing to have him fighting back instead of pleading for forgiveness. It would demonstrate his true colours as lips always grew loose during times of high emotion.

“Will you use your head for two seconds? You know, the one up here instead of your fucking dick.” You retorted, tapping your temple twice. Jake levelled you with an acidic glare. You turned the fowl look in kind. “HomeTree is gone. They know you knew what Quaritch was planning. There is no way they’re gonna let us back in.” You yelled out a rush. Before adding, “you’ve fucked this up for both of us.”

Jake’s expression immediately melted into one of pity. 

“No.” He insisted, “no I didn’t.” 

He sounded so certain. As if he hadn’t destroyed everything. As if he hadn’t fucked up everything he touched. 

You laughed again, the sound pained and twisted. Jake kept talking, kept trying to fill your head with fantasies and hope as if Grace wasn’t dying, and the clan you called home hadn’t abandoned you. “They still have your avatar.” Jake reassured you, “it was upstairs with mine and Grace’s when we relinked-”

“Then it’s definitely destroyed by now.”

“They probably took you with them.”

“Why the hell would they do that?” The words hurt to voice but they were true. “We’re Sky People. They see us as Demons. They wouldn’t risk it.”

“Like that ever stopped Tsu’tey.” Jake reasoned.

“Do NOT speak his name!” 

Jake ignored you, sprouting more and more words of encouragement. “I’ve got a plan. We’re gonna get back in there, and we’re gonna help the people.”

“They will never allow us back. Neytiri would kill you on sight.”

He visibly deflated. “She’s never going to look at me the same again.”

“To be betrayed by your mate,” you narrated, “it simply doesn’t happen in their world. Your mate is the one person you can rely on to always have your back, to love and cherish you indefinitely. If anything, she’ll feel obligated to welcome you back because of those deeply ingrained values.” 

Jake kept nodding, his eyes shining. You knew at that moment that he was going back with or without you. That he would stop at nothing to give Grace the best chance of survival he could find. And that was something you could respect.

It took considerable strength to shove down your pride, but the bewildered look on his face was worth it. “Make sure you earn it.” You ordered him. “I don’t care what you do, but make sure when you are forgiven, it is because you deserve it.” He nodded along.

“Do you really think Tsu’tey would’ve abandoned you over this?”

“Yes.” You replied honestly. “He’s driven by his duty to the people. If he deems me a threat, he would’ve left my avatar to burn alongside HomeTree. When I link up, I’ll know where I stand.”

“Good to know.”

>_<

As Trudy lowered the compound into the forests deep into the Hallelujah Mountains closer to the Tree of Souls, you relinked. The others had agreed to take care of Grace whilst you checked on the clan, anxious to find out what had happened to your avatar.

You woke to a cloudy sky and the soothing commotion of cooking food and people talking in hushed, tearful whispers. The mood within the clearing was sombre, the voices of those around you sad or sobbing. Overhead, you saw the swaying vines of the Tree of Souls, and felt your throat tighten with emotion as you realised where you were.

With great effort, you managed to haul yourself up into a sitting position, to the gasps of the healers attending to your body. You smiled reassuringly as you realised you’d been laid out on a mat, still armed and your bow within arms reach.

One of the men tending to the other wounded rushed over to check you, his voice too low for you to catch what he was asking you. Rapidly, he checked your pulse and temple, pulled back your eyelids to assess your pupils before listening to your breathing. He relaxed when he found nothing amiss. 

You uttered your thanks before asking where the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik were. He motioned to the Tree of Souls where various figures were crouched, conversing on the raised platform of packed earth surrounding the roots. 

You bowed in appreciation before taking up your bow and weaving through the crowd towards the tree. The People parted easily for you, many smiling at your appearance and uttering soft thanks to Eywa for your safe return. You grinned back, momentarily soothed by the positive reaction despite how rocky things had ended only hours before. 

As you approached, you recognised the red, beaded shawl of the clan Tsahik. <“Mo’at. What happened?”> You asked as you approached. The person she was conversing with bowed as he departed, slipping back into the crowd as she turned to you. Her eyes were red and puffy, hair in disarray as she turned on you with a clack of beads. 

<“You’re alive.”> She whispered, soft as a prayer.

<“I escaped.”> You assured her. She nodded before sweeping forward and wrapping you in a tight hug, softly thanking the Great Mother for her guidance. You hugged back, not sure who was comforting who. 

She was crying again. <“Mo’at?”>

<“It’s all gone.”> She whispered. <“HomeTree. Eytukan. Most of the tribe.”> Your breath caught.

<“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”> You whispered, although you knew words alone would never heal this wound. No amount of regret would bring those people back. <“I’m sorry.”> Mo’at continued to cry, her sobs quiet as she hid her face in your shoulder. Hiding herself and her vulnerability from the fractured remains of the clan. Your arm wrapped around her back, whilst the other rested against the back of her head, keeping her close to you, allowing her this moment of weakness that she so desperately needed.

In turn, she held on tightly. Her arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling her to you with a grip strong enough to bruise. 

Throughout your time amongst the clan, you had never seen her like this. So lost and emotional. She’d always been a strong pillar of strength. The level-headed leader in every situation.

You were glad you could give back to her in some small way.

<”Y/n?”>

Your aching heart pounded at the soft utterance of your name. Back straightening, your head whipped round to find Tsu’tey picking his way across the roots of the Tree of Souls. His expression was pinched, his bow clutched tightly in his dominant hand. 

Your throat tightened at the ceremonial necklace at his neck, the mark of his elevated status in the clan. The final confirmation that what Mo’at had said was true, her mate was dead and Tsu’tey had risen in the ranks to take his place. 

He moved gracefully towards you, shoulder set and his tail raised. You weren’t sure if his scowl was of confusion or rage. Nor did you wish to find out, although it did loosen something in you that he was here, alive and whole. 

Throughout the adrenaline rush of escaping, you hadn’t dared contemplate what you would do if he had died whilst you were gone. 

And yet, your tail swayed in relief, your eyes drinking in the sight of him. Checking for injuries or pain in his face. As was expected, he was fine. 

His footsteps were even but silent, a predator stalking prey. <“You’re alive.”> He breathed, but you couldn’t tell if he perceived that as a good thing after the morning they’d experienced. 

With a deep, steadying breath, Mo’at pulled herself away from your neck and straightened. She took a moment to recollect her breathing, visibly pulling herself together as she scrubbed at the teartracks glistening across the apples of her cheeks. <”I am relieved that you are well.”> She praised, her trembling hands rising to your shoulders and squeezing with a mother’s reassurance. <”May Eywa smile upon your return.”> 

With that, she turned sharply on her heels and picked her way back across the roots, leaving you alone with the new Olo’eyktan. Absently, you mourned the loss of her comforting touch, realising with a pang that your physical shield had left you vulnerable to Tsu’tey’s reaction. 

The man in question had hardly moved throughout the short interaction, his eyes glued to your face. You swallowed again before returning your attention to him. He looked regal in the neckpiece, the textbook image of a leader. Power oozed off of him.

You tried to sound confident as you raised your hand to your forehead and greeted him. <”I see you, Olo’eyktan.”> <”Cut that out.”> Tsu’tey immediately hissed, his neutral expression morphing into a look that spoke of deep rooted fear and anger. 

Unexpectedly, he grabbed at you, making your body stiffen. Powerful hands grabbed at your shoulders as his eyes roamed across your body. Fingers prodded at your skin, checking for injuries or pains. You gasped as one colossal fist gripped you by the cheeks, turning your head this way and that. <”Did they hurt you?”> 

You floundered for a response. Face ablaze as your mind struggled to keep up with what was happening.

He bared his teeth at your lack of response, ears lying flat. <”Where?”> He continued, brow furrowing at the lack of blood on your skin.

Somehow you composed yourself. <”I’m fine.”> You reassured him, breath stuttering off into a wheeze as he slammed his hand against your chest, pressing down as he felt for your heartbeat. He stilled, fingers pressing into your flesh as he waited. <”I escaped before they could do anything to me.”>

He visibly relaxed, ears rising back up. He began nodding, comforted by your pulse and your response. 

And with a quiet prayer to the Great Mother, his hand slid around to your back and pulled you into him. There was no space left between you with how tightly he clung to your body, hands spread wide across your back as if he needed to hold as much of you as he could. 

You refused to cry as you returned the gesture. Shoving your face into his neck as his chin rested on the crown of your braids. There was an unmistakable rumble emitting from the centre of his chest, but you didn’t dare draw attention to it, for fear he would try to smother his purr. It comforted you on a level you could not describe, your body losing all its previous tension, mind going pleasantly blank despite the shitty situation that had brought about this reunion. 

The din of the clan fell away whilst you embraced him. And for a moment, it was only the two of you. His hands holding you secure. His purr soothing your fears. His scent turning you to mush. 

Fuck, it had only been a few hours, but it felt like you’d been gone for years. 

Tsu’tey pulled back, his hands finding purchase on your cheeks as he urged you to look at him, genuine fear and sorrow echoing in his eyes as he spoke. <”I went to the compound in the mountains. I came for you, I promise, but you were already gone.”>

<”You came for me?”> You whispered, feeling choked up by the simple and soft spoken admittance. The raw vulnerability in his voice and the sincere way he held you made you want to burst into tears. All the stress of the past few hours felt almost worth it. 

Relief was a balm to your nerves as you threw your arms tighter around him, clutching him to you tightly as he buried his face into your braids.<”Of course I did.”> He promised, and you believed him. 

You could tell you were gripping tighter than was probably appropriate, but he did not tell you off. He held you firmly. Allowing you to reassure yourself that he was here, and he was alive. Despite everything, he had come back to you in one piece. 

It was as if a colossal weight had been lifted from your shoulders by a kind god.

The beat of mighty wings had you freezing. 

No ikran could sound that heavy in the air. 

Tsu’tey’s head shot up, his arms tightening around your back. The sound of screaming had you tearing yourself out of his hold, spinning in place with your hand flying to your knife.

Toruk landed at the edge of the clearing, scaring half the clan into defensive positions whilst those who could not fight ran for cover. You instinctively backed up, clinging tightly to the beautiful knife your grasp. You knew in your heart that such a measly weapon would do little against such a majestic beast, but it helped ground you.

Tsu’tey stepped up to your side in moments. He did not pull you away or shove you behind him, so you could be protected. He stood beside you. Shoulder to shoulder, despite the fear clearly adorning his face. Fear for his people. 

Mo’at appeared at your other elbow, Neytiri in tow. 

And then a figure slid down Toruk’s side, disconnecting their queue as they smoothly stepped around its massive head, hands gliding over its eye ridge. The clan collectively held its breath.

<“Toruk Makto?”> Mo’at whispered from beside you. You glanced from the Tsahik to the mysterious rider who was making their way through the parting crowd. You recognised that stiff swagger, the cheap attempt at confidence and the tense set of their shoulders.

“Well I’ll be damned.” You laughed quietly to yourself as Jake approached the Tree of Souls, Neytiri already walking forward to greet him. Then you scoffed. “He’s such a show off.”

That earned you a sharp swat upside the head from a frowning Mo’at. 

>_<

When you had relinked, Grace had been merely dying. There was still hope.

But now, several hours later after a failed consciousness transfer, she was gone. You felt numb as the People sung their hymns, laying her to rest within the trees beyond the clearing with the rest of the fallen. Norm took her avatar away shortly after, his cheeks shining with tears. And then it was as if she was never there. 

Somehow, that thought was worse than watching her die. 

You slipped away from the clan, your footsteps clumsy as you tried to navigate your way through the trees with blurry vision. Grief was an arrow to the heart, twisting itself deeper with every choked off memory of Grace’s body. Of how happy she’d been to see the Tree of Souls despite her worsening condition. Of the pure wonder in her shaking voice as she grasped Jake’s hand, whispering a soft, “I’m with her Jake. She’s real.”

Your world had slowed as she faded. Her head slipped to the side as she went still. 

Mo’at had crouched over her body, searching for life. A soul. The Tsahik had shaken her head and backed away. <”There wasn’t enough time.”> She’d whispered. 

Panic had you scrambling up from your crouch. You stumbled over the extended roots of the tree, dropping to your knees near Grace’s head. Neytiri had already removed her exo pack and laid it beside her. She had looked peaceful, still smiling even in death.

Your quivering hand had cupped her face as you desperately called her name. Growing more frantic when she didn’t respond. 

Vaguely, you had heard the clan grow restless, Mo’at turning her back to calm them. Jake and Norm had settled in front of you, shielding you from their sights. 

“Y/n, she’s gone.” Norm said softly, trying to pull you away from Grace’s body.

You fought him off. <”No.”> Tears made your throat tight. <”Grace! Please.”>

Norm sighed wetly, his hands grabbing at your bicep, trying to pull you to him so he could comfort you. You struggled anew, tearing yourself away from him with a ferocious hiss. He frowned. Jake hadn’t moved from the other side of the body, his eyes distant. A puppet with his strings cut. 

You followed his gaze back to Grace, to her pale skin and relaxed body. It hit you like a truck how small she was. Her hands were barely the length of your palm. 

It was cold to the touch. Lifeless. 

They would never ruffle through your hair again. And Grace would no longer berate you for spending too much time in the link. Nor would she remind you to eat or to take care of yourself in and out of your avatar.

Eywa had taken her home. Had welcomed her into her realm and eternal peace. 

Tears slid down your cheeks as you paused to steady yourself against the trunk of a tree, the clan at your back and your fingers digging deep into the soft bark, as you struggled to control yourself. The moss was grounding beneath your fingernails, soft as a mother’s embrace. 

She was gone. 

Your other hand was quick to also press into the side of the tree, gripping at a low branch for dear life. Strength failed you as your knees shook, head bowed as if in prayer. 

You should’ve been a better friend. Should have been there more. Should have told her how much she meant to you. 

You slid to the ground, legs finally giving out as you knelt in the dirt and leaf litter, eyes squeezed shut and your breath sawing in and out. Faster and faster. Your vision blurred as spots danced before your eyes. You kept panting, picking up speed and not taking in as much air.

Gone. 

The thought was so final. So commanding. A fact. The cruel truth. 

You were almost too scared to accept it. 

>_<

When you finally pulled yourself together enough to make it back to camp, the clan was alive with activity. The ikran riders were long gone on their various missions to rally the clans, whilst those who remained behind were readying the camp for an influx of warriors. 

Mo’at was setting up a healing wing at the rear of the Tree of Souls. Whilst the People were busying themselves with cooking and tending to the wounded. Others mending weapons, tacked up pa’li and painted on each other’s war paint. 

The clan moved seamlessly with a single goal despite the hundreds of bodies completing different tasks. An effortless system, well oiled by repetition and familiarity. 

Tsu’tey saved you from standing idly by for too long. He materialised out of nowhere with a firm hand on your wrist. His gaze caught on your puffy eyes, before flickering all over your face as whatever he’d been meaning to say died on his tongue. You wanted to curl up and cry again, feeling pathetic as you were powerless in offering a decent explanation.

<“Come, we must prepare for war.”> Was what he finally came up with as he pulled you away from the treeline to a spare mat where various shades of war paint had already been laid out in shallow, wooden bowls. Judging by the paint smears caught in the mat fibres and the pigment staining the sides of the bowls, the station had been set up for someone else. 

<“Help me.”> Tsu’tey commanded short and simple. Easy to follow. 

He knelt in front of you, dragging you down to sit directly opposite him, before offering the nearest bowl of dark blue pigment. <“Just like I showed you, remember?”> He instructed, and you nodded, wordlessly taking the bowl from him and dipping two fingers in. 

With a generous amount in hand, you knelt up onto your knees so you were hovering above him, he tilted his face up to follow you, giving you a perfect view and a neutral canvas. Your stomach twisted at the first touch of skin, absently remembering that this was often a task reserved for mates or family members. The act of painting on war paint was supposed to be a sign of good luck. 

Your touch was feather light as you dabbed the first pair of markings high on either side of his temples, marking out the area you would later fill in with the blue. Fingers shaking, you gritted your teeth at the poor linework, wishing you had a ruler or something to make the markings sharper.

<“Properly.”> Tsu’tey growled and you scowled at him, mentally relieved when you found his eyes closed instead of boring into you. <“I am.”>

<“You’re hesitating.”> He corrected with no heat.

<“You were glaring at me like you wanted to bite me.”> You defended, to which his eyes slid open and his face contorted into a venomous frown, which had you grinning despite yourself with how fucking adorable it looked paired with the sloppy markings at his temple. 

<“I was not glaring.”> He protested whilst continuing to glare. You hummed but felt soothed by the childish reaction as you went back to painting. <"And I don’t bite.”>

<“No?”> You asked suggestively to which he gave you a playful shove. You squeaked, lifting the bowl high in an attempt to steady it or not get any pigment on yourself. <“Be careful.”> 

Tsu’tey rolled his eyes. <“You’re slow.”> 

<“Because you’re distracting me.”>

He only snapped his teeth, to which you returned the gesture in kind, tail flicking challengingly. 

Tsu’tey let the conversation taper off again, his expression smoothing out so you could continue your work easier. This time, your strokes were more confident, the earlier grief that had shaken your hands, had been momentarily chased away by the familiar banter. Finishing up the navy layer with a self-satisfied nod, you set down the bowl and reached for the bright yellow paste. 

Tsu’tey watched you with a nod, satisfied by your choice before letting his eyes slip closed. 

These markings came easier to you with the large swooping ‘v’ across his forehead directly below the earlier navy lines, to the twin streaks of yellow that would frame his cheeks. You dipped your thumb into the yellow to capture the precise motion of the painted line that would slice from his lower lip to his chin. 

<“Good.”> Tsu’tey praised as you lent back out of his space to set down the yellow. He sat regally on the mat, shoulders back and his chin tilted up in a show of pride. You hoped you’d done the war markings justice.

<“Now sit, I will do yours.”> He ordered, picking up a bowl of muted yellow before motioning to the space in front of him. You arched a brow before sitting cross legged in your previous spot and closing your eyes at his motioning. 

The cool touch of paste covered fingers to your brow made you jump, but at his hiss, you stilled yourself. His movements were bold, smooth as he mapped out the expanse of your forehead in a curved ‘u’. His hand retracted, gathering more paint, before returning to the space between your eyes and dragging down your nose.

<“So,”> his hand jumped away from your face as you started talking. <“What do you want to talk about?”>

<“No talking.”> He gritted out, his other hand coming up to grip your jaw between his fingers so he could continue painting the mute yellow stripe down your nose. <“Stay still.”> 

You complied, ears swivelling to try and gauge where he was when his hands left your face for a new colour. You peaked open an eyelid, watching him pick out a vibrant white before quickly shutting it again when he turned back to you. He took his time lathering up his finger this time. 

<“So you and Neytiri are good then?”> You blurted, wincing at the lack of decorum and the randomness of the statement. 

Tsu’tey huffed softly, amused by your lack of tact. <“Yes.”>

<“How long ago did you end your courtship?”>

<“Nosy.”>

<“I just want to know how badly I need to beat Jake’s ass, when round 2 inevitably comes around.”> You defended, jumping when his cold finger landed above your eyebrow near the bottom of the yellow strip and began to outline the mark. 

<”You talked with him?”>

<”Shouted would be more accurate.”> You admitted.

He chuckled, eyes on his lap before returning to his work. <“She was not mine.”> Tsu’tey replied simply, as if that was all there was to it. There was no sadness in his tone, but rather a sense of relief and peace. <“We were more like siblings than lovers. It was my duty to the clan to be mated to her, and now it is not.”>

<“And now you’re free.”> You finished, eyes slipping open to catch the lopsided smile on his face.

<“To mate whoever I wish.”> He agreed with a tilt of his head, finger tracing your cheek a little firmer than before as he smeared the white accents into the muted yellow base layer. <“If they choose me in return.”>

Your heart pinched as you smiled. <“I wish you happiness.”>

Previous chapter <- Act 3 -> Next Chapter

[britt-kageryuu]

Donnie is going around his lab, checking on works in progress, re-reading test results for past projects he put to the side, and adding some new pictures and notes onto his Multiverse Board.

They didn't feel like they wanted to revisit an old project, but their curiosity was really pushing to see what possible changes could happen if he just poked through to change even just a few variables. But he remembered why he shelved that particular project, and instead adjusted it.

He figured if he couldn't open a way to a different dimension, he could at least make it so that only other versions of their brothers and himself could find their broadcasts and VODs. They haven't found proof of this adjustment working just yet, but then again he was purposefully making sure they couldn't directly come to their dimension. So messages might also be getting caught in that filter.

They stop infront of a set of shelves that have multiple Comic Books, Novels, DVD/Blu-ray, games, and some toys of their alternate selves. They started collecting these because it was the "safer way" to have a form of contact from the different dimensions, plus it made it much easier to watch their whole story and not just see random glimpses that were vastly lacking in context.

Donnie pulls out his custom jailbroken Switch, specially modified to get games from other dimensions, to play through one of the games based on one of their variants. They still had trouble with getting some of the games, but they're sure it's just a 'timing issue' with release dates. Some of these games were purposefully chosen for their multiplayer functions.

They had opened a theoretical 'Multiverse Server' and would leave these online games as an open join, or random drop in, from this server. It was technically the safest way from them to have multiplayer games without some random crazy trying to drop in. But there wasn't any new activity or added members since Donnie had added his families accounts to it.

Donnie had shared the games with their brothers, and they agreed to play a few of them on stream for the hell of it. Maybe if only to cause some chaos and confusion for the audience. The only times they let the audience join a game is through the Patreon Servers, or Jack Box games, and even then it's with limited interactions.

Though Donnie kept this MVS open, just incase one of his counterparts wanted to have some form of contact to their dimension. Even if it's mostly through the chat systems of some random online games.

Donnie tried to keep their mind from wandering while trying to play through one of the games about one of their variants. They were enjoying the game despite the fact that they were slowly running out of possible upgrades without beating the big boss. He had gotten so close that one time, but alas he forgot the trope of there's a second stage that's harder than the first.

They still keep an ear out for any notifications that might come in while he tries to ignore the urge to potentially RIP apart reality, just to meet alternate versions of themselves.

Donnie totally didn't chose a very specific notification sound just incase someone did try to contact them.

These is definitely not a small pile of broken controllers from him, in an uncharacteristic moment, throwing a controller at the wall in rage, because he thought a notification was from a different dimension, and not his father asking for help fixing the projector again.

This is at least partially why he set himself up with multiple things to do, because if he didn't need to do so much, they'd be sitting here all day just waiting for the slight possibility of contact...

Maybe he should check in on whoever's streaming, and see if they wouldn't mind them joining the stream...

Yeah, that would be a much better distraction...

Once he finished this run through in the rouge like game, and double checked that everything was still running at max proficiently!

HE WAS NOT TRYING TO AVOID HIS PLANS TO AVOID MONITORING THE MVS!!!

--------------

Masterpost

Technically speaking Donnie has breached the Multiverse, it's just they're not allowed to open a portal to them. Thus he's collecting merch, and sending copies of his drones into a void to monitor other Multiverse Merge Points.(AKA TMNT AU meetups)

[dragonflight203]

Mass Effect 3 replay, Geth Fighter Squadrons:

-Per tradition with Legion, you learn more about his motives and the geth throughout the mission if you go renegade than if you go paragon

-Legion (or the geth, it’s not specified) refined the Project Overlord virtual interface. Ergo, Shepard will be able to interface with the geth on the server.

Nice call back to ME2. What is said if the player did not play the Project Overlord DLC?

-Also, it’s interesting that Legion and/or the geth studied and improved the virtual interface. Why would they do so?

The purpose of it is for organics to interface with synthetics. However, the synthetics have treated all organics as hostile up until this point.

So for them to study a virtual interface could be seen as researching enemy technology to understand what may be used against them.

It can also be perceived as them being hopeful that relations with organics may improve to the point that organics would want to use it.

I’m curious as to which it is. I suspect for most geth it’s the former; for Legion, it’s the latter.

-Shepard needs to be the one to go in because geth security is designed to keep synthetics out. As it’s not intended for organics, Shepard can slip in.

I’d love to hear more about the details behind that, but on a surface level it’s reasonable.

-Legion keeps saying that they’ll remove geth from the server, but he never specifies how.

In the server itself, Shepard never interacts with any geth. Or more accurately, Shepard never perceives themselves as interacting with any geth.

So why does Legion insist that Shepard needs to go in?

If it’s just a matter of Legion persuading the geth to switch sides, Legion could do that while Shepard and co hang around. But Legion insists that Shepard needs to join the consensus.

Legion does provide a reason: There are some nodes that need to be destroyed. However, I suspect Legion could have destroyed them on his own. Maybe it would have take longer, but it would be safer than sending Shepard in.

My own interpretation is that Legion wants the geth to see Shepard. More specifically, Legion wants the geth to see Shepard be sympathetic to them.

That’s what persuades the geth to join Legion.

It’s implied that the geth never wanted to kill the quarians; they did so as a matter of survival, and continued to kill organics that enter the Perseus Veil because they believe all organics are hostile.

Shepard provides an alternative. Shepard sees their history and says they were wronged.

And Shepard is strong enough to make a difference – they’re the hero of the Citadel, destroyed the Collectors, and have taken down multiple Reapers.

Shepard may be able to make peace between the geth and the quarians. Shepard may want to.

That’s the real reason Legion sends Shepard into the consensus; to give the geth a reason to believe that this time history may turn out differently. To give them hope. The nodes are just an excuse to get Shepard inside.

This is all speculation on my part; the game hints at it but never says it outright. But it’s the best I’ve been able to come up with to explain what goes on in this mission.

-It’s weird Javik says nothing. You think he’d have strong feelings about Shepard joining a synthetic hive mind.

Maybe the writers couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t end in him blowing the server up and so decided to have him do nothing at all.

-It’s weird that when Shepard and the squad walk into the server that the second companion just casually strolls in without holding their gun.

They’re in hostile territory. Weapons should be at ready!

-Once again: Why are there monitors and keyboards?

They’re geth. These should not be necessary. Have a port where a platform can insert their finger to connect to the rest of the geth and call it a day.

-Once in the server, Legion reiterates that the geth will be removed from the server. The connection with the fighter squadron will be severed; Legion will ensure there are no transfers or backups. The server will fall silent.

A reasonable interpretation is that the geth will be killed when they’re removed the server, but Legion never actually says that. Just that they’ll be removed.

-If you go renegade, Shepard says this needs to be done ASAP.

Legion says yes; Creator lives are being lost. Goals must be met.

The position Legion is straddling is clear there; he’s balancing the quarians’ needs with his people’s. Legion dearly wants everyone to come out of this alive if it’s possible.

-If you go paragon, Shepard compares it to wiping out a city.

Legion says it’s necessary and a matter of survival.

He doesn’t say whose survival. Shepard probably assumes the quarians; I think Legion means the geth. He knows how determined Shepard is – if Shepard decides the geth need to die for the war effort, there’s a good chance Shepard could wipe them all out.

So persuading this server to switch sides is vital the geth’s long term survival. Shepard needs to believe that the geth can be allies in the war against the Reapers so Shepard will prioritize keeping them alive.

-Legion: You will perceive geth as surveillance footage, audio logs, sensor records.

Throughout the mission, Shepard sees various scenes from the geths’ past. I’ve always assumed these were scenes Legion chose to show them; I believe this is a common interpretation.

However, this line makes me think it may be memories the geth on the server are discussing and Shepard is “eavesdropping” in on their conversation. Or they’re scenes the geth on the server choose to show Shepard to see how Shepard responds.

-Amusingly, the gun reminds of ME1 guns; you fire it until it runs out of shots (overheats) then it replenishes its own ammo (cools down).

Considering that the excuse for thermal clips in ME2 is that they’re based on superior geth technology…

-Why have the Reapers infected these data nodes?

It can’t be a coincidence that they’re all nodes related to geth history with the quarians.

It may be that the Reapers intentionally infected these nodes to rile the geth up.

Or the geth are hotly debating these memories and the infection is just there because the infection is everywhere.

-Nice save on the game’s part that the quarians Shepard sees are masked because they’re filtering the geth data through their own perception. Since Shepard has never seen an unmasked quarian, these quarians are masked.

-Even the first geth was referred to by number, 01.

That must be a fundamental difference between quarians and humans. If humans had created the geth, the first unit would have had a name in approximately .5 seconds. Even if the name was unofficial.

See: Edi.

-The geth have an interesting relationship with servitude.

In ME1, the heretics repeatedly put themselves into servile positions. They permitted themselves to be snuck through Noveria security as luggage! Not the behavior of people with a complex about their history as servants.

In one of the data nodes, a sapient unit (it ignores shutdown commands) repeatedly asks what it has done wrong and offers to reprogam itself,

So it’s self-aware enough to keep itself alive but still focused on serving the quarians as best as it can. Or maybe it just could not perceive a reality outside of servitude yet.

And what sparked the quarian genocide was a unit asking if it has a soul. Not a unit going off on its own or refusing orders; just a unit engaging in introspection.

I get strong vibes that the geth were not unhappy with their relationship with the quarians, per se, but were starting to think of their own personhood.

Maybe they would have rejected their position in society as they developed. Maybe they would have been fine with the work but insisted on wages.

It’ll be interesting to see how the quarian/geth relationship progresses in the future.

-I’m curious what history Legion has with the first geth to pick up a gun.

When Shepard says it’s a gun familiar to the one Legion used, Legion pauses before saying it’s an efficient model.

To me that implies he’s picking his words carefully.

Personally, I suspect some of the programs that compose Legion were in the first unit to pick up a gun. That unit picked up a gun to defend other geth; it’s similar to Legion’s own protectiveness of his people. If some of the same programs comprised both, that would explain it.

“Efficient” is also an interesting word choice. What is the purpose of a gun? Killing. Legion did not pick a flashy gun – he picked a deadly one.

It may not have been conscious on Legion’s part, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that his gun was similar to the first one a geth used. There’s some symbolism there.

And let’s not even go into Legion’s Shadow Broker dossier where he has an achievement for killing 100+ quarians.

-Again: Why are there platforms in geth fighters?

That’s not how geth function! They upload themselves into the fighters!

ME3 really needed another pass or two for QAQC.

-I do wonder what happened the quarian protesters. How many of them were killed? Were there any left by the end of the Morning War?

-A few geth indicate that they cared about the quarians as individuals.

I suspect that’s one of the reasons the geth refrained from killing all the quarians – some of the programs had fond memories of “their” quarians and did not want to see them wiped out.

-Legion strongly implies that Shepard reactivating Legion is one of the reasons the geth have hope that peace may be possible with the quarians.

Considering peace isn’t possible if Legion wasn’t activated, he’s right.

-Javik’s sole line this mission: Even our machines were never this irrational.

Poor dude is just having one crisis after another since waking up. This is not what he signed up for and he’s had no time to process.

Just role with it, Javik. I promise to make it worthwhile for you at the end.

-Legion: We did not doubt you. We doubted your allies.

Good line. And true.

-Legion says it outright: The quarians choices have placed not only themselves in danger, but also the geth. And they don’t give a damn about the geth. Since Legion does, he has to get creative to protect his people.

-Legion: They are now us.

Legion’s been alone up to this point. Going by ME2, geth hate being alone. It must be a huge comfort to him to have more programs to connect to.

-Going renegade hurts. “Maybe you are just a damn machine after all.”

Renegade Shepard, you’d do anything to save Earth. You’re able to sympathize with Victus for withholding information to protect the Hierarchy. You should be able to do the same for Legion withholding information to protect the geth.

-If you go paragon, Legion is surprised you are understanding.

It hurts to see. Legion assumes organics will always believe the worst of him.

-Xen is pure mad scientist, and I love her for it.

I don’t trust her for a moment, mind, but I do love her.

-She refers to Legion as “your geth”.

I’m reminded of how people kept on referring to the geth as Saren’s geth in ME1.

300 years later, and everyone still refers to the geth as property.

-Ugh. I hate that ME3 treats the Reaper code upgrades as turning the geth into “true AI”.

The geth were already true AI. Different than Edi, but still alive. They do not need to be changed to have the right to live.

They’re different. That does not mean they’re wrong.

Why is transhumanism a hotly debated topic among humanity but it’s treated as a given that the Reaper code is an improvement for the geth?

I hate this plot point so much.

-Legion: Yes. We do not agree with the goals of the Old Machines, but we find this growth… beautiful. Indicative of life.

You’re already alive, Legion. You do not need to change yourself to satisfy someone else’s of a person.

This is what ruins the Rannoch arc for me. Bioware felt the need to change the geth to make them more “traditional” to justify their survival.

That should never have been necessary; in a game that says diversity is why this cycle has a chance, twisting the geth so they’re “standard” spits in the face of the stated theme.

I hate this plot point so, so much.

-Going renegade through this conversation hurts. Shepard’s pretty awful to Legion.

With that said, I appreciate that it’s substantially different than paragon. Through most of ME3 paragon and renegade have only been slight changes in dialogue; this has substance.

-If you go paragon, Shepard says that what they saw in the server makes them believe that it may not be necessary to destroy all the geth.

Legion achieved two wins this mission.

Normandy

-Gerrel deserves Raan’s skepticism. He acted on his own when he moved to attack the geth dreadnought and screwed everyone else over; of course trust for him is limited at the moment.

-It’s not a surprise that geth and quarian history differs – they’re both biased.

The truth, as is usually the case, is probably somewhere in between.

That said, I believe that everything Shepard saw in the server is true; what I suspect is that Shepard did not see the geth’s less flattering actions.

-Legion says that Shepard’s actions have changed the perspective the geth in the server had of organics.

Good to have that confirmed.

-The primes remain on Rannoch because the quarian/geth conflict prevents them from being able to leave.

Feels a bit weak to me – surely Cortez could get them out in a trip or two?

But fine, in the game the conflict needs to be resolved ASAP anyway so we’ll leave it at this.

-Javik is definitely fucking with James. The man’s a troll.

-Javik also claims that he does not care that no one in this cycle understands him.

He obviously cares very much.

Keep at it, Javik. I know it’s rough but you’ll make friends eventually.

It’s good to see him leaving his room.

-Garrus outcalibrates a geth because he’s just that good.

Good to see all that practice paying off, since he did nothing else during ME2.

-Legion doesn’t see a signficiant difference between the Normandy and its crew.

Logical enough. A platform is composed of multiple geth programs; a ship is composed of its crew.