#And no...war is definitely not the answer

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: You are meant to be a sacrifice to Nikador, but when you gain the attention of the wrong god, you learn firsthand why mortals are not meant to trifle in the affairs of the divine.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Phainon x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 14.9k

Content Warnings: mentions of human sacrifice, mentions of abuse, it’s going to get violent and whatnot i am sure, blood and whatnot to be expected, obviously an alternate universe, an ending i would say is bittersweet??, not really 1:1 with the myth of bellerophon however if you know the myth you will definitely see a lot of similarities in the general progression of the story, phainon is a god, like fr, so ig you could consider it a problematic age gap SKHJF but more so power imbalances in general, phainon is a catfisher for a bit lowkey, vaguely ancient greek/rome inspired but in the way canon is (so loosely + i make most of it up), i have played maybe HALF of amphoreus !! so characterization may be spotty (#powerofau), uhh idk what else i will try to add it in here if/when it comes up ig

A/N: hihi all of you i am so sorry that this has taken me so long to get out!! i have been on vacation the past two weeks so writing time has been sparse (i wrote…pretty much this entire part on my phone whenever i had a free moment or two to open up google docs LOL) but it is finally here!! as before, here are some additional notes on the chapter that you can feel free to look at whenever <3 thank you all for reading and being patient and not sending me asks harassing me about this HAHA you all are the best

During the Silver Age of Man, in a time long before Phainon, Nikador, too, had sat alongside the other gods, brave and revered, the sagacious warrior who raised their lance in Kephale’s name and struck down all who crossed the heavens. In that time, they had been worshipped by all who went to war, and so they were impartial to individual conflict, their shadow hanging over every battlefield, looming and dark as they waited to see whose blades struck true, whose shields were sturdy and whose men did not falter. Only to those chosen few would they grant victory and spoils; the rest had to fight with their own merits, or else turn to softer gods who might yet give them favor.

Back in that time, before the city on the mountain was as widely regarded as it is now, it was but a small kingdom, prosperous but contained, ruled by a kindhearted king who guarded his most precious treasure with a fierceness: his daughter, a girl so beautiful that Mnestia sang when she was born. The king knew, as all possessed with something so precious do, that there would always be those who would try to take her from him — an empire to the north, a nation of war-beasts to the west, and a nest of serpents in his very own court — so he prayed to every god he could think of, hoping for even one that might hear his pleas.

Yet none of them listened, and with every cruel answer to his prayer, the king grew more and more desperate. Great Georios desired the girl, but the king was not willing to give her to the father of giants, whose progeny would have torn her apart if they took; wise Talonton would not save her, for there was no justice in it, in allowing something so ethereal to remain mortal and unmarred; fair Thanatos promised to take her into their abode, but warned that the king would never see her again if they did, not even in death. 

Finally dear Mnestia appeared and told the king that there was only one god who could save his daughter: Nikador, the just, the furious, who even the greatest of warriors would not dare cross, whose stalwart defense could deter gods themselves.

And the king wept, for he had heard the tales of Nikador’s madness, their thirst for violence, but Mnestia held firm, unmoved by his tears, telling him it was the only way before disappearing. So the king slaughtered an entire herd of sheep and called upon the god of battle, who was so intrigued by the summons that they really did appear before him, and as soon as they lay their eyes upon the princess, they felt something stirring in their heart, something not unlike bloodlust but gentler, tenderer.

They swore to defend her, and never again did they bless another kingdom, for those of the mountain were so beloved to them that they could not bear the thought of any other’s victory. The hearts of men turned against them, and after the princess fell to Thanatos, as all mortals must, their own heart, too, grew cold — but their watchful gaze never left that mountain, for its stones were the last to hold her memory, and although it had been years upon years, they could not let go of her yet.

“Everyone knows that story,” you said when Phainon finished with great flourish. His smile, so proud in the telling, dropped immediately, replaced with a frown.

“How can it be? Do you know the labors Mnestia had me undergo before they told me that Nikador loved that girl?” he said, showing you his palms, the lines of which shone gold beneath his skin. “You mustn’t say it was in vain!”

“Well, I did not know they loved her,” you said. “That king was my ancestor, although it is his son I am descended from, not the daughter. We were always taught that Nikador admired the spirit of the mountain and so chose it as their residence.”

“Then you did not know the story!” Phainon accused, his expression indignant for all of a moment before relaxing back into the earlier grin. “My labors were not for naught. I am pleased to hear it.”

Were you not frightened of offending him, you might have rolled your eyes or made some remark, but instead you only nodded, wondering to yourself how long he would walk at your side for. He was tireless, keeping pace with your pony’s amble, striding along near your leg and speaking without so much as pausing for breath; it was all you could do to pray to Nikador, although you sensed they had no interest in saving you, not this time.

“What does it mean, that they loved this princess so well?” you said. “It isn’t as though I am her.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “But if they have loved once before, then they can do so again, right?”

“Perhaps, but it’s not as though I’m the sort of beauty which could soften their heart,” you said matter-of-factly. It was an objective thing, an honest assessment — a woman who could soothe even Nikador was the sort of person that could only really be found in legends and stories. If ever she did exist, she was long since dead and would not return so easily.

“I think you are,” Phainon said, and he spoke with such beguiling earnestness, gazing up at you with those gold eyes, as honest as daylight, that you almost believed him. But then you remembered that he was a god, and one using you for his own entertainment, no less, so you only huffed and raised your nose in the air, the only show of disdain you could be permitted.

“No matter how you flatter me, it doesn’t change the reality,” you said. Phainon pouted, and internally you scoffed at his petulance, how mundane and mortal his little mannerisms were. You wondered if he had to think about them, or if they still came to him naturally — for unlike the other gods, he had been a man once, and perhaps he still recalled in the back of his mind what that meant.

“It’s not flattery,” he insisted. “You will believe me when I bring you before them, I am sure.”

“And when do you plan on doing that, exactly?” you said, pulling your pony to a stop, for it was beginning to grow dark and you had no intentions of riding through the night. Sliding off and tying him to a nearby tree, you shook out your meager blanket, ignoring Phainon, who watched you curiously.

“Ah, it’s difficult to bring a mortal to the heavens,” he said. “You must be patient with me. But I swear I will!”

“I have nothing but patience,” you assured him. “There is nothing left for me — thanks to you, I have been cast from the mountain and the Grove alike, so I travel now to Okhema, in the hopes that I may at least find a quiet place there to live out the rest of my days.”

“Okhema! Wonderful, I can accompany you there!” he said as you lay on the ground, kneeling in front of you. “Mnestia does not guard their people as zealously as Cerces, and anyways they are fond of me, so they will turn a blind eye to my presence. Besides, Okhema is large enough that even if we did have some quarrel, I could still avoid detection without resorting to as many measures as I did in the Grove.”

“Wonderful,” you repeated with perhaps a quarter of his enthusiasm. “May I sleep now, my lord, or do you have more tales to spin?”

“You may sleep,” he said. “But won’t you be cold?”

“Certainly,” you said. “The nights are always cool, and to I who am used to the bedchambers of a princess, it is less than preferable, though I have grown used to it well enough.”

His expression was not smug when he leaned close to you, and his voice was as ever — soft, composed, clever — yet somehow you could feel it in his words, that teasing, that delighted mischief.

“I can embrace you tonight,” he said. “I promise you will be warm then.”

You sat up immediately, holding the blanket up to your chest, sputtering as you did so. “You — you most certainly can not!”

He burst into laughter, and it was a handsome sound, as befit him. You stared at him, waiting for his mirth to fade, but it took some time before his humor petered into a sigh and he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean in this form,” he clarified, although you had an inkling he very much had and was only saying that to save face. “Is this better?”

You would never grow used to the ease with which he changed shape, nor how unsettling it was when his body melted into something new. Now he was a large dog, his eyes shining, a collar winding around his neck and sinking into his thick white fur. He wagged his tail at you, and although you knew, logically, that he was still that same infuriating deity, you could not help finding him so sweet in this form, and before you knew it you were shifting to make space for him.

“Alright,” you relented. “However, you — you had best be a dog when I wake, or so help me, I shall give myself to Thanatos at once!”

He panted happily, a black-lipped, pink-tongued expression which resembled a smile, his small ears pricking as he trotted towards you and, with an exhale, flopped atop you stomach.

“Hey!” you snapped, shoving him off, earning you a dramatic, injured whine. “You are far too heavy and badly-behaved for that! You sleep at my side or go back to the heavens, but do not presume that I am enjoying this, or that I have forgotten who you are!”

It was easier to rebuke him now that he was not in the shape of a man, and especially so given that he did not argue or fight back, only licking his nose contritely and then tucking himself to your right, just close enough that the tips of his fur brushed your arm if you moved, but not so close that you had to touch him if you did not wish to. The arrangement was acceptable if not ideal, and he was as warm as he had promised, so you fell asleep quickly, without fuss, and better than you should’ve given that you were in a field alongside the road to Okhema, with the god of the dawn as your only companion.

Phainon was still asleep when you awoke the next morning, which begged the question of who had dragged the sun to the sky if not him — but these were mysterious things, and you supposed the explanation would’ve been beyond you anyways. Allowing yourself the moment of weakness, you stroked his forehead lightly, finding the fur to be like silk under your palm, moving so quickly that you doubted he would notice yet luxuriating in the soft feel of him, which was even more fine than your mother’s best gowns.

Yet almost immediately, his tail began to thump against the ground, and he lifted his head, cocking it when you withdrew your hand like you had been burnt. He nosed at your wrist, and you swatted him away, standing and beginning to fold your blanket brusquely.

“Enough with that,” you said. “You aren’t fooling me by playing the part of puppy. Become a man again at once, and enough with your innocent act.” 

“If that is what you will,” he said agreeably, wearing the same white armor as the day before, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “I did not know if you preferred me in this form or the other.”

You almost told him you preferred him in neither, but his eyes were gold again, resting directly on you, and although you knew it was not his true divinity, it felt as if it might be the closest that you would ever see with your mortal form. A reminder, then, and one you heeded well, any traces of fondness or levity vanishing in an instant as you remembered once again that he was Phainon, god of dawn, god of the denied, god of deliverance.

“It is your choice, sunbringer,” you said. “It matters not to me.”

“You ought to just call me Phainon. Speak as if we are friends,” he said as the two of you set off again, you on your pony and he using his divine power to match your pace effortlessly.

“We are not friends,” you said, not unkindly. “I am a sacrifice who might, if you have your way, worship you one day. What friendship is that, where I kneel at your altar and beg you to bless me?”

“You wouldn’t need to beg,” he said. “Whatever you asked of me, I would grant it immediately.”

“That doesn’t change what I said,” you said. “You are a god, and I am mortal. Let us not pretend otherwise — it does neither of us any good.”

There were stories of gods who took what they pleased and left the rest; although such stories did not exist of Phainon, you were still wary as you waited for him to muster a response, half-expecting him to drag you from your pony then and there, to use the power he had been granted by Kephale to have his way. But he did no such thing, only nodding contemplatively, like you had said something profound.

“Very well, o sacrifice,” he said. “I will be a god for you.”

You did not ask him what he meant by that. You did not think you wanted to. How much more of a god could he be than he already was? What else was he planning? But knowing would not change the outcome, so you decided you would forgo your uncle’s teachings and, this one time, choose ignorance.

“You do not trust me because of Nikador, right?” Phainon asked you when you had been traveling for some days. Every night, he wore the guise of a dog and slept by your side; when dawn rose, he became a man anew, although he still followed you around as if he were a hound, tilting his head when you did something he could not understand — and there were many of these habits, for he had not been a man for an age and had not been a woman ever — and beaming if you offered him even the meagerest of praises — which typically amounted to a thank you for leaving me alone again every morning and nothing more.

“In some sense,” you said. You had, through the course of gour travels, grown accustomed to his presence, although you could never bring yourself to accept him fully. You were looser with your speech now, though, and less afraid, more indifferent when it came to the god. He had not hurt you yet, and although you did not doubt his capacity for it, you supposed there was no harm in letting down your guard the slightest bit. What other choice did you have? For he insisted on remaining with you, although the world and the heavens were his to do with as he liked.

“Nikador,” he groused. “They have always held this grudge against me! As if it’s my fault Kephale chose me to replace them.”

“It’s not as though you don’t do your part to antagonize them, if the stories are to be believed,” you said. “I admit that there must be some bias, but certainly the priests have never spoken of you favorably.”

“I would strike all those priests down if I could,” he said, quite seriously. “Yet even I know that that would be an act of war, and I am not quite so foolish — despite what you may think.”

“I don’t think anything,” you said, fighting to keep your voice neutral, without any hints of distaste.

“It’s such a silly thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if Nikador resents me for taking their place as the general of the gods, that doesn’t mean you must despise me as well.”

“I am loyal to my lord of strife,” you said levelly. “I have followed them for my entire life, and I shall not betray them now.”

“You love them,” he said. He stated it plainly, like it was a fact, but the way his brow furrowed implied a question more than anything. You shrugged, braiding a lock of your pony’s mane to busy your hands, which had grown lax, idle.

“Of course I do,” you said. “I have never had a father, for mine was too willing to relinquish his every duty to the High Priest — and so they were my father. I have never had a brother, for mine spent more time in war camps and temples than he ever did in the palace — and so they were my brother. I have never had anyone to believe in, for the priests show me their true faces, which I find hideous — and so they are my constant. Now, I shall never take a husband nor lover, I cannot, so whether or not you are successful, they will play that role for me, too. This is what it means to be the god of a people.”

“I see,” Phainon said. It must’ve been foreign to him, the concept of patronage, for although he had hymns and temples alike, he had no home, no sweeping city or towering mountain which claimed him as theirs. He was young for it, and anyways, who would want him? Because to have Phainon’s favor was to draw Nikador’s ire, and even though Nikador was no longer a proper deity of the pantheon, everyone knew that they were the granter of victory, so no one dared risk it. 

Besides, a god so impulsive that they even answered your brother’s wavering summons could not be trusted with stewardship of a kingdom. He would bring it to despair, and he would do so with that same glimmer in his expression as he wore now, finding humor in that downfall, delighting in their misery as much as he did their supplication.

“Is that why you wish to be their bride?” he continued. “Because you have already pledged yourself to them, and want to be theirs in full?”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He must have heard already, in some form or another, when you had explained to Anaxagoras why you had done what you had done. So why was he asking? Did he long for some excuse with which to punish you? For now, at least, you were defenseless, exiled from Cerces’s protection and far from Nikador’s. If you told him the truth, if you told him it was because you were frightened of him, then he might take offense, and you shuddered to think what his displeasure would mean for you. 

“Yes,” you said. “I will never know another. Can you fault me for this one longing?”

“You could’ve married a mortal,” he pointed out. “Any number of princes or kings, I am sure. Were you so concerned with longing, I could have even breathed life into a statue for you and made a man exactly as you wanted.”

“Well,” you said, for you had no doubts he would’ve found pleasure in doing that, in moulding with his own hands the husband he thought you desired, demanding only your devotion in return. “But a man is not a god. A prince is not Nikador. I cannot love any other but them.”

“True enough,” Phainon said. “I have not yet conceived of a way to convince them, but I will. I consider it daily, I promise!” 

“You are rather dedicated,” you said. “Why don’t you search for another worshipper? There are many who would be overjoyed to receive attention from one such as you.”

“I don’t want any others,” he said, patting your calf for emphasis. “If you had asked me for something simple, I would have left you with it, but you have presented me with such a challenge I cannot help being consumed by its completion. Anyways, think of it from my perspective — the bride of Nikador, praying to me. Oh, how it would infuriate them!” 

“And you wonder why they dislike you,” you said.

“It’s what they deserve,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “They would do the same if they could! Had I a lover, Nikador would surely torment them. Miserable, rotten old god. In truth I pity you, o sacrifice, for you will be bound to them for eternity!”

“Save your pity for those who ask it of you,” you said. “As for me, I shall discover for myself exactly what kind of god Nikador is when you bring me to them.”

Okhema was a distance from the Grove, although closer from there than it was from the mountain, which was inland and thus removed from the seaside capital. Still, you and Phainon traveled for a long time to get there, and over the course of our travels you learnt the god’s peculiarities with more intimacy than you ever would’ve wanted to.

He called you sacrifice, and yet he fussed for an entire day when he heard someone slaughtering a bull for him, saying he much preferred flowers and sweets to be burnt upon his altar. He was the bringer of the dawn, and yet he slept well into the morning, always whining when you told him you had to leave for the day. He bore the power of worlds, and yet instead of tormenting you with it, instead of toying with you and yanking you along at his whim, he followed your orders rather willingly, even happily.

“Do you ever laugh?” he asked you once. You frowned at him; he tried on the expression, which looked strange on a face that only ever darkened on the rarest of occasions. “This one is not so nice.”

“I laugh quite readily, when I have something to laugh about,” you said. He mulled this over, even nodding like it was something terribly philosophical.

“You did laugh at me when I was a bird. Shall I drown myself again for your amusement?” he said.

“It’s not amusing when I know it’s you,” you said. “It’s just ridiculous. What business does a god have flailing about in a bath?”

“By Kephale! My apologies, o sacrifice, for trying to raise your spirits, low as they were when you came to the Grove,” he said. “You forget I walked with you as a man and saw your shoulders droop lower and lower with every passing day.”

“That was because you made me lead you around like a child learning to ride a pony!” you said.

“As I recall, you are the one who insisted,” he said.

“You might’ve said no,” you said.

“I tried,” he said. “You refused.”

“Only because I thought you were truly a man in trouble,” you said after a moment, scowling at how weak the rebuttal was, for after all he was correct. Noticing that you were suddenly sullen, he snickered, knowing he had won this argument.

“I’ll give you something worthwhile,” he said. “I’m the god of good humor too, though most people don’t realize it, so how can I have such a serious devotee?”

“How many roles you play,” you said. “Dawn and good humor and the general of the gods. What relation do any of these have?”

“They are all things I used to love,” he said, so simply you were taken aback, shifting in your saddle to look down on him with a furrowed brow. “When I was human, I mean. I don’t remember much from that time, it was long ago and my memories have since burned away, but there are small things I can still recall. The feel of morning dew under my bare feet. The creases around my father’s eyes when he laughed at a clever joke. The sound of my sword clashing against a rival’s. I could’ve been the god of anything, but when Kephale granted me divinity, I only wanted to keep those close to my heart.”

“Oh,” you said, for you had been expecting some sharp, witty answer, as quick as he always was. You waited for him to continue, to laugh as he was prone to and tell you he meant it in jest, but he did not. He only stared ahead contemplatively, face set, the corners of his mouth curving downwards. “I thought you would say something more foolish.”

“Hm?” he said.

“That what each of these things has in common is you, or something,” you said, and you did not smile, but you looked at him and waited, for you found you did not like it very much, the sight of Phainon so pensive. If he was the god of good humor, then ought he not remain in high spirits? He glanced up at you in confusion, and then his eyes widened before his countenance became oddly soft — not exactly amused again, but kind in a way, grateful.

“There is that as well,” he said, and then he did that thing he was fond of, touching your leg as you walked along, lightly, shyly, like he was reminding you that he was still there — as if you could ever forget.

You smelled Okhema before you saw it, the air growing lush and heady with salt and sand, lemon trees lining the road and drooping with bright fruit, perfuming the path with their sweet blossoms. Phainon plucked one and held it out to you; when you gave him a look of barely-disguised horror, he shrugged, transforming it into a golden apple and biting into it with abandon.

“I will have to remain your hound while we are in Okhema,” he said as you approached the city gates, his head swiveling around, his eyes keen. “Mnestia may not chide me, but for some reason, I don’t know that I can say the same for their followers.”

“What can mere followers do to you?” you said. “You are a god.”

“Cause me enough trouble that I get into a fight with the Lady of Romance, who, although admires me, is temperamental to a fault,” he said. “Now, I can do battle for you if you’d like, but as you said you’re trying to find a peaceful life by the sea, it might be counterintuitive.”

“Yes, please do not ruin things for me here as well,” you said. He sighed at you but returned to the dog form you had grown accustomed to from your nights together, although he did bark at you rudely once he had, his ears flat against his skull in reprimand. “Come along then, and don’t bark too much, or they’ll shoo you away for disrupting the silence.”

Okhema was a city made of marble, white and gleaming, the stones polished until one could all but see their reflection. Phainon found inordinate pleasure in trotting along and leaving gold prints behind; you had not walked in any mud, and anyways you had never seen dirt which shone like ambrosia, meaning he was doing it entirely on purpose. When you gave him a look, he only cocked his head innocently, prompting you to click your tongue, wondering if he was the god of horrible jokes as well.

There was an order even to the bustle of the city, everything in its place, the people’s voices lyrical and hushed, never abrasive, never ugly. It was so opposite to the mountain, where everyone crushed together in a muddle of shouts, pushing and shoving and cheering in turn, everything done in extremity. How beautiful that cacophony was, how pleasant, and how uncomfortable you found this tidy quiet, where wandering eyes could not help but settle on those who intruded.

“Oh, miss, is that your dog?” 

You were halted in your tracks by two small children, a boy and a girl, with bright eyes and shy voices. You glanced at Phainon, willing him to answer in some way, but he only peered back up at you, like he was daring you to say something.

“He’s been traveling with me for a while, but I wouldn’t call him mine, exactly,” you said finally. “We go now to meet with the Council of Elders.”

“They won’t let him into the palace,” the girl said, squinting at him. “He’s a dog. Elder Caenis thinks they’re all dirty.”

“Then he’ll either go back to where he came from, or he’ll wait for me outside, I expect,” you said, not deigning to mention that it was just as likely he would take some other ridiculous shape so that he could stay with you — a bird or a beetle or something else like that.

The two children exchanged looks before the boy took the ball tucked under his arm and held it out in front of him, blushing and avoiding your eyes.

“He’s very cute,” he said. “There aren’t many dogs in Okhema, and all of the ones we do have are small or mean. Could we — I mean, while you’re on your business, would you mind…?”

“We want to play with him!” the girl completed, all in a rush. “But you can say no if you like, he’s yours after all.”

“So that’s why you approached me,” you said, tapping your chin as you tried to come up with some way to explain to them kindly that if they tried to make Phainon fetch their toys in some sort of game, he might actually turn them into insects for the disrespect. “Ah, well, he’s not mine, so I don’t want to—?”

“Puppy!” the boy squealed as Phainon pounced on him, taking the ball in his mouth and then wagging his tail. The boy did not even fight back, instead busying himself with petting along his back and hugging his neck. Your jaw dropped as, instead of smiting them, Phainon sat on the ground with his tail wagging and his eyes closed, allowing the two children to flit about him. “Fetch, puppy!”

“Don’t — what?” you said, for in a stranger turn of events, instead of refusing, Phainon bounded after the ball, catching it in his mouth and then trotting back to deposit it at the boy’s feet. “What is wrong with you, sunbring—Sunny?”

Phainon barked at you. You glared at him. The boy clapped in delight, and the girl's eyes grew to the size of saucers as she tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Can we please watch Sunny while you’re gone? He’s so adorable and sweet and wonderful!” she said.

It wasn’t possible for dogs to look arrogant, but somehow Phainon managed, and you almost wanted to tell him he might as well just take these children for his budding cult, since they seemed so willing. But you would not condemn the two to that when their intentions were naive in nature, and so you only nodded slowly.

“Yes, alright,” you said. “As long as he doesn’t mind, you can play with him while I’m gone.”

“Yay! Thank you, miss, we’ll be sure to take good care of him,” the boy said.

“Right,” you said, still somewhat at a loss for words, the sight of the god being fawned over like any other mutt more than a little disconcerting. “As for you, Sunny, you — you had best behave yourself!”

The palace of Okhema had a name in the tongue of the sea, something elegant which you could not remember as you approached the grand staircase. Your pony, too, was nervous as you came closer and closer to the imposing building, and you stroked along his neck to soothe his prancing, although it did not do much. Eventually you dismounted altogether for fear of falling, taking the reins over his head and leading him behind you until you could flag down a stablehand, who was hesitant in accepting until you showed him the letter Medea had given you for Elder Caenis.

A pretty slip of an attendant came to fetch you from the entrance hall, her creamy dress swishing behind her as she motioned for you to follow along. Her footsteps were light and her walk magnetic; you wondered if they were trained in this way, to be so uniform, as much a part of the decor as the towering pillars and archways. She did not ask for your name, nor did she offer hers, only bowing and telling you that the Council awaited you in the meeting room.

You lingered for a moment, toying with the scroll you had kept close to your breast for the entire journey. Time and time again, you had been tempted to open it, but you always stopped yourself before you could. Whatever Medea had written, you thought it might be better if you did not read it, especially not before Phainon, whose reaction to your tears you could not predict.

Phainon. You wished he were with you, you realized; you were frightened, and instead of longing for Nikador’s gaze, it was Phainon who you wished to come to your side, Phainon with his charm and lightness and his uncanny ability to understand even what you could not say to him aloud. It was a betrayal of the highest order, but you could not help it, could not help looking towards the window and waiting for him to appear in some form or another. A bird or a beetle or a ray of sun, even, as long as he was there. As long as he was with you. As long as you were not alone.

“They tell me you have a letter from Medea,” Elder Caenis said when you entered. She was the council’s sole representative, which was both more and less nerve-wracking than if you had been faced with the entire collective. Her hair was a knot of clotted spiderwebs tied at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were the bland color of dead halcyon feathers, devoid of anything resembling light or life as they settled upon you.

You nodded, handing the paper to her. “Yes.”

“You’re Anaxagoras’s niece,” she remarked, unfolding it. “A wonder you are here, and not still in the Grove.”

“I am sure Medea’s letter explains it,” you said. Elder Caenis hummed.

“And so it does,” she said, putting it down and pressing her mouth into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed, twin slits of ice cutting through Okhema’s heat and into your core, chipping away at your soul with a steady cruelty. “I understand the situation. I shall deliberate over it with the rest of the councilmen today, and tomorrow, you will be summoned to hear our conclusions.”

“Yes, Elder. Thank you,” you said with a bow. 

“An attendant will be along to take you to the baths, after which you will be escorted to your quarters, where you are to remain until further notice,” she continued. “I hope you’ll understand.”

“I do,” you said, even though the taste in your mouth was bitter, sour. Yet you had no other choice, not when her glare didn’t lift for even a moment, not when an attendant was at your side in an instant, taking your elbow in a hand whose size belied its strength. 

The Okheman baths were as beautiful as their acclaim suggested, but you could not enjoy them when the water was soiled with the stench of your fear, the attendant hovering over you the entire time, offering you help with pleasant words that you did not believe for a moment. When she realized you would not accept it, she took a step back, and there she stayed until you told her you were finished.

Your guest chambers were far closer to what you had known for your entire life, sumptuous and decorated with an attention to detail that spoke to a true love of refinement and wealth, as was to be expected from the seaside capital, which had earned that title as verily as it had fought for it. Sitting on the windowsill was a white squirrel, and in the entire room filled with vibrant paintings and rich fabrics, you found it was the most beautiful thing, with a gold stripe running down its back and tufted ears swiveling towards you when you were ushered in by the attendant.

“You’re here,” you said, unable to stop yourself from sounding relieved as you nodded at the squirrel, resisting the urge to take it and hold it close to your heart. The squirrel — who was not really a squirrel but Phainon himself — chirped, and then when he was sure the room was empty, he sprung back into the form of a white-armored man, beaming at you in greeting.

“My sacrifice!” he said, and for a bizarre moment you thought he was about to embrace you, so, swallowing, you turned and busied yourself with inspecting the bed, which was as perfect as everything else. “Of course I am. How could I leave you so soon?”

“Perhaps you found better worshippers,” you said. “Ones who actually worship you, for example.”

“That would be boring,” he said. “Anyways, what did the Council of Elders say?”

“They will consider my fate and inform me tomorrow what they decide,” you said to him. “I am not to leave my quarters until then, and especially not without an attendant.”

“No matter,” he said. “If you have any need for anything, just ask me. I’ll bring it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I’m not going to treat a god like a messenger-boy. The mere prospect ought to anger you beyond belief,” you said, pulling gauzy curtains over the window to ward away insects, lighting oil lamps to stave off the encroaching darkness of the night. 

“It doesn’t,” he said. 

“Why not?” you said. “Like I said, it should. Doing these things for a mortal woman, letting her speak to you with such insolence, it should madden you, and yet you allow it — encourage it, even! Talonton or Phagousa or Mnestia or any of them, they would’ve turned me to some beast by now, if not stricken me down entirely. Why doesn’t it infuriate you?”

“It just doesn’t,” he repeated as you slipped into the bed, though you did not lie to sleep, instead waiting with your hands folded for him to do — you weren’t sure what, exactly, but something. “I don’t mind it so much. I’m not like the others, anyways, as they are so fond of reminding me.”

You smoothed the space beside you, motioning for him to sit. He furrowed his brow, but you shook your head wordlessly, and so he crept to the side of your bed before, all in a rush, hurling himself atop it, laying his head on your lap and slinging his arms loosely around your hips, exhaling as you finally allowed him to lie with you as a man. You raised your eyebrows but, biting your tongue, did not push him away this time, instead letting your hand hover above the place where his hair curled around his ear, too shy to touch it but suddenly feeling a great and inexplicable desire to.

“They don’t like you much,” you said rhetorically. He opened one eye to peer at you; when he noticed how close your palm was to his face, he tugged your wrist down until your fingers met his pale, warm cheek. You drew it back immediately, like you had been burnt, which prompted nothing but a dry chuckle out of him, as though he had expected nothing less

“Who?” he said. 

“Anyone,” you said. The corners of his lips curved, although he did not quite grin.

“Not particularly,” he said. “But you meant the other gods in specific. It’s okay — you can speak ill of them if you’d like. I will defend you.”

“Yes,” you admitted, finding you trusted him to keep this promise, although maybe you shouldn’t have. “I meant them.”

“It is not as though they hate me, necessarily,” he said. “Some of them even like me well enough — Mnestia, for example. But many of them do resent me. I am a man who became a god; I was never born to divinity the way they were. Once, I was just like you, and gods do not take kindly to those who rise above their stations. It changes the natural order of things, and they are so reliant on that constant to maintain their power.”

“Just like me,” you mused. “I cannot imagine what kind of a man you must have been.”

“I looked much as I do now,” he said, rolling off of you, sprawled on his back with his limbs askew as he stared up at the painted ceiling. “The same hair, the same nose, the same expression — although Mnestia tells me my smile was once crooked, endearing, not as perfect as it is now. Other than that, though, you should not have any difficulties picturing me as I once was.”

“It is difficult,” you said, moving so you could lie on your side and face him. He turned as well, and in the flickering light of the oil lamps, his irises were alive, dancing and mad, twin coins reflecting gold and greed as they bored into you. “How terrible your eyes are in this celestial form. I cannot imagine a mere mortal to possess such a gaze.”

“They were different,” he acquiesced. “I can’t remember what color they were back then, but it wasn’t this. These are a color only a god can don.”

“Yes, it must be so,” you said. “You really can’t remember?”

“It was not just years but an entire age ago that I was a man,” he said. “I told you already, most of my memories drifted away when I ascended to godhood, and time has only thrown a veil over those that are left. I could ask Oronyx for their aid, but I think it’s better I don’t remember. It would make what I do have hurt even more.”

“Hurt?” you said, and then you frowned, because you didn’t want to keep prodding at this newfound wound, even if Phainon might not have minded. “Well. By the way, it was good of you, what you did earlier.”

“Hm?” he said drowsily, although he did not appear to be tired, and neither did he need rest in the same way you did.

“With the children,” you said. “Obliging them and all. You might’ve punished them, but instead you played along and let them treat you like a dog instead of a deity. I didn’t expect it. I mean, who’s ever heard of a god that plays fetch with little boys and girls?”

“It made them happy,” he said, and then slowly, carefully, he extended his hand so that it rested on your jaw and he could trace his thumb along your face. You almost flinched away, but he was so mild, like a butterfly along your skin, that you could not bring yourself to. It was so different from any touch you had ever known, the priests or your mother or anything, that you found yourself leaning into it, found yourself wishing he would never stop. “I was also a child before. This, at least, is something I still recall — how it felt to be a boy, with no knowledge of what would one day become of me.”

He stroked along your bones like he was trying to memorize their shapes, their angles, and he lingered in odd places: the hollow under your eye, the bow of your mouth, the arch of your brow, with no rhyme or reason to it. The repetitive motions were soothing, and combined with the lush bed, it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but you fought it back, giving in to your curiosity when the conversation seemed like it would take no other path but this.

“Was it painful when you became a god?” you said, punctuating the statement with a yawn. He pressed his index finger on your lower lip, halting you in the midst of it and answering your surprised look with a snicker that did not quite reach his eyes. Another joke, then, but one only meant to deflect the question, and so one you did not deign to acknowledge. “You keep mentioning your time as a man, so I was wondering.”

“Because it will happen to you, should I find success,” he completed knowingly. “Because in order to marry Nikador, you will have to become a goddess.”

“Right,” you said, although it wasn’t the case. But it should’ve been. You had no reason to feel genuine concern for him, to care for how he had become what he now was. He was still Phainon, still an ill-tempered and badly-behaved god who would just as soon take you and turn you into a rabbit for his troubles as he would grant your wishes. No amount of playing with children and touching you how you wanted would change that; no amount of tragedy or terror would make that fundamental part of him different.

“It’s not,” he said. “Painful, that is. The physical process is easy, and besides, after that pain is…different. You can’t quite understand it in the same way, so it matters little. I wish I could say the same for the rest of it.”

“Do you mean your injuries from the fight against Aquila?” you said, referencing that final, terrible battle, wherein Phainon had defeated the maniacal god by holding the sky upon his shoulders until Kephale could trick Aquila into taking back the burden. Human as he was, Phainon could not survive it, his body withering away from the weight, but in recognition of his sacrifice, Kephale granted him godhood and made him their general for his bravery. “I’ve only heard the story a few times, but it sounds so awful…”

“I had a horse,” he said. “Pegasus. He was as white as a shooting star and scared of his own shadow; I was the only one he allowed on his back, so sensitive was he.”

“He sounds beautiful,” you said, more than a little bemused by the change in topic.

“He was,” Phainon said, dreamily, wistfully. “He was the first one I lost. Colic, I think it was. They put another man on him and it set him to thrashing about and that was when I learnt that it is far worse to watch Thanatos embracing another than it is to meet them yourself.”

“Oh, no,” you said, a pit clawing open in your stomach, your chest heavy with an invisible burden as Phainon nodded slowly. You wanted to tell him to stop, but this was something you could not look away from, could not avoid, and so your mouth refused to move any further.

“My mother was next. She was assaulted, killed for pleasure and silence, and although I struck down those petty thieves, turned them into pigs as was befitting their nature, it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t bring her back,” he said.

This story you knew as well, though you had never heard the whole of it. You were only ever told on the mountain that in all the hot-blood of youth, Phainon had once turned a pair of beggars into pigs and laughed at their squeals. You swallowed, because you did not think he was lying, but it was so at odds with what you knew that you weren’t sure how to reconcile it.

“After that was my father,” he said. “Old age took him. I fought with Thanatos—”

“For five nights,” you completed. He raised his eyebrows, and you hugged an extra pillow to your chest, hiding your face in it. “They say you got in an argument with them and the two of you dueled until Cerces intervened.”

“Yes,” he said, his hand on the back of your head now, petting along your hair. “Cerces told me even I could not fight fate, and if I continued as I was, they would be forced to bring me before Kephale and have my divinity stripped away. I nearly agreed, but the gleam in Thanatos’s eyes at the prospect was so wicked I could not bring myself to.”

“Then the story of you flooding an entire empire?” you said, your voice muffled by your bedding and exhaustion alike.

“They dared to kill a man I once considered my dearest friend,” he said. “And planned on pillaging his kingdom and enslaving his wife, who was always so meek, who always gave me little sweets when I visited and told me she was glad her husband had someone like me to defend him. I could not do anything for him in the end, but at least her, at least I could save her in his name…she scorned me, you know. When I appeared before her and told her what I had done, all she could do was weep and curse me. What sort of a god are you? That was what she asked. He prayed to you before he left, and you abandoned him. His kingdom revered Nikador, and still he chose to put his faith in me, but that very faith was what cost him. I’ll always wonder if it might’ve been different, had he been like you, had he remained loyal to strife. Would he have lived a little longer? Would his wife have hated me less?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” you said. “He still would have died eventually, and she still would have hated you. Only gods are immortal.”

“And that is what you will come to learn,” he said. “In time, indifferent as you are now, you might find me to be your greatest ally in the pantheon. I am the only one who can ever understand you, after all.”

Perhaps it was his words, or perhaps it was the late hour, or perhaps it was the last vestiges of the dying oil lamps, but you found yourself asking him to close his eyes. He did so at once, always so willing, always so obedient, and for a second you thought to yourself, what have I ever done to deserve him? But you chased it away immediately, because Phainon was your bane, because you did not want him and certainly did not think of yourself as unworthy of him — if anything it was the other way around, for you surely did not deserve to have to endure his presence as much as you did.

“They must have been blue,” you said after a moment of deliberation. His forehead creased, but he did not speak, only waiting for you to elaborate, and so you did. “The color of the sky right after sunrise. Bright and lovely. The kind of color that is impossible to refuse. I would have been very fond of them, I think.”

“Would that I could make them that shade,” he said, and then he opened his eyes to reveal that same gold, not the blazing blue you had pictured and loved. “Would that you could be fond of me as I am now.”

“I am sorry,” you said. “But—”

“Nikador,” he said, and then he rolled over so that his back was to you, wide and sturdy and perfect, so perfect, like an artist had made him with loving hands, like he had been crafted, not born. “I understand, o sacrifice, you needn’t explain further. I am sure that learning the fate of my friend has only fortified your resolve.”

To this you had no response, so you only turned your back to his, and thus you slept alongside him, dreaming of a man who resembled him greatly — but with a crooked, dimpled grin and eyes like wildflowers, shining in the faint light of dawn as you offered him something sweet in the hopes he might accept it. 

The next morning, you were summoned to the meeting room once more, for it was said that your fate had been decided. Phainon rode along on your shoulder, a small bird tucked into the curve of your neck as you walked behind the attendant to where Elder Caenis awaited you. When nerves caused your hands to tremble, you would reach up and run your finger along his wings, which would earn you a delighted coo that you thought would alarm the attendant but in fact went ignored each time. Phainon, for his part, seemed to have forgotten his sorrow from the previous night, waking up in good cheer and even pecking your palm sweetly when he became a bird and you lifted his fine-boned body in the air, asking him to come with you.

It was easier to face things with him there, even though the prayers in your mind were meant for Nikador alone, as they always were. You did not know if your esteemed lord would answer you, not with Phainon so near, but even the words were enough to calm your thrumming heart, so that when you came before Caenis, it was with a steady mind and blank expression, giving away nothing.

“Niece of Anaxagoras, former princess of the mountain, you have come to Okhema in search of refuge from the god Phainon,” Elder Caenis began. “Medea has explained it well, so you needn’t clarify further. As a favor to an old friend, I will accept you, but on one condition.”

“Anything, Elder Caenis,” you said. “I have no qualms about working and staying in sparse lodging — I don’t demand nor expect comfort.”

“Good, that makes this easier. As of late, the Okheman countryside has been plagued by a new terror: the Khimaira, a terrible beast with the body and head of a lion, the bust of a goat sprouting from its back, and a serpent for a tail. It can breathe fire, and it has been burning crops with such prolificness that a famine has gone from unthinkable to a genuine consideration. You are from a nation of warriors, so surely you should not mind slaying it for us?” she said.

“If I say no?” you said.

“You will not like how I answer that question,” she said. “This isn’t a choice, girl, it is a compulsion. You will agree to it. You will ride forth, and you will slay the Khimaira or you will die trying.”

“Haven’t you army-men to send?” you said. “Why must it be me? I may be of the mountain, but I don’t have any experience with fighting, and certainly I am no hero who can kill even monsters without batting an eye. That age is over; men like that aren’t born anymore.”

“The soldiers have attempted and failed again and again,” Elder Caenis said. “But setting aside the matter of Phainon, you carry Nikador’s blessings in your blood. They will certainly assure your victory, as long as you pray to them well. That is all; you will be brought to your horse and given a weapon with which to do battle. The Council of Elders wishes you luck, young princess. May fortune smile upon you someday.”

You thought it strange that people only ever called you princess when they were bidding you farewell. The High Priest, Elder Caenis…they wielded the title you once had as a mockery, as a way to cut into you with unfounded cruelty. Neither they nor you could ever escape the knowledge that a princess you were no longer, and they took such pains to remind you of it with every breath you took.

“Oh, Phainon,” you said, a single, terrified sob escaping you as soon as you were in the stable alone, a knife in your hand and your pony’s reins in the other. “You heard her! They’re sending me — I’m meant to — this beast, how am I supposed to defeat — with only a dagger!” 

“You aren’t,” he said, jumping from your shoulder, a man once again, tightening the straps of your bridle so that it would not slip. “Medea sent you to Okhema to be killed. You know that, right?”

“No,” you said. “My uncle, he would never allow it, surely there is some mistake!”

“Your uncle was outvoted,” he said, lifting you by the waist and setting you in the saddle before leading you forward, your pony prancing along behind him. “Six against one. The Sages were too cowardly to do it themselves, as were the Elders, so they have come up with this way of ending your life blamelessly, without any chance of angering Nikador or I — make no mistake, this is an execution order nonetheless.”

“What am I meant to do?” you said. He looked at you over his shoulder.

“Ask me for my help,” he said. “I will come to you, o sacrifice, and I will save you, as I have promised so many times before. Become my devotee and I won’t let anything harm you. You won’t fall to the same fate that my friend did, that my mother and father did. As long as you ask it of me, I will guard you from even Thanatos. But you won’t, right? No matter what I say or do, no matter how I entreat you, you won’t.”

“It is Nikador,” you said. “I must — I cannot anger them; the savage king who bears the lance of fury, they who vanquish all enemies and who are with me in all my battles, they must befriend me in this mine hour, or else I will not see victory.”

Phainon’s expression turned a peculiar version of mournful, desolate, and for a moment you thought he would say something, but then panic flitted across his features and he vanished, like he had never even been there in the first place. Your pony pinned his ears, but you did not nudge him forward, waiting for Phainon to appear again with one of his jokes, to tell you he would stay with you until you found the Khimaira. Yet he did not, so eventually all you could do was continue as you had been, your muscles turning tauter and tauter the farther you grew from the golden city.

“I suppose in the end, you are my only constant,” you said, hugging your pony around the neck. Your pony, who had set out with you from the mountain and remained steadfastly at your side ever since; indeed, he was at this point your oldest and longest friend, the only one to never spurn you, the only one to never demand anything from you in return.

Your hunt for the Khimaira was long and lonely. Phainon did not materialize at any point, and if the Khimaira had ever been near to Okhema, it had long since flown to the countryside, far from the capital. You rode for longer than you ever had, with your pony as your only company, your orisons to Nikador and the song of hoofbeats on the road the only sounds to cut through the desolate, foreboding silence.

You missed the god most in the nights, for it became colder and colder as the year stretched on and your distance from Okhema increased. What you wouldn’t have given to lie with him, to have him embrace you and ward away the omnipotent chill you suffered from. But you refused to call upon him as your deity, refused to kneel for any who were not Nikador, and so you suffered alone, sleeping against your pony’s side, his body shielding you from the wind, his warmth meager compared to Phainon’s but better than nothing.

Many times you thought of running, but where would you go? Who would have you? Cast from the mountain and the forests and the seaside alike, there wasn’t a village that did not know your face, that did not turn silent when you begged for asylum. They did not dare anger the Sages or the Elders or the priests or their deities, and no amount of disguising yourself or invoking Nikador’s name was enough to fool them or change their minds. 

You were marked by Phainon — therefore, the gods who had quarrels with him took it upon themselves to bring misery to you, too, for he was untouchable and you were so delicately, breathtakingly mortal. Georios caused the earth to shake when you tried to become a nanny in a small riverside town; Thanatos sent a plague to the foothills until you were chased from them by a crowd of frightened men with sick on their breaths; Phagousa brought a great wave from the sea when you sought refuge with a family of fishermen, who even after this retribution told you you could stay and only allowed you to leave when you pretended you could not stand the smell of seaweed which clung to every available surface in their home. 

You pleaded and pleaded to Nikador — defend me, please defend me, why won’t you defend me? — but they did not so much as send you a sign, let alone protect you from the torments of their brethren. Deaf to your begging, they left you with no other choice, no other recourse but to seek out the Khimaira in the hopes that you could one day return to Okhema, where Mnestia’s protection could be enough to hide you from the rest of the pantheon.

Eventually, in the course of your travels, you came across a dying woman, blood around her mouth and a baby wailing in her arms. She was saying something, and you knelt so you could hear, gathering the baby without thinking and holding it to your breast, cradling its soft head against your heart as you rocked it, trying to soothe its fretful tears.

“Lady,” she coughed out. “They took everything from me — my son, please take care of my son—”

You didn’t bother asking what happened to her. It was obvious enough, and anyways you didn’t want her to waste her precious last breaths explaining something that could not be undone, so you only stroked your hand along her temple, not sure who you meant to comfort more, her or the child or yourself. 

“I don’t know how to,” you said, your voice breaking as something caught in your throat and stuck there. “I’m sorry, madam, but he will have such a terrible existence with me anyways, and I do not even know how to cheer him…” 

“Sing to him,” she said. “As your mother did to you when you were a baby. Do you remember the song?”

“Of course I do not,” you said. “But it must’ve been one for Nikador, I am sure.”

The woman shook her head, and then she lifted a crimson palm to your cheek, leaving a slender, wet handprint behind. Everything about her was limp; you held her hand to you, crushing her bones in your grip as your vision swam with tears that did not fall and the baby’s damp cheek pressed against your own.

“They chided her for it,” she said. “She tried every ode to war, but it never ceased your sobbing. There was only one song which could quiet your tantrums, only one god whose name could mellow your irascible temper. Don’t you remember? That hymn you never learnt but know in your heart, the one you loved so well as a child…call upon it once more, darling princess.”

“What?” you said, and if you were not so entirely distraught, you might’ve noticed the sparkle in her eyes, which should not have been that type of gleaming when she was supposedly so near to death. “A hymn I never learnt but know in my heart?”

She smiled at you, mysterious and cunning, but did not explain further. You thought and thought, but you could not understand what she might mean, until she began to hum to you, soft and slow and sad, her voice so like your mother’s you nearly began to bawl yourself, nearly crawled and lay your head against her stomach so that she could pet your hair as your mother had in your youth.

“How, then, shall I sing of you?” you said, following the dips and crescendos of her humming, allowing her to lead you through it as the baby quieted. “For everywhere, Phainon, is beholden to you, over the mountains and across the isles, from high-sloping foothills to beaches canting seaward. Do I sing of how you were born a man amidst golden furrows, and how you then rose to become the joy of mankind itself? Hear this, Earth and wide Heaven, surely he will have his fragrant altar and precinct, and he shall be honored above all; as for me, I will carry his name close to my heart, and I will never cease to praise that white calamity, o shining Phainon, god of every dawn.”

Suddenly the weight upon your shoulder lifted, the baby dissipating into nothingness and an immense light enveloping the woman. You stumbled backwards as she stood, no longer a wan, bleeding figure but robust and tall, angular and pointed in construction, wearing flowing robes and a melancholy expression on the most beautiful face you had ever seen.

“Hello, child,” they said, and you covered your mouth with your hand, waiting to be struck down, waiting for the latest tragedy to befall you in the name of Phainon, in the name of some feud or another. “Do not be frightened. I have no quarrel, with you or with that dear boy. You do not recognize me? But it is my own city you ride forth from.”

“Mnestia,” you said. They smiled at you, bending down to caress your face, combing their fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead. How warm it was, how maternal, and you found yourself reaching for them, clinging to their skirts like a child might cling to a mother’s dress, enveloping yourself in the safety of their watch, the closest to repose you had felt since Phainon had left you without a word.

“Phainon was right,” they said. “If only you had been born in Okhema. You would’ve been my most treasured priestess, you lovely little thing. What a shame that another has staked his claim upon you, and a greater shame that you were born to Nikador, who would never allow me to so much as look upon their mountain and steal you away first.”

“Thank you,” you said. They placed their palms on your shoulders firmly, pulling you to your feet, and although they were a goddess, no less than Phainon or Nikador, you could not bring yourself to be afraid. For a moment, their expression flickered, and you swore you saw your mother looking upon you, that same lined smile, that same furrowed brow, and instead of terror, it was only grief you could muster, grief for the life that had been wrenched from you the day you were exiled from the mountain.

“You are not so far from the Khimaira,” they said. “Soon you will stumble upon it, but as you are now, you will lose.”

“I know,” you said. “I was never meant to win, was I? You should know better than anyone, as it is your own cult who sentenced me.”

“I am sorry,” they said. “I cannot control them any more than I can help you. There are too many factors at play, too many gods who find pleasure in this turn of events. Even meeting you now is a risk that I am taking, but at my behest, you called upon Phainon, and so he is protecting us, shielding us from the gaze of the other deities.”

“Phainon,” you said, swallowing and wrapping your arms around your own torso. “I…”

“I know,” Mnestia said. “He longs for you as well, child. All he does is sit by the heavens’ looking glass, staring down at you so forlornly that even Zagreus has grown concerned.”

“Then why won’t he come to me?” you burst out, all at once, ashamed of it but spurred onwards by the desperation which had built and built in you since he had left. “Why did he go without any explanation and refuse to return?”

“Do you think gods can appear to mortals without consequence?” Mnestia scolded you, their voice resounding with the clamor of a thousand avalanches. “He has broken every one of Kephale’s rules so many times over! He struck one of Cerces’s Sages, he came into my holy city, and he has watched over you, who does not even offer him sweet words. It is not allowed! Perhaps Kephale might’ve turned a blind eye were it one of the others, but not him. Not Phainon, who is kept in such contempt by half the pantheon. If he were allowed to continue to accompany you without so much as a sincere plea falling from your lips, if he were allowed to continue to trample on other deities’ domains without care, the heavens would’ve been thrown into mass upheaval. It would’ve been war, and so Kephale has chained him to his throne in the sky and banned him from the mortal realm.”

“Then…if I ever want to see him again, I have to pray to him? But what about Nikador? They will hate me if I turn to him now,” you said.

“Do you truly love them so well?” they said. “Phainon tells me you wish to wed them. Is it so? You will be miserable if you do, you must know it. They won’t love you, child. Not how he does.”

“Nikador has never betrayed me,” you said. Mnestia sighed, and then they took a step back. You meant to chase them, but some force rooted you in place, holding you there as they grew more and more distant.

“Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate?” they said. “Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? Make no mistake: you may have once been the princess of the mountain, but even in the eyes of Nikador, you belong to Phainon now. In some sense, you always have — your mother knew it, I know it, and more than anything or anyone, he knows it. You only need to call on him, child. He will come as soon as you do.”

“I will do no such thing,” you said. “You lie. Nikador would never — they would not leave me like this, they would not forsake me to Phainon — it isn’t true! I am of the mountain, I am their daughter and sister and devotee, I have spent my whole life as such — you cannot say that they have thrown me away as easily as their priests did — you cannot, you cannot—”

“Whether you believe me or not, that doesn’t change the truth of the matter,” Mnestia said, and then they sounded so exactly like your mother that you could only close your eyes and pretend that they were affording you that final farewell the High Priest had robbed you of. “Goodbye, child. May the path you tread be ever peaceful.”

Only when their imposing presence vanished did you allow your lower lip to tremble, tangling your fingers in your pony’s mane as you remounted him, leaning forward and burying your face in his crest. He continued onward steadily, ignoring your shuddering breaths, which were not exactly cries, unaccompanied by tears as they were, but came very close. Yet you refused to cross that threshold; you were brave, strong, you could not crumble over something so meaningless. Nikador was still with you. Phainon was the one who, in his fickle whims, had abandoned you, had grown bored of your constant refusals, and this was what you had hoped for, wasn’t it? You didn’t want Phainon to look upon you ever again, you were glad he had moved on, and when you had begged Mnestia it had only been a wavering moment of longing for the familiar comfort he brought you, nothing more.

You knew you had found the Khimaira when ash began to stick to the air, a light film of grey settling over your surroundings, turning the sunrise dim — as if Phainon could not bear to witness this final moment, as if he were close his eyes to this last brutality which would be your end. The withered trees were sticky with residue, and every village you passed through was deserted, hollow, the white stone walls streaked with black ash and dried, flaking red, the smears turning brown around the edges. 

Bile rose in the back of your throat, scratching and burning and wicked when you pushed it down, clenching your fist around the ritual knife you had been given in Okhema, your only weapon against the monster. It was a pretty instrument, the hilt painted gold, the blade nearly white and engraved with a prayer to Mnestia, but it was only meant for slaughtering lambs at the altar, who were small and shy and would not fight back. Perhaps it was some sort of a joke, a tongue-in-cheek reminder of why you had really been sent on this errand, of the fate the Sages and the Council of Elders had decided for you, but you could not resent it enough to throw it away, not when it was your sole defense against the world.

Your pony’s instincts were as keen as yours, or perhaps keener, for just as he had in Okhema, he swelled with nerves, and this time you could not quell them. Yet he continued onwards steadily, trusting in you more than himself, and this was such a great source of dismay for you that you nearly leapt from his back and turned him loose. How could he? After all this time, after all he had endured, his coat growing dull and his ribs sharper than you ever remembered them being on the mountain, he still remained loyally at your side, such that he would even accompany you to your death. Perhaps you would ride him into the underworld, too, and it was selfish but it soothed you to believe you would not be alone in that final descent, so you steeled yourself and directed him onwards.

Great Georios must have warned their child that you were coming, for the Khimaira was eerily still when you emerged from the forest onto the cliff where it awaited you. The sire of all beasts, they thought of Phainon as a troublesome, calamitous being, and so they held no love for you, either. At times, you thought of giving them some offering or another in supplication, but then you remembered the stories you had heard of the earth god and grew frightened, deciding you would rather suffer their casual irritation than their proper rage. In truth they were as jealous and mean as Phainon was said to be, but far more powerful than he, slower to anger but erupting suddenly and violently when they did.

The Khimaira stood slowly, languorously, the lion’s head eyeing you and your pony with shrewd eyes like volcanic glass, blank and unfeeling. Beneath you, your pony shuddered, and you knew you were in no better shape, your breaths quick and short like a hare’s, the knife slick in your grasp, teetering on the edge of falling more and more with every passing moment. You wondered, suddenly, in a stroke of clarity, how it had come to this, how you had gone from an esteemed princess to such a ragged, pitiful girl, who only had death left to welcome her — and not even fondly, for Thanatos hated you as well as the rest! How learned you had been once, how happy and adamant, and now you were miserable and helpless, abandoned by divinity and humanity alike.

As quick as lightning, the Khimaira opened its enormous, gaping maw, a dying lamp in the back of its throat flaring to life as fire built in the span of instants before spitting out at you, licking along the browned grass and turning to tall, towering columns that scraped at the reddening sky. Your pony squealed and bolted, the whites of his eyes showing as he tried to storm back into the forest, but in his fear he missed the path, ramming into a tree whose boughs gouged into his flanks and left them dripping with blood. You tried to shush him, to take back the reins and guide him properly, but he was beyond reason, his pain and fear blinding him as the Khimaira advanced with a piercing roar, the serpent of its tail lunging at you, your leg only escaping its translucent fangs because your pony shied sideways, dancing towards the edge of the cliff and whinnying shrilly in vain challenge.

You had known as soon as you saw it that it would kill you, and you had known for longer that this quest was meant to be your execution, but despite how long you had had to come to terms with it, you were surprised to find that you were still so petrified, that as your pony’s back hooves scrabbled against the edge of the cliff and the knife balanced precariously in your fists, you still clung to him desperately, still clung to a final chance at life you knew would not come.

Nikador, you thought to yourself, please, where are you? Why do you not aid me? You have left me! Grant me victory, what must I do for you to do just that?

Every prayer, every ode, every hymn to the lord of strife, they all ran through your mind like an elegy, haunting and anguished and imploring. You could speak them aloud, as you had been every day since you left Okhema, you could attempt to force them to listen — but would they? Mnestia’s words rang in your ears as your pony’s hindquarters gave way and you began to slide down the cliff, sweat darkening his neck, white lather bunching under his mane as he scrabbled for purchase.

Is it not a betrayal that they have left you to this fate? Is it not a betrayal that they allow their kin to toy with you? They won’t love you, child. 

And so, when your pony collapsed and you shrieked out a name, it was not Nikador’s which fell from your lips. You abandoned them then, abandoned them as well and truly as they had abandoned you; it felt like death, too, this invocation, for with it you could never go back to who you had once been, could never again be the princess of the mountain who was loyal only to her god of war. 

“Phainon! I will give you anything — my body, my loyalty, flowers and sweets and a thousand songs in your honor — but come back, please come back, please, I need you—”

You belonged to him now, or maybe it was as Mnestia said: maybe you always had, and it was only in this moment that you were realizing it, this moment in which it came to fruition, that prophecy which your mother had unwittingly woven with that very first lullaby she whispered to you, that very first story of the sunbringer she sang you to sleep with.

Your pony’s slack, tangled limbs straightened in midair and his coat turned the shining white of a shooting star, all of his many wounds knitting together before vanishing entirely. Feathers sprouted from his heaving sides, large wings coalescing and churning at the air, leaving howling gales in his wake as he climbed towards the sun, far from the furious Khimaira’s reach, prompting a proud trumpeting sound from him as he soared over the forest you had come from.

“Pegasus,” you gasped, for he had in truth transformed into a winged version of Phainon’s horse from his mortal days, that silvery, wild thing which had died when it lost him to godhood. Yet here he was, born again, winged and immortal as his former master, but beholden to another this time, still possessed with your pony’s steadfast, undying allegiance to you. Flicking an ear back, he banked slightly, allowing you to catch your breath. “Ah, what?”

Flashing with a surge of lightning, the hilt of the ritual dagger became a scalding temperature, and then it melted in your palm, reforming into a sword made of moonbeams, the crossguard a heavy bronze that your arms strained under until hands curled around your wrists, fingers closing over yours and helping you heft it. It was not just any sword, you realized when you stared at it longer, but the very one which heralded the dawn, the blade of the worldbearer, a heavenly weapon which only one other had ever wielded: Phainon, whose invisible presence was the only reason you did not plummet from the burden of its divine authority.

Go, he said, and when you twisted in your saddle you saw nothing, but you could feel his heat surrounding you nevertheless, could feel the tickle of his breath against your ear when he whispered against the shell of it, the firmness of his body as he steered Pegasus towards the Khimaira. Slay that vile thing.

“I can’t,” you said, your voice bordering on hysterical. “I can’t, it breathes fire, I can’t, I—”

You can. Something fluttered against your cheek, a kiss like a sunbeam, and then it was gone, so quickly that you might’ve imagined it. I promise that you can. I am with you. I am always with you.

He steadied your grip, an invisible thumb soothing over your knuckles, and then Pegasus dove towards the Khimaira with his muzzle pointed at the ground, weaving in between bursts of fire like a child playing in the streets. Then Phainon nudged your upper arms, and before you knew it you were raising the sword in the air so it could catch the light, squeezing your eyes shut and aiming it at the Khimaira’s heart.

That’s no good, my sacrifice. This beast doesn’t have just one heart, you know. Wait.

Right when you thought Pegasus might crash into the ground, the Khimaira leapt at you, evidently tired of toying with its prey. Pegasus pulled up sharply, and you hesitated, but Phainon had no such reservations, maneuvering your hands into place and then humming as the tip of the sword stuck into the top of the Khimaira’s gullet.

Pegasus landed on the ground with hooves tearing at the mud, gnashing his teeth as he galloped under the still-airborne Khimaira, the power of his stride dragging the sword through the beast’s underbelly and ripping it asunder, its molten innards spilling out in a splattering trail. Smoke and flame billowed about you, but you did not breathe in even a wisp, and Pegasus’s brilliant hide remained untouched, like there was a shield protecting you both, rendering you invulnerable to all which might cause you harm. 

The Khimaira landed behind you in a heap of mangled flesh and steaming remains, and Pegasus skidded to a stop, snorting in approval as the sword of dawn sparkled back into nothingness, leaving the innocuous dagger to rest in the ruined weeds. You dismounted on shaky legs, fisting the cloth of the saddle pad to remain standing, and then you waited for his wings and starlit pelt to vanish, leaving behind your dull, simple pony. Yet seconds turned to minutes and still he remained, wings folded against his sides, dark nose nuzzling at your pocket in search of a treat.

“He will not return to his mortal form,” a familiar voice said. “My first and only son, born from my blood and your sweat — such creatures can only be made like that, after all. He is a demigod now.”

You had not known until you saw him how deeply your sorrow had run, but as it was, you sank to the ground and wept, your face in your hands and Pegasus standing behind you protectively as Phainon appeared to you once more, white-armored and golden-eyed. He did not bid you to bow or greet him, only crouching before you and taking you to his chest, allowing you to sob against the smooth curve of his throat and stroking your back, your hair, any part of you he could touch, like he could not quite believe you were real. And for your part you were the same, clinging to his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at his nape, almost assuredly wrenching at it in your quest to hold onto him as tightly as you could, in your refusal to be yanked from him once more.

“Don’t leave again,” you said. “What do you want from me? Anything, I promise I will give you anything, but don’t leave me again, I was alone and they kept hurting me and I was cold, so cold, I wished for you every night, I did not realize at the time but I did, I thought of you until I ached from your absence—”

“I never wanted to leave you,” he said. “I did not think Kephale would call me back so swiftly, or I might have said something beforehand. Even sending Mnestia to speak with you was beyond difficult, and I am sure they will demand recompense from me for a century or two, but I couldn’t let you think I left of my own will. It was the other gods who demanded it, Thanatos and Georios and Phagousa and the rest; even Cerces and mad Aquila spoke against me, I have come to find. It was abrupt for me as well, and prolonged for your stubbornness. How torturous it was, to know that if only you asked, I could rejoin you in an instant, but to also know you never would.”

“Still you saved me,” you said. “After everything, after how many have left me, you never did. You came when I called, and you saved me.”

“Yes,” he said, gathering your face in his hands and touching his lips to your forehead. “I never expected you, o sacrifice, and so many times I tried to understand what it was about you that moved me to hold you so dear. An exiled princess who constantly spoke ill of me, who praised Nikador to the point of asking to wed them…what business do I even have with you? But it remains that from the day your brother offered you to me, you gave my purposeless existence meaning. Curiosity, desire, warmth…these things which I have not felt since I became a god, you made me remember what they are like. In truth, I could not ignore your summons any more than I could ignore Kephale’s; perhaps you are not my sole devotee, but you are the only one to understand me, and so I will die without you regardless.”

“Mnestia told me I have always been yours,” you said, finding yourself otherwise unable to respond. “Is it true?”

“I do not know,” he said kindly. “Nikador’s mountain is not a place I can look at very frequently. Sometimes, I would hear the faintest murmurs of my hymns, but until the ritual to sacrifice you, it was never enough to justify my appearance.”

“But that is why you were listening on that day,” you said. “That is why you took me before Nikador could. Because of those very murmurs.”

“Yes,” he allowed. “It is so.”

“Then they were right,” you said, closing your eyes and leaning into him once more, allowing him to trace his index finger along your dusty face, as he had such a penchant for doing. “All along, I have—”

A stomp from Pegasus was the only advance warning you got, and then something dark crept into the corners of your vision, a malevolent presence which dulled even Phainon’s celestial light. You almost asked who it was, but then Phainon tensed, his voice coming out as a growl as he held you tighter than ever before.

“You,” he said. “You dare show your face now?”

“Is it not my right?” said the newcomer, their voice deep, commanding. 

“You forfeited any rights when you ignored her every call for help,” Phainon said. Pegasus nickered in vehement agreement, pawing at the ground for good measure, but this new god was undeterred, only chuckling at a display they surely found childish.

“Just because I do not coddle her as you do does not mean I have been ignoring her,” they said. Peering over Phainon’s arm, you saw that the figure was that of a tall, bare-chested man in a red-plumed helm, a spear in their right hand. You knew them at once, and although you could not see their eyes, you wagered they softened with something like delight when they understood you recognized them. “How could a woman unable to handle such petty disagreements ever hope to be my bride? I have never allowed her to face anything she could not manage, and she has in turn proven her mettle many times over. You chose well, brat-god; I am thoroughly impressed. She is beyond compare, beyond a mere, paltry sacrifice, and thus she is truly worthy of standing beside me.”

It was Nikador.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @urrluverrr @itseightamineedsleep @s4turnx1 @qwnelisa @sugilitez @sweetstarfalls @celestial--atlas @beli-eve-ing @monicahar @emperatris-rinaka @lsunncy @mokonosenpaiposts @cusp-du-aureate @rinaataruu @vskhn016 @kaisaiisanewknight

[norcigs]

TEACH YOU

synop: rough jealous sex! very little plot, mostly just p0rn

warnings: charles is pretty mean, pnv, creampie, face fucking, use of slut, bitch, whore, toy and more.. dom charels, sub reader, spankings!, lot of degrading, some praise, aftercare!!!!

🛁: 4.8K words

you were being bratty. you knew that, you saw the way his jaw locked in place and eyes cut over you. you were pushing the line, and not letting up. charles hooked his pointer fingers in your belt loops on either side, pulling you flush against him. whispering something before he kissed the top of your head. 

“if you keep acting like a whore, i'm gonna start treating you like one” he leaned into your ear, before he planted a punctuated kiss to your head, for any onlookers to be fooled by the intimacy. 

did he think purring in your ear like that was gonna have you backing off?.. it only made you want it more. thighs clenching as you looked up at him with big wet eyes. 

“what do you mean baby” you asked, as your voice towed the line between peace and war. batting your eyelashes, begging him to crack, to show a hint of the blaze behind his sugarsweet exterior. 

unfortunately for you, charles didn't need much convincing. hand reaching around your jaw, gently, but demanding. jerking your gaze back onto him, as he pulled you in closer. 

“dont act fucking dumb with me” his tone was laced with venom, as warmth spread from your crotch. he moved his hand to rest at the small of your back. not speaking, but still telling you, stay. 

the party roared around you, your short red dress, floating against you. charlie's white shirt, wrinkled and top button undone now. people danced and shouted, but there was a stillness around you both. charles, all but twitching, as he waited for you to place the final straw. he could tell you whatever he wanted, praise you, degrade you, anything to make you act right. but both of you knew your mind was made up. you wanted to be taught a lesson, and he was just the guy to teach it. a guy walked toward you, definitely drunk, but carrying a cockiness that made him insufferable. 

“hey pretty lady, is this guy your boyfriend” he slurred. charles' hand was still resting on your back. you leaned into him like he was familiar. his hand locked around your side, claiming. eyes darting to you, knowing before you responded, that you were not going to pass up an opportunity to piss him off.

“depends who’s asking” you responded, more for charles than anyone else. the answer was a resounding yes. the hickey he left on your ribcage last night, and the thin silver 16 necklace around your neck was proof enough. charles was your boyfriend, you belonged to him. no amount of teasing or flirting would change that. 

the drunk guy took your response as an invitation. his hand raised towards yours, in an act to maybe pull you away. your hand didn't move to him. that wasn’t the game you were playing. charles’ hands dragged from behind you, around to rest on your stomach, encapsulating you. he leaned over your shoulder to speak to the man. hands only keeping you more flush to him. you rolled your hips against him, just in case you weren't already in enough trouble. 

“trust me mate, you couldn't handle her” he told the guy, smirking like he had already won. really, he had. you two had an unspoken understanding of what it meant when you acted like this. it was never a betrayal of trust, nor an excuse for you to stray from him. sometimes, you just wanted him to fuck you with the possesion and boiled-blood only this behavior gave him. as the drunk walked away, not daring to tempt your boyfriend again, he dropped his head to your ear, kissing behind it.

“follow me to the car, dont say a fucking word until i ask you too,” he seperated from you, quickly spinning on his heels and walking out. his weight against your back missing made you feel hollow, and gave you an itch only he could scratch. 

he didn't turn around, didn't wait for you, didn't slow a step. he walked to the car and sat in the driver’s seat. your heels clicked behind him as you tried to match his longer stride. he started the car without opening your door, or even glancing towards you. for a split second, you thought he might drive off and leave you there, wet and wanting.

when you sat down, dress riding to just below your crotch, you leaned toward him. warm hands wrapping around his bicep, needing to touch him. you pulled your face to his arm, kissing the top of it, sweetly. eyes staring up at him like he was heaven.

“sit still and dont touch me” he said, short, as he peeled your hands off himself. dropping your hands back to your lap, he finished “bad girls like you have to be punished”. his hand snaked around the back of your neck, as he found a grip that made you complacent to how he turned you. twisting you to look right up at him

“do you understand that, slut?” his eyes were dark as he searched your entire face for any glimpse of hesitation. unsurprisingly, he was met with your mouth parting, eager, and your head nodding hard enough to bounce your breasts. 

the ride home consisted of you pushing your hips into the seat, and doing anything for charles' attention. pouting and whining when his gazed stayed straight forward, unimpressed by your begging. 

parking the car in your driveway, he got out and muttered a quick “follow” to you. you listened, desperate to get inside so maybe he would finally touch you. he continued up the stairs toward your bedroom, as you turned to lock the front door and scurry up with him.

“baby, are you upset with me, i didn't mean–” regret pooled in your throat as charles had never used the silent treatment after you teased him. usually, he would take you to the club bathroom and turn you into mush as he ruined you. ruthless, fast, and mean. but this was different, this was calculated.

“didn't mean to what?” he cut you off as you stepped into the bedroom behind him. “didnt mean to act like some cheap fuck for any guy who stared at you?” he scoffed. “it seemed pretty intentional to me baby, and now you have some apologizing to do” he finished as he stepped towards you, closing the door behind you and keeping you surrounded against the wall.

he put both his hands around your neck and pulled you into a kiss. controlled by your throat, you had no say in how he kissed you. taking whatever he gave you, as your head had already started to go a little fuzzy. one hand moved to the back of your head, hand fisting your hair before he was pulling you down. he leaned over as you landed on your knees. 

“been running this fucking mouth all night, gonna show you what it’s really good for” he told you, hand reaching to his belt, unbuckling himself. ripping down his black slacks, and pulling you up enough to be level with his cock. 

he kept one hand in your hair, and used the other to free himself. moaning as you made eye contact with his cock. his grip hurt, but your mouth was watering. it was big, and heavy, and he popped it against your chin with force. 

“open bitch,” your jaw slacked as he didn't waste a second before filling your throat with his length. your throat was wet and greedy, sucking instantly. he grunted as he angled his hips to fit fully inside you. you were gagging around him, tears already stinging your waterline.

“is this what you wanted? wanted my dick as close to your brain as possible? so it could teach you your fucking place?” he mocked you, as he used his hands to pull your head on and off his cock– using you like a toy. 

he laid the back of your head against the edge of the bed, lifting a foot to be level so he could pump himself down you with more force. hips snapping back and forth, his tip bruising a place in your throat you didn't know existed. 

you clenched your hands and thighs together. staring up at him as he took what he wanted from you. tall and strong, head tilted back like he was in another world. his hands wrapped around your head, guiding you, felt oddly gentle now. your cunt leaking as you thought about how safe you were. he could be as rough as he wanted, you could fall apart for him completely, and the whole time you would never have to worry, it was still your charlie. your throat relaxed as you thought about how much you loved him.

“thats my girl, just let me use you” his head was still tipped back, but the way his dick was twitching you knew he was close. your tongue started doing what little it could to make it feel better for him. licking and suctioning anytime you could while he fucked your throat for just his pleasure. his mouth parted as noises fell softly from him. 

your hands raised to his, his eyes shot back down to you at the softer touch. your doe eyes looking up at him like he was everything. he let his hands go from where he was using them to fuck your face, as you gently guided them back. you continued sucking him at the pace he had set. too hard, and too deep for how you usually liked it. but it was driving him crazy so you weren't going to stop now.

“fucking slut-” his words were long, drawn out like moans. “my fucking slut– all mine, you belong to me” his hands clasped behind his back as he only bucked softly into your begging throat, while you did the rest of the work for him. stood towering above you, like a statue, as you knelt before him, like something to be owned. 

he grunted and bit his lip as hard as he could. his hips snapped forward as he kept his eyes trained down onto yours. you felt his whole length twitch before wet hot spurts were coating your throat. his hand reached back around to rest on the top of your head. he slowed your pace, only letting you bob gently, as he worked through his high. eyes shutting, lost in the moment. he blinked them back open to see you still staring at him wide-eyed, with your hands on his thighs keeping his cock as deep as possible. lips puckered perfectly around his length like you were made for it. pleasure surged back through him, sending a shiver down his spine. one last rope hit the roof of your mouth, before he was pulling you off completely.

spit connected his cock to your mouth until you pulled away far enough for the strands to break. you sat back on your ankles, gazing up at him, drunk in love and lust. he sat on the edge of the bed, and used the back of your head to guide your mouth to his. kissing you gently, like even after that, he could break you. the kiss held an unspoken tenderness, one that said, i love you and i trust you. 

he grabbed your arms and guided you to crawl up to him, then adjusting to pull on your waist to help you up higher. the kiss began to blur from sweet promises to heated passion. he held your weight as you sat above him, straddling his waist. the kiss was messy now, teeth clacking and spit still resting on your chin. his hand found its way back to your scalp, clenching a fistful and pulling your head down. breaking your lips apart, and exposing your neck. his lips found your sensitive spots instantly. 

“should leave dark marks on you hm?” he questioned between kisses, “so people can see what a nasty girl you are?” he continued as his fingers found their way to your still covered core. “parade you around the paddock? my pretty little girlfriend, who just lets me use her like a fleshlight? is that what you want, baby?” he finished, mocking, looking at you with the same stupid innocence you gave him earlier tonight. 

you were whining into him now. the need to be fucked out weighing any attitude you had left. 

“tell me what you want” he whispered against your skin, taunting you. you curled into him, getting any amount of closeness and friction you could. 

“you charli, want you” you pouted and looked at him with gentle desperation. his hand wrapped back around your throat and pulled your lips just millimeters from his.

“dont use that sweet little name, i told you what happens to whores like you. you wanted this” his voice was sharp, hands rough against you. but somehow, his eyes were still so caring. you nodded pathetically as you dropped your head to his shoulder. he pulled the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders. letting it drape around you and lifting your tits out from behind the fabric. he pulled the bottom of the dress up to rest around your waist. your garment bunched into a belt now, he didnt bother pulling it all the way off of you.

your panties showed as he exposed you to him, red lace, breath leaving his mouth before he could catch it at the sight of you. pulling them to the side, he ran his fingers through your folds, never filling the emptiness. 

“soaking fucking wet and i havent even touched you yet” he told you as your cheeks flushed. “does sucking my dick really get you this hot, bitch? or do you just like pissing me off?” you wanted to respond, wanted to shave a little cockiness off of him. but as you opened your mouth to retort, he dipped his fingers inside you. all that fell from your plush lips was an uncontrolled moan. 

“yeah? you got something to say?” your hips were rolling, shaking your head no, as you didn't dare do anything to make him want to take his fingers out. riding him, leaking on his fingers, as he was barely one knuckle deep inside of you. 

“all fours” was all he said as he lifted you to the spot of the bed next to him. knees resting right on the edge of the bed, back arching as you rested on your elbows. he stood behind you, feeling his warmth and stature radiating against your skin with the close proximity. he stared at your heat as you clenched around nothing, waiting. pushing your hips back as it ached to be so empty. 

he slapped your ass, the sharp sting shooting through you as his hand soothed the red mark. you bit your lip, trying to keep yourself quiet, failing. the flash of pain returning as he reddened the other cheek.

“how many do you think you deserve, baby?” he stepped closer to you, dick standing straight up and bumping against your clit. his voice was tempting you, basking in the pleasure he got from making you choose your punishment.

“five, five charles please” you said as you struggled to even keep yourself on your elbows. fists clenching around any bedding they could as you desperately tried to keep yourself from falling apart. the slapping noise was louder this time, so was the strangled moan it pulled from you. it hurt more, longer, hitting the same spot he had before. his hand did what it could to soothe you, rub the pain away. but as his left hand connected harshly with the opposite side of your ass again, your moan was unmistakably pained. stinging and sharp, a softer moan following as he gripped the skin of your butt tight. 

“taking your spankings so well, being so good for me” he praised you, knowing just when you needed it. keeping you stupid, and rutting against his dick. “can you take your last one honey?” he asked you, voice tender now. he was really asking, you could say no, you knew you could. beg for mercy and he would give it to you, no further questions. he would continue passed it, not letting it ruin the moment if you couldn't. never wanting to hurt you anymore than you asked him to. 

“please” was all you muttered as you arched your butt further up to him. the cutting sound and pain followed, softer this time. not noticeably, not unless you really knew charles. 

“thats my girl, shh, i know baby” he coaxed you. his hands rubbed at your skin gently. your moans were more sobbish now as the pain slowly weakened against your burning ass. 

he grabbed your waist, demanding, controlling, pulling you flush against his front. your cunt parted as his dick made room for itself. separating you, but not filling you. raising your hips ever so slightly so your clit would grind against the veins of his length. 

“tell me what you need, tell me who you need, slut” his voice was a ragged whisper. your whole body burned. heat radiating off of you from the inside out. the rush of dopamine feeling overwhelming. your head was spinning as you kept wrecked cries from leaving your mouth. you felt it start to hurt. the emptiness, the need, the want, the itch that covered every part of your skin he didn't touch. 

“you– ple– please fuck me” tears streamed down your face as you lost control. it was overpowering. you wanted to turn around, fall to your knees, and cry for his dick. you wanted to tell him you couldn't live without it for one more second. every nerve in your body alight as he hummed softly to you. 

he pulled back from you, separating just barely. you felt your throat open, ready to sob, before you could he plunged his cock into you, bottoming out immediately. the noise that was pushed from you was one of pleasure, or relief. they were so blurred together you couldn't tell the difference. he stayed still, for just a moment. a breath long enough for you to adjust, prepare. then he pulled halfway out and snapped his hips back against you with force. 

you extended your arms, not capable of staying stable on your elbows. pushing your own face down into the mattress. this time, he used his hands to push your form forward, his tip just barely feeling the cold air before he pulled you back, rough.

the noises were perfectly disgusting. the wetness of your cunt squelching around him. the clap of your hips reconnecting. the way you moaned, charles would describe it as fucking angelic. him grunting behind you as your pussy sucked his cock like it needed it. 

completely arched down, charles moved his hands to rest more on your lower back and hips. he used you for leverage. you held a majority of his weight as he pulled his cock and bottomed out with speed and strength. the rhythm was blistering. fast, hard, fucking, not making love. it would hurt tomorrow, but it felt too good to think about that right now. hell, you wanted it to hurt tomorrow. 

“who’s pussy is this” he asked you, trying to hold back the purrs that threatened to fall from his own mouth. he moved his hand to the back of your head, turning you to look sideways. you could see him now, just out of the corner of your eye. he could see your face, see just how gone you were. smiling as you faded in and out of reality, thinking solely about his cock pumping in and out of you. his words finally made their way into your fuzzy head.

“is y-yours, always yu-rs” you slurred, eyes rolling gently as you let it all go. charlie wasn't sure if that went more to his dick or his heart. either way, he was now completely focused on making you cum around him. still using your arched back as leverage, he kept rutting into you relentlessly.

he angled his hips just slightly, perfectly adjusting for his tip to land right on the spot that makes you– you were screaming into the mattress. walls fluttering around him like his dick was made to fill you. knocking against the spot that drove you crazy, he watched as everything else left. all that was in your pretty little head was him, his dick, and pleasure. 

you clenched around him so tight, it was making it hard to pull out. your cunt was pulling him in, and keeping him held there. he used his hold on your hips to pull and push you onto him. it helped with the movement, but the suction your hole had around him was maddening. 

you bounced back and forth at charles’ mercy now. your body was limp, moldable to whatever he wanted. like the only muscle you had left was your tight fucking cunt. every part of you shook as he all but ragdolled you against him.

you opened your mouth to speak, to warn him. but the way you were gushing and clenching around him– he knew you all too well. his tip punished your sweetest spot. a bundle of nerves so deep inside you, somewhere only he could touch. 

“i know baby, cum for me, show me how pretty you are when you fall apart” he told you. not needing you to waste any amount of thought on telling him what he already knew. 

you tipped over the edge, as he collided with you again, deep and hard, he watched as you found the top of the climax. he couldn't help himself. pulling his hand back and spanking you one more time. the noise was harsh as the sweat on you and his hand aided it. the pain sent you tumbling off the peak before you had any say in it.

your eyes squeezed shut as every muscle in your body lit on fire, clenching up and relaxing entirely. your vision went hot and white behind your eyelids. your ears rang and your mouth dried up. like all of your other senses had shut off completely. like you were controlled entirely by your cunt, and by charles fucking in and out of you. 

his thrusts were shallower now, gentler. he worked you through it. feeling the pleasure pour through you when he brushed against the spot he had been bruising. he tried– really tried, not to finish until he milked every drop of pleasure out of your orgasm. but the way your pussy was begging him to fill you, he couldn't deny it any longer. 

you felt the surge of warm, stickiness coat your insides. another wave of pleasure washing over you without warning. like charles finishing sent an entire other orgasm crashing through you. you shouted his name like it was the only thing you could remember.

as euphoria drenched all of him, he kept rocking you back on him, coaxing you both. skin buzzing, brain fuzzy, you lazily fucked against him to take everything he had to give you. slowly, you both came down, as charles pumped into you a few more times. the remaining pieces of your orgasm raked through you, sending shivers to different parts of you, until his cock had rubbed every itching nerve satisfied. 

your walls squeezed him barely as he left his length inside you while you both caught your breath. his hands were soft now, distinctly different from just moments ago. he leaned over you fully, letting his weight comfort you, ground you, pull you back to reality. brushing your hair to the side and kissing your shoulder so sweetly you could taste it. 

“that’s it pretty girl, did so good for me” he whispered in your ear from behind you. hand rubbing and squeezing your sides. “took me so well, made me so proud” he continued as you finally found the strength to raise your eyelids. you blinked, heavy and slow, as a whine escaped you. his cock resting against bundles of nerves that felt overstimulated now. even as he was softening, he was still too big for your aching pussy. 

“you ready?” he asked you. genuine, eyes searching. he didn't want to pull out abruptly, didn't want to empty you until you were ready. until you had come down enough to decide when his missing member wouldn't hurt more than it filling you.

“mhm” was all you had in you, as your tight suction relaxed and loosened around him. he dragged out gently, both of you mushy and softening. he rolled you over on your back, as delicate as you imagined an angel might. he returned to laying on you, giving just the right amount of weight to ground you but not overwhelm you.

he tucked his head into your neck, smiling against your soft skin. light kisses scattered across the area and trailing to your collar bones. you watched him, lazy. eyes full of love, admiration, and most importantly, trust. 

“i love you” you told him, dreamy and blurred. his heart swelled as he pulled back to look at you. how beautiful you looked now, messy and taken. every inch of you was soft and longing to be held. an ache opened in his chest as he watched you. his beautiful girl. 

“i love you, doll” he responded, accent heavy as the tiredness set in. “wanna shower? or just wipe off?” he questioned, not wanting to push you past where you wanted to be. 

“jus sleep” you said as he smiled at you, so in love. he wanted you to be relaxed and comfortable. but he cared too much about you to let you go to sleep like this. he kissed you once more, soft, spit connecting you both as he pulled away.

deciding for you, he stumbled to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under cool water. grabbing a dry towel as well. he returned to you, pouty, missing him. he grabbed your pjs, something comfy, light and loose. 

something between protective, nurturing, and caring flushed charles skin as he knelt down to clean you up. you were exhausted, half asleep as he pulled you to sit up. using the dry towel to wipe your skin down, taking precaution not to be too harsh with the rough towel. he knelt down to your most intimate area, still radiating heat. 

“this is gonna be a little cold, bubba, ill be quick” he said as he separated your knees and kissed the inside of your thigh. hissing as he used the wet rag to wipe your leaking and sore pussy. wiping you clean like you were a piece of fine art. detailed and delicate.

he pulled your panties up, cute pink ones with a little bow on the front, soft and silky as to not irritate your skin anymore. pulling his tshirt over your head, you giggled to each other as your arm got caught in the wrong hole. 

throwing on a pair of shorts and using the dry towel to wipe himself down, not at all minding your sweat mixing with his. he was finally able to crawl into bed with you. you were very sleepy, lulling into a drowsy state each time charlie looked away from you. 

he pulled your form up to his, laying your head on his chest and pulling your knee to have your leg over him as well. his thumbs drew light patterns and shapes on your thigh, as he pulled the covers over you and let you sink into his comfort.

“you okay baby?” he asked you, you didn't need to talk much. he just wanted to be extra sure you were as happy with tonight as he was.

“better than okay, you're pretty good in bed” you joked, tired, but cheeky. he laughed, honestly. mainly it was air escaping his nose, but his smile was big and you could see the white flash through the dark.

“i love you baby” he told you as your breathing slowed. he repeated it a few more times as you fell softly into the embrace of sleep. when you were drifted off entirely, he allowed himself to follow you. eyes heavy as the sound of your heartbeat was echoing around his head, as if it were his own.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ we survived the great war

chapter summary: Happy kids means a happy life.

word count: 14.7k+ (30.6k total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this spans from where we left off in the last chapter to the day before logan wakes up in dofp/nothing matters but you

(pls excuse the summary i didn't know what to put, lol)

i'll have a notes post on the second part, but for now, enjoy!

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, mentions of star wars, excessive use of the words 'lucky' and 'magic', soft!logan, soft!laura, mentions of sex, thanksgiving and christmas, pregnancy/giving birth (you're gonna have to read to find out😏), did i mention fluff?

series masterlist - chapter 17, chapter 17.5 → chapter 18.5

“Daddy! Wha’s this?” Gabby asked, holding up a Rubik’s Cube from the toy aisle.

Logan barely glanced at it, one hand resting on the cart handle while the other fished out the shopping list from his pocket. "It’s a puzzle, kid."

Gabby turned the cube over in her small hands, frowning at the bright, jumbled squares. “How?”

Before Logan could answer, you stepped up beside them, looking down at the cube. “It’s a logic puzzle,” you explained, adjusting your glasses. “You have to twist the sides so that all the colors match.”

Gabby gasped, eyes wide. “Magic?”

Laura, who had been skimming the snacks on the opposite shelf, snorted. “Not magic, Gabby. Just math.”

Gabby scrunched up her nose. “No fair.”

You smiled, reaching out to take the cube from her hands. “It’s not that hard once you understand the patterns.” You gave it a quick turn, showing her how the pieces moved. “There are algorithms—ways to move the pieces in a sequence—to solve it.”

Gabby’s brows furrowed in deep concentration. She looked between you and the cube, then back again. “So… science magic?”

You hummed, pretending to think about it before nodding. “Basically.”

Gabby turned to Logan. “Can we get it?”

Logan sighed, glancing at the growing pile of supplies already in the cart. “You even gonna play with it, or you just gonna chew on it like you do Nova?”

Gabby gasped, utterly offended. “No chew! Science magic!”

Laura smirked, tossing a bag of chips into the cart. “You should let her have it. Maybe she’ll be the first person in history to solve it by accident.”

Gabby’s eyes lit up. “I win?”

You smiled. “If you solve it, I’ll even teach you a new science fact.”

Gabby gasped dramatically, clutching the cube to her chest. “Okay!”

Logan grumbled something under his breath before nudging the cart forward. “Fine. Put it in the cart, princess.”

Gabby cheered, plopping the cube into the basket before skipping ahead to the next aisle. “Laura! More science magic!” Laura rolled her eyes but followed, her hands tucked into her hoodie pockets.

You reached over and straightened the items in the cart, giving Logan an amused look. “You know she’s going to expect you to help her solve it, right?”

Logan huffed, pushing the cart forward. “Yeah, well, you’re the science teacher. You deal with it.”

You smirked, brushing your fingers against his arm as you walked beside him. “I don’t know, Logan. You might have to start brushing up on your quantum mechanics.”

Logan shot you a deadpan look. “Yeah, that ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “We’ll see.”

A few aisles over, Gabby’s excited voice rang out. “Laura! Look! Froggies!”

Logan sighed, already bracing himself. “She’s found the cereal, hasn’t she?”

You smiled. “Definitely.”

Logan groaned but didn’t bother changing course. Gabby had won that battle long before they even stepped into the store.

---

“Care to explain why I just unpacked four boxes of a frog themed cereal?” Ororo asked, hands on her hips.

Gabby was focused on her Rubik’s Cube, after Logan had taken off the tag. She turned it over in her small hands, twisting one of the rows experimentally before frowning. "It broke."

You hid a smile behind your hand. "It’s not broken, sweetheart. That’s how you solve it."

Gabby squinted at the jumbled colors like they had personally offended her. "I fix."

Ororo, still waiting for an explanation about the cereal, sighed. "So no one's gonna answer me, huh?"

Gabby, now twisting the cube more aggressively, was unbothered by the conversation happening above her head. "Froggies," she mumbled, not looking up.

"Yeah, I got that much," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow at the four identical boxes now sitting on the counter. "But four? I don’t even think she can eat this much before it goes stale."

Gabby finally looked up, her expression scandalized. "No stale! Eat fast!"

Laura, leaning against the counter with an apple in hand, smirked. "Yeah, she’s got a plan."

Logan, who had been mostly quiet while putting away the groceries, exhaled through his nose and muttered, "She’s been runnin’ this house since she could talk."

Gabby beamed at him. "Daddy, do colors."

Logan looked down at the cube in her hands. "Kid, I ain’t got the patience for that thing."

Gabby gasped dramatically. "But science magic!"

You smiled, stepping in before she could start listing all the reasons he should care. "How about this—if you work on it for a little bit, I’ll give you a hint."

Gabby’s eyes narrowed. "Secret hint?"

"A very special hint," you confirmed.

That seemed to satisfy her. She went right back to twisting the cube, muttering under her breath as if she were casting some kind of spell on it. "Match, match, match…"

Ororo, watching the scene unfold, shook her head. "And yet, I still don’t have an answer about the cereal."

"She saw it, she wanted it, she got it," Laura said simply, tossing her apple core in the trash.

Ororo looked at Logan, who was finishing off his coffee like he wanted no part of this discussion. "And you just… let her?"

Logan shrugged. "Pickin’ my battles, Ro."

Ororo sighed, shaking her head as she finished putting away the rest of the food. "At this rate, she’s gonna be bouncing off the walls from all the sugar."

Gabby, still focused on the cube, muttered, "Energy."

Ororo let out a sharp laugh. "That’s one way to put it."

Jean walked in just as Ororo was closing the cabinet, glancing between all of you. "What’s going on in here?"

Ororo gestured to the pile of groceries, then the cereal, then Gabby. "Apparently, we’re stocking up for the apocalypse."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so a normal day, then?"

"Pretty much," Logan muttered, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

Gabby, still focused on her Rubik’s Cube, twisted it aggressively before letting out an exasperated huff. "Ugh! Not working!" She turned to you, her expression both expectant and deeply frustrated. "Mommy, hint!"

You crouched down beside her, adjusting your glasses. "Alright, sweetheart, here’s your hint—you don’t have to solve the whole thing at once. Start by making a white cross."

Gabby’s little brows furrowed in concentration. She turned the cube over in her hands, inspecting the colors. "White cross?"

"Mm-hmm," you said, tapping the cube. "Match these white stickers to the center piece."

Gabby pursed her lips, nodding determinedly before going back to twisting. Laura, sitting on the counter, watched her for a second before muttering, "She’s gonna throw that thing at the wall in five minutes."

Jean smirked, sipping her coffee. "Five? You’re giving her a lot of credit."

"Unfair," Gabby grumbled, still twisting. "Science magic is hard."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. "Told ya, kid."

Gabby shot him a sharp look. "No quit!"

That got a chuckle out of Jean. "Oh, you’re in trouble, Logan. She’s not letting this go."

"Yeah, yeah," Logan muttered, watching as Gabby continued fiddling with the cube, her tiny hands twisting the sides with intense focus.

Ororo, still not over the sheer amount of frog-themed cereal they now had in the house, shook her head before turning to you. "You’re okay with this? Four boxes?"

You smiled, shrugging. "It’s easier to just let her have them than listen to her list every reason why she should."

Ororo sighed, but there was amusement in her eyes as she muttered, "She’s exhausting."

Jean smirked. "Tell me about it. I had her in my office the other day, making her practice her reading, and she spent ten minutes explaining why frogs are better than birds."

"Birds fly," Laura pointed out.

Gabby looked up from her Rubik’s Cube just long enough to declare, "Frogs jump!" before returning to twisting the pieces.

Jean shook her head, laughing as she leaned against the counter. "I don’t know how you two keep up with her."

"Easy," Logan muttered, taking another sip of his coffee. "I don’t."

Gabby gasped dramatically. "Daddy!"

Logan smirked down at her. "What?"

Gabby huffed, crossing her arms. "You help me with colors."

Logan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before crouching beside her. "Alright, let’s see it."

Gabby immediately shoved the cube toward him. "Fix."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Thought you wanted to do it yourself?"

Gabby’s lips pressed together. "Help a little?"

Logan exhaled, reaching out to turn the cube in his hands. "White cross, huh?"

Gabby nodded eagerly. "Mommy say so!"

Jean smirked at you. "Congratulations, you’re now the official authority on Rubik’s Cubes."

You chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Could be worse."

Laura, watching as Logan started turning the cube in slow, deliberate movements, muttered, "This is a bad idea."

Ororo raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Laura smirked. "Because now neither of them are gonna let it go."

Logan twisted the cube one last time before handing it back to Gabby. "Alright, kid. There’s your cross."

Gabby gasped, her eyes going wide. "You did it!"

Logan smirked, ruffling her hair. "Yeah, yeah. Your turn now."

Gabby immediately started twisting again, her frustration momentarily forgotten as she focused on the next step.

Jean nudged your arm, her voice low with amusement. "So, how long before she drags you into this?"

You smiled, watching Gabby as she worked. "Oh, she’s already got a plan."

Jean chuckled. "Yeah. And I’m guessing it involves you solving most of it."

"Probably," you admitted.

Logan glanced up at you, smirking. "You started this, darlin’. Now you’re stuck with it."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses. "It’s fine. At least she’s interested in something other than frogs for a little while."

Gabby’s head snapped up. "Frogs are best."

You smiled, reaching over to smooth down her curls. "Of course they are, sweetheart." Gabby nodded, satisfied, before turning back to her cube.

---

You walked into Gabby’s room with her clean laundry, only to find her sitting on the floor in front of her dresser, throwing all her frog-themed clothes into a growing pile beside her.

You paused in the doorway, adjusting your glasses as you took in the scene. “…Gabby?”

She barely glanced up, her little brows furrowed as she grabbed another frog-printed shirt and tossed it aside. “No more froggies.”

That got your full attention. You stepped into the room, setting the laundry basket on her bed. “No more frogs?” you repeated, like you hadn’t heard her right.

Gabby shook her head firmly, reaching for a pair of frog pajamas and adding them to the pile with a dramatic huff.

You crouched down beside her. “Sweetheart, you love frogs.”

Gabby finally looked up, her face serious. “I love axo-lottles now.”

You blinked. “Axolotls?”

Gabby nodded, grabbing Nova from beside her and squeezing him tightly. “Pink ones. And white ones. And black ones. With gills.” She placed both hands on either side of her head, wiggling her fingers.

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple as realization set in. “You watched the ocean documentary, didn’t you?”

Gabby beamed. “Yes! It had sharks, and big whales, and fish with lights on their heads—”

“Anglerfish,” you supplied.

“Yeah!” Gabby bounced excitedly before gasping, like she’d just remembered something critical. “And axo-lottles! They live in the water and on land, and they never grow up, and they can regrow arms!”

That explained a lot.

Laura, who had been standing in the hallway listening, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Told you it would happen eventually.”

You shot her a look. “I thought we had at least another year before she moved on from frogs.”

Laura smirked. “You underestimated her.”

Gabby, still holding Nova tightly, turned back to the discarded pile of frog clothes. She picked up one of her shirts, frowning at it before looking up at you. “Mommy, I need axo-lottle clothes.”

You sighed, pushing your glasses up your nose. “Sweetheart, you have a lot of clothes already.”

Gabby pouted. “No axo-lottles.”

Laura shrugged. “She’s not wrong.”

You sighed again, rubbing your forehead. “So, just to be clear—you’re done with frogs?”

Gabby hesitated, her tiny fingers curling around Nova’s fuzzy paw. “I still like froggies,” she admitted. “But axo-lottles are better.”

You exchanged a look with Laura, who just shook her head. “Called it.”

Gabby tugged at your sleeve. “Mommy? Can we see one?”

You blinked. “See one?”

Gabby nodded, her eyes wide. “A real axo-lottle! Please?”

You hesitated. You didn’t even know where the closest place was that had axolotls. A pet store? An aquarium? “I’ll check,” you promised. “But no guarantees.”

Gabby gasped, clapping her hands together. “Lucky magic!”

Laura arched an eyebrow. “She’s still saying that?”

You sighed, standing up and stretching. “Apparently.”

Gabby, still sitting on the floor, grabbed another frog shirt and held it up to Nova. “Nova, do you want froggies?” She paused, nodding seriously at whatever imaginary answer she’d just received. “Okay. Nova has froggies now.”

Laura smirked. “Guess that solves the problem.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m too tired for this.”

Gabby reached up, tugging at your hand. “Mommy, come see my axo-lottle book!”

You let her drag you toward her bookshelf, already bracing yourself for what was undoubtedly going to be a deep dive into her latest obsession.

Laura shook her head, arms still crossed. “Frogs had a good run.”

You sighed, watching as Gabby flipped excitedly through one of her books. “Yeah,” you muttered. “They really did.”

---

Later that day, while Logan took a shower, you sat at your desk, looking at nearby aquariums to see if any of them had axolotls. You scrolled through listings, skimming through exhibits at local science centers and pet stores.

Most places had the usual—sharks, sea turtles, stingrays—but axolotls? Apparently, they weren’t as easy to come by as frogs.

You sighed, adjusting your glasses before clicking on another website. This one looked promising—an aquarium about an hour away had a "Weird and Wonderful Creatures" exhibit, which featured bioluminescent jellyfish, leafy sea dragons, and, thankfully, axolotls.

You glanced over your shoulder, making sure Gabby wasn’t sneaking up behind you. The last thing you needed was her catching sight of the screen and launching into a high-speed interrogation about when, how, and why you were going to take her there.

Satisfied that she was still in her bedroom—you bookmarked the page and stretched.

Right on cue, Logan stepped into the room, toweling off his damp hair. "You’ve been sittin’ there a while," he muttered, glancing at the screen. "What’re you lookin’ at?"

You smirked. "Axolotls."

Logan froze mid-motion, his brow furrowing. "The hell is an axolotl?"

You sighed, already bracing yourself. "It’s a type of salamander."

Logan tossed the towel onto a chair before stepping closer, peering at the screen. "That thing looks like a science experiment gone wrong."

You swatted his arm. "They’re cute."

Logan gave you a look, unimpressed. "They got feathery gills stickin’ outta their heads."

"That’s what makes them cute," you countered. "And Gabby loves them now, so…" You gestured toward the screen. "I was seeing if there was anywhere we could take her to see one."

Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, we’re done with frogs, huh?"

"Not done," you corrected. "Just… expanded."

Logan muttered something under his breath before leaning against the desk. "Alright. Where we takin’ her?"

You clicked on the bookmarked page. "This place has them."

Logan leaned over your shoulder, scanning the screen. His damp hair was still tousled from his shower, the scent of his soap lingering as he propped a hand against the desk.

"Aquarium, huh?" he muttered.

You nodded, adjusting your glasses. "Yeah. They have a special exhibit with different amphibians and weird deep-sea creatures." You scrolled down, reading aloud. "It says here they have axolotls in multiple colors, including leucistic, wild-type, and melanistic."

Logan blinked. "What the hell does that mean?"

You smirked, glancing up at him. "Leucistic ones are pink with feathery gills, wild-types are speckled brown, and melanistic are black. Gabby will lose her mind."

Logan exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "Kid just spent three years obsessed with frogs. Now it's these—what are they called again? Axo-whatevers?"

"Axolotls," you corrected, fighting back a smile. "And to be fair, she still likes frogs. She’s just… expanding her interests."

Logan muttered something under his breath before straightening. "So, when you plannin’ on takin’ her?"

You leaned back in your chair, stretching. "Not sure yet. Maybe this weekend? If we tell her now, she won’t talk about anything else until we go."

Logan smirked. "And that’d be different from usual how?"

You sighed, resting your elbow on the desk. "True."

Logan rolled his shoulders, stepping back. "She in bed?"

"Out like a light," you confirmed. "She spent half an hour trying to make a ‘white cross’ on that Rubik’s Cube before she knocked out."

Logan snorted. "Kid's determined, I’ll give her that."

You closed the laptop, turning in your chair to face him fully. "Laura, too. She’s asleep."

Logan hummed, running a hand through his hair. "Good. I feel like she’s been stayin’ up too late readin’ those comics."

"She reads them with a flashlight under the blanket like she thinks we don’t know," you said, smirking.

Logan chuckled. "Let her have that one. Long as she’s gettin’ up in the morning, it ain’t hurtin’ anyone."

You exhaled, watching as he stepped over to the bed, sitting on the edge as he dried his hair off with a towel. Even after all these years, there was something grounding about seeing him in these quiet moments—comfortable, familiar.

"Are you gonna complain about the axolotls the whole time we’re there?" you teased, standing up.

Logan tossed the towel onto the chair, smirking as he leaned back on his palms. "Nah. If it makes her happy, I’ll deal with it." He tilted his head. "But if she asks me to buy her an axo-whatever, you’re tellin’ her no."

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to him. "Oh, so I have to be the bad guy?"

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. "Damn right."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, stepping between his legs. His hands found your waist easily, fingers pressing into the fabric of your pajama pants.

"Long day?" you murmured.

Logan sighed, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your sides. "Yeah. Not bad, just… long."

You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, still slightly damp. He leaned into your touch, his hands tightening slightly on your waist.

"Go to bed, then," you said softly.

Logan exhaled through his nose. "In a minute."

You smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "Waiting on something?"

His grip on your waist tightened just enough to pull you a little closer. "Yeah," he muttered, eyes flicking to your lips.

You didn’t make him wait any longer. Leaning down, you kissed him, slow and unhurried. Logan hummed against your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, holding you there like he had no plans to let you go anytime soon.

When you finally pulled away, Logan smirked up at you. "Guess that was worth stayin’ up for."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingered as you nudged his shoulder. "Come on. Bed." Logan didn’t argue this time, letting you pull him up as he flipped off the light. The axolotl talk could wait until morning.

---

Sure enough, a few days later on Saturday, the four of you hopped into the truck for a “surprise outing.” Gabby held Nova in her lap as she and Laura sat in the back of the car, her little legs kicking against the seat. “Where we go?” Gabby asked, her wide eyes bouncing between you and Logan in the front.

“It’s a surprise, kid,” Logan said, keeping his eyes on the road.

Gabby huffed, her arms tightening around Nova. “No fair.”

Laura smirked, stretching out her legs. “You’ll live.”

Gabby pouted but didn’t argue, her fingers absentmindedly toying with Nova’s fuzzy ear. She twisted around in her seat as the trees blurred past the window. “Is it the zoo?”

You adjusted your glasses, turning slightly to glance at her. “Nope.”

Gabby’s brow furrowed. “Movie?”

“Nope.”

Gabby considered that for a moment, then gasped. “A castle?”

You laughed softly. “No castles today, sweetheart.”

Gabby slumped back in her seat, sighing dramatically. “No fair.”

Laura, flipping through one of her comics, didn’t even look up as she said, “You already said that.”

Gabby’s little face scrunched up, but before she could retort, Logan cut in. “You’ll like it, princess. Just sit tight.”

Gabby crossed her arms, clearly still trying to puzzle it out. After a few moments of silence, she turned to Laura and whispered, “I think it’s space.”

Laura snorted. “It’s not space.”

Gabby frowned. “Mommy likes space.”

You smiled. “I do, but that’s not where we’re going.”

Gabby exhaled loudly. “Too many secrets.”

Logan smirked. “You’ll survive, kid.”

Gabby flopped against Laura’s side, sighing dramatically. “I don’t like surprises.”

Laura pushed her back upright. “You love surprises.”

Gabby gasped, twisting to face her. “No, you love surprises.”

Laura arched an eyebrow. “Gabby, you literally asked for a surprise yesterday.”

Gabby blinked. “Oh.” Then, after a pause, she grinned. “Okay, I like surprises.”

Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled off the highway toward the aquarium.

Gabby, still chattering with Laura about what the surprise could be, suddenly perked up as the sign came into view. She squinted at it, trying to read. “A… qua…”

“Aquarium,” you supplied gently.

Gabby gasped, practically vibrating in her seat. “Fishies!”

Laura smirked. “There it is.”

Gabby bounced in her seat. “Fishies! Fishies! Daddy, faster!”

“Hey, I ain’t gettin’ a ticket ‘cause you wanna see some damn fish,” Logan muttered, though he didn’t seem too bothered by her excitement.

Gabby turned back to you. “Mommy, do fishies have bones?”

You nodded. “Most do, but some, like sharks and rays, have cartilage instead of bones.”

Gabby’s mouth formed a small o before she gasped again. “And axo-lottles?”

You smiled. “They have bones, sweetheart.”

Gabby turned back to the window, her excitement only growing as Logan parked the truck. The moment he shut off the engine, she reached for the door handle, but Laura grabbed the back of her shirt. “Wait.”

Gabby whined, wiggling. “But—”

“Hold hands,” you reminded her as you stepped out. “Parking lots aren’t safe.”

Gabby huffed but grabbed Laura’s hand as they climbed out of the car. You and Logan followed, and as soon as you reached the entrance, Gabby let out another excited gasp.

“Mommy, look! Big fishies!” She pointed to the giant mural on the side of the building, where different sea creatures were painted in vivid blues and greens.

You smiled, adjusting your glasses. “That’s a whale shark.”

Gabby’s eyes widened. “Big.”

Logan chuckled. “Yeah, kid. Real big.”

Inside, the aquarium was buzzing with families and kids darting between exhibits. Gabby clung to your hand, her little feet tapping excitedly as she looked around. “Where axo-lottles?”

You checked the map. “They’re in the ‘Weird and Wonderful Creatures’ exhibit. We’ll get there soon.”

Gabby pouted but let you lead her toward the first tank, where vibrant jellyfish floated in glowing blue water. “Oooh,” she murmured, pressing her hands against the glass. “They squish.”

Laura smirked. “Yeah, that’s kind of their thing.”

Gabby turned back to you. “No bones?”

You nodded. “That’s right. Jellyfish don’t have bones.”

Gabby’s little face scrunched in thought. “So… no bones, but fishies do?”

“Most fish do,” you confirmed. “But some don��t, like sharks.”

Gabby turned back to the jellyfish, tapping a tiny finger against the glass. “You weird.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, kid. They are.”

From there, you wandered through the different exhibits—shimmering schools of fish, deep-sea creatures, and even a touch pool where Gabby hesitated before finally sticking a single finger into the water to poke a sea cucumber.

When you finally reached the “Weird and Wonderful Creatures�� section, Gabby gasped so loudly that a passing couple actually turned to look.

“Axo-lottles!” She practically dragged you forward, her little hands pressed against the glass. Inside, a few axolotls swam lazily, their feathery gills waving in the water. “Pink one! And a brown one! And a black one!” Gabby twisted to face Logan, her excitement impossible to contain. “Daddy, look, look, look!”

Logan smirked, crouching beside her. “Yeah, I see ‘em, princess.”

Gabby turned back to the tank, her eyes practically sparkling. “They so little!”

You smiled, crouching on her other side. “They are, but they can regrow parts of their bodies if they get hurt. Even their hearts.”

Gabby gasped, turning wide eyes to you. “Hearts?”

You nodded. “And even parts of their brains.”

Gabby whipped her head back to the tank, clearly in awe. “Magic,” she whispered.

Laura, standing beside Logan, smirked. “You’re really sticking with that, huh?”

Gabby nodded. “Science magic.”

Logan shook his head, amused. “You got her sayin’ that, darlin’.”

You smiled, adjusting your glasses. “I don’t see a problem with it.”

Gabby pressed closer to the glass, watching the axolotls drift around their tank. After a long moment, she turned to you, eyes hopeful. “Mommy, can we get one?”

Logan groaned. “Here we go.”

You sighed, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Sweetheart, axolotls need a lot of care. They’re not like fish.”

Gabby pouted. “But… science magic.”

You bit back a smile. “That doesn’t mean we can bring one home.”

Gabby turned to Logan. “Daddy?”

Logan exhaled. “Ain’t happenin’, kid.”

Gabby whined dramatically before slumping against your leg. “No fair.”

Laura, shaking her head, muttered, “You saw this coming.”

You sighed. “I did.”

Gabby, despite her dramatic slump, kept her eyes locked on the tank, watching the axolotls swim. Then, suddenly, she perked up.

“Mommy, fact?”

You smiled. “Sure, sweetheart. What do you want to know?”

Gabby thought for a moment before pointing at the tank. “Axolotls have bones?”

You nodded. “They do.”

Gabby beamed, satisfied. “Okay.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. “That all you needed, kid?”

Gabby grinned. “For now.”

Next stop was a shark tunnel. Gabby’s tiny hands were pressed against the glass as she tilted her head all the way back, eyes wide. “Big,” she breathed, completely mesmerized as a massive shark swam overhead.

Logan smirked, standing just behind her. “Yeah, kid. Real big.”

Gabby turned back to you, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Bigger than Daddy?”

You smiled, adjusting your glasses. “Much bigger.”

Gabby gasped, clearly astounded, then pressed her face back to the glass, watching the shark glide effortlessly through the water. “Fast, too.”

Laura, standing beside her with her hands in her hoodie pockets, arched an eyebrow. “Not really. Most sharks just look fast ‘cause of how they move.”

Gabby blinked up at her. “They not fast?”

“They can be,” you cut in gently. “But most of the time, they’re just efficient. Their bodies are built to move through the water with as little resistance as possible.”

Gabby frowned, considering this. “So… they fast but not fast?”

Laura smirked. “Yeah. They’re like Dad.”

Logan huffed. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Laura shrugged, shifting her weight to one foot. “You don’t run unless you have to.”

Gabby, still staring at the tank, nodded seriously. “Shark Daddy.”

Logan ran a hand down his face. “Christ.”

You pressed your lips together, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “I mean… she’s not wrong.”

Logan shot you a look. “You’re supposed to be the reasonable one.”

You shrugged, nudging your glasses back up. “I’m just saying, you do have a similar energy.”

Gabby, completely oblivious to Logan’s suffering, kept her focus on the shark. “Do they have bones?”

You nodded. “Most fish do, but sharks have cartilage instead. It makes them more flexible in the water.”

Gabby gasped like this was the most incredible thing she’d ever heard. “No bones?!”

Laura snorted. “You already knew that, Gabby.”

Gabby blinked. “Oh. Yeah.” Then, after a beat, she turned back to the tank and whispered, “Still cool.”

Logan exhaled, watching her press her nose against the glass. “We gonna be stuck here all day?”

You smirked, leaning slightly toward him. “She’s been waiting for this all week. Let her have her moment.”

Logan sighed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, yeah.”

Gabby stayed glued to the glass for another solid minute, watching as the shark glided away, disappearing into the deeper part of the tank. When it was finally out of sight, she twisted around and grabbed your hand. “Mommy, more?”

You glanced at the map. “The next part of the exhibit has stingrays, then the tide pool where you can touch some of the animals.”

Gabby gasped, immediately tugging at your arm. “Touch?!”

You laughed softly, letting her pull you along. “Touch gently, sweetheart.”

Laura trailed after you, hands still stuffed in her hoodie pockets. “This is gonna be interesting.”

Logan sighed but followed. “She better not try to take one home.”

Gabby perked up. “We can?!”

“No,” Logan said immediately.

Gabby pouted. “No fair.”

Laura smirked. “She’s not gonna let that go.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Figured.”

Gabby continued tugging you along, her excitement only growing as you rounded the corner to the stingray exhibit. She gasped, letting go of your hand so she could press herself up against the railing. “Flat fishies!”

You smiled, stepping up beside her. “They’re stingrays.”

Gabby’s eyes widened as one glided through the water, its smooth body undulating as it moved. “They fly!”

Laura leaned against the railing. “They swim.”

Gabby shook her head. “Swim like fly.”

You adjusted your glasses, nodding. “She’s not wrong. Their movement does look a little like flying.”

Gabby looked very pleased with herself. She turned back to the stingrays, bouncing slightly on her feet. “Can I touch ‘em?”

You gestured toward the nearby touch pool. “We can try, but you have to be very gentle.”

Gabby practically vibrated with excitement as you led her to the shallow pool, where a few stingrays skimmed just beneath the surface. She stretched up on her tiptoes, her little fingers hovering just above the water.

“Slow and gentle,” you reminded her.

Gabby nodded quickly, her tongue poking out in concentration as she reached forward. A stingray glided just close enough, and for a split second, her fingers brushed against its smooth, velvety skin.

She gasped so loudly that the couple next to you jumped. “Soft!” she squealed, yanking her hand back like she’d just touched something magical.

Laura smirked. “You act like you didn’t just touch it.”

Gabby ignored her, turning to Logan. “Daddy, you try!”

Logan gave her an unimpressed look. “I’m good, princess.”

Gabby frowned. “Why?”

Logan crossed his arms. “Ain’t my thing.”

Gabby pouted, but before she could start an argument, another stingray swam by, pulling her attention right back to the water.

You smirked, nudging Logan lightly. “You’re no fun.”

Logan huffed. “Don’t start with me, sweetheart.”

You smiled, turning back just as Gabby gasped again, her whole body wriggling with excitement. “Mommy, Mommy, more!”

You chuckled, adjusting your glasses. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

Gabby grinned, immediately reaching for the water again. Logan sighed beside you, arms still crossed, but there was the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Yeah. You were definitely going to be here for a while.

---

Finally, after three hours, the four of you were back in the truck, Gabby now holding an axolotl plush in one arm, and Nova in the other. Both her and Laura were asleep, the sound of the radio playing in the background.

Logan finally spoke up, “sure know a lot about animals, sweetheart. Got somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

You snorted. “What? You think I have a secret marine biology degree?”

Logan smirked, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear shift. "Wouldn’t surprise me. Feels like every time the kid asks a question, you already got the answer."

You shrugged, adjusting your glasses as you leaned back against the seat. "I just read a lot. I’m not a genius or anythin’.”

Logan huffed. "Yeah? Could’ve fooled me."

You shot him a look. "Knowing random facts about sharks and salamanders doesn’t make me a genius, Logan."

Logan smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. "Sure as hell makes you somethin’."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand that rested on the gear shift and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re smart too.”

Logan smirked, giving your hand a light squeeze. “Yeah, but you’re the one rattlin’ off facts about every fish, lizard, and squishy thing in that damn place.”

You hummed, tapping your fingers lightly against the back of his hand. “You paid attention, though.”

Logan scoffed. “Hard not to when you and Gabby keep quizzin’ me.”

“You could’ve just said you don’t know,” you pointed out, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He huffed, turning onto the road leading back to the mansion. “Yeah, but then you’d just tell me anyway.”

You smiled, shifting slightly in your seat. “That’s true.”

From the backseat, there was a soft shuffle of movement, and then Gabby mumbled, “Mommy?”

You twisted around, catching sight of her blinking up at you, still half-asleep, her new axolotl plush clutched tightly in one arm while her other hand rested against Nova’s fuzzy ear.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” you asked softly.

Gabby yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Can we go ‘gain ‘morrow?”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Kid, we were there all day.”

Gabby frowned, her voice still thick with sleep. “But… axo-lottles…”

You smiled, reaching back to brush her curls from her forehead. “Maybe another day, baby. You need rest.”

Gabby made a tiny noise of protest before flopping back against her car seat. “No fair…” she muttered sleepily, already dozing off again.

Laura, who had been asleep, shifted slightly, glancing over at Gabby before smirking. “She’s gonna dream about axolotls.”

You chuckled, settling back into your seat. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Logan shook his head, his grip steady on the wheel. “First frogs, now these things. What’s next?”

You nudged him lightly with your knee. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He exhaled, his fingers flexing briefly around yours before relaxing again. “Yeah. Guess we will.”

The road stretched ahead, the soft hum of the tires against the pavement filling the quiet between you. Gabby shifted again in the back, letting out a tiny sigh in her sleep, Nova and her axolotl plush still tucked tightly in her arms.

---

"For some reason, I thought it’d be Y/N who had the long list of rules," Jean sighed dramatically, waving a piece of paper around. "But I was wrong." She shook her head, her lips twitching with amusement as she read over the neat, slightly scrawled handwriting.

Logan, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, exhaled sharply. "You act like this is unreasonable."

Jean arched an eyebrow. "No sugary snacks before bed, no running in the halls, no talking about space at bedtime—" She looked up, smirking. "What is this, a federal mandate?"

"You wanna be the one dealin’ with her bouncing off the damn walls at midnight?" Logan shot back, his expression flat.

Jean hummed, tapping the paper. "And this one—‘no takin’ advantage of Jean’s weak spots.’" She raised an eyebrow. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means don’t let her trick you into readin’ six bedtime stories ‘cause she gives you the big eyes," Logan muttered, rubbing his temple.

Jean groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Okay, so she’s a little mastermind. Got it. I’ll keep an eye on her. You two just go."

You hesitated, glancing toward the hallway. "You’re sure?"

Jean shot you a look. "Y/N, I can handle one night with Gabby and Laura. Go enjoy your date."

You bit your lip, still unsure.

Logan stood, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch. "C’mon, sweetheart. You’re wastin’ time worryin’."

Jean waved the paper. "And I have my government-issued Logan Rules, so we’re all set."

You sighed, adjusting your glasses one last time before stepping forward. "Alright. If she asks for an axolotl, tell her no."

Jean smirked. "Oh, trust me, that one’s already at the top of the list."

Logan placed a hand on your lower back, nudging you toward the door. "Let’s go before you start givin’ her a damn PowerPoint presentation on bedtime routines."

You rolled your eyes but let him guide you outside.

As the door shut behind you, Jean exhaled, turning toward the hallway. "Alright, girls, your parents are gone—who wants to make bad decisions?"

Laura looked up from the couch, unimpressed. "You’re not that fun."

Gabby, who had been quietly flipping through her axolotl book, perked up. "Can we have ice cream?"

Jean grinned. "Now that I can do."

---

Logan took you to a quiet bar outside of town, one that wasn’t completely overrun with rowdy patrons but still had enough life to not feel empty. The two of you sat in a corner booth, drinks in hand, the low hum of conversation filling the space around you. "Feels like it’s been forever since we actually did this," you murmured, stirring your drink.

Logan smirked, leaning back against the booth. "Yeah, ‘cause you’re always worried ‘bout leavin’ Gabby for more than five minutes."

You shot him a look. "Excuse me for being a responsible parent."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "I ain’t complainin’, darlin’. Just sayin’, you gotta let Jean take over sometimes."

You sighed, but he wasn’t wrong. As much as you trusted Jean—and you did—it was hard not to feel like you needed to be there.

Logan reached over, squeezing your hand. "She’s fine. Relax."

You exhaled, allowing yourself to let go of that tension. "I know. I just… haven’t been able to turn my brain off lately."

Logan smirked. "That’s new."

You kicked him lightly under the table, making him chuckle.

The night passed in easy conversation, drinks disappearing as the two of you settled into the rare calm of just being. Logan teased you about your never-ending library of science facts, you challenged him to solve a basic physics equation on a napkin and—he refused—and for a little while, everything was simple.

Until someone had to go and ruin it.

It started when a guy at the bar got a little too loud. Not unusual, given the setting, but Logan’s hand tightened around his drink, his shoulders tensing ever so slightly.

You glanced at him. "Logan—"

"I ain’t doin’ anything," he muttered, taking another sip.

The guy at the bar, already drunk off his ass, laughed obnoxiously at something his friend said before turning his attention to your booth. His bleary eyes scanned over you before settling on Logan.

"Hey," the guy slurred, grinning. "Ain’t you that guy who used to tear up cage fights?"

Logan’s jaw twitched. "No idea what you’re talkin’ about."

The guy laughed again, nudging his friend. "Oh, come on, I know you. You’re that guy—Wolverine, right? Used to be a real tough son of a bitch in the ring."

Logan didn’t answer.

The guy leaned against the bar, still grinning like he thought this was some kind of friendly conversation. "Bet you’re still a real badass, huh?"

You could feel it—Logan’s patience wearing thin. "Not interested," Logan said, voice flat.

The guy scoffed. "What, too good for it now?" His gaze flicked to you, and you immediately didn’t like the way he looked at you. "Ohhh, I get it. You settled down. Went soft."

Logan exhaled slowly through his nose, but he didn’t move.

The guy’s grin widened, like he thought he was onto something. "Bet you used to be real fun before you got tied down, huh?"

Your fingers tightened around your glass.

Logan, still sitting perfectly still, finally looked at him. "You got somethin’ you wanna say?"

The guy shrugged, clearly not picking up on how close he was to getting his teeth knocked in. "Just sayin’, shame to see a guy like you all leashed up."

That was it.

Logan stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he stalked toward the bar. You barely had time to sigh before the first punch was thrown.

The guy yelped as Logan slammed him into the bar, his glass shattering on impact. A few people scrambled out of the way, but no one stepped in—this was the kind of bar where fights happened, and no one was dumb enough to interrupt.

The guy’s friend tried to pull Logan back, but Logan didn’t even budge. You groaned, rubbing your temple.

Logan landed one more solid punch before stepping back, shaking out his hand like he was just done with it. The guy slumped to the floor, groaning. Logan exhaled, rolling his shoulders before turning back to you.

You gave him a flat look. "Feel better?"

Logan smirked. "Little bit."

The bartender, barely fazed, tossed a towel over his shoulder. "You done?"

Logan grunted. "Yeah."

The bartender nodded toward the door. "Then get out."

You sighed, standing up. "Yeah, we’re going."

Logan grabbed his jacket, and the two of you walked out. You pulled a fifty dollar bill from your purse, putting it down on the counter in front of the bartender. “Sorry.” You said quickly, hurrying outside to Logan.

You caught up with Logan just as he reached the truck, his jacket slung over his shoulder, the cool night air ruffling his still-wild hair. He looked entirely unbothered, like he hadn’t just gotten kicked out of a bar for knocking a guy’s teeth in.

"Really?" you huffed, crossing your arms as you stopped a few feet away. "You couldn't just ignore him?"

Logan turned slightly, giving you a smirk. "I did ignore him. He just kept talkin’."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "So your solution was to rearrange his face?"

Logan scoffed, tossing his jacket into the truck bed before turning back to you. "C’mon, sweetheart. You really think I was just gonna sit there while some asshole ran his mouth?"

You frowned, adjusting your glasses. "Logan, you’ve sat through worse. Hell, you’ve ignored worse."

"Yeah, well, he was askin’ for it," Logan muttered, leaning back against the truck. "Shoulda kept his damn mouth shut."

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. "I was having a good time."

Logan's expression softened slightly. "I know."

You shot him a look, unimpressed. "You owe me for cutting the night short."

That got a smirk out of him. "That so?"

"Yes," you deadpanned, walking up to him, your arms still crossed. "We don’t get nights like this often, Logan. And the one time we do, you decide to throw hands with some drunk idiot."

Logan chuckled, reaching for your waist. "Didn’t realize you liked the place that much, darlin’."

You huffed but didn’t pull away as his hands settled against your hips. "I liked spending time with you without someone needing their face reconstructed."

Logan hummed, his thumbs brushing small circles against your waist. "You got somethin’ else in mind, then?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

"Bribe’s a strong word," he muttered, smirking. "Call it a compromise."

You considered for a moment, glancing back toward the main road. The night wasn’t over yet. "Fine," you muttered, adjusting your glasses. "Drive somewhere quiet. Somewhere we won’t get thrown out of."

Logan chuckled, dropping a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling away. "Yes, ma’am."

---

Twenty minutes later, Logan pulled the truck into a secluded spot overlooking the water, a quiet little stretch far from the city’s noise. It wasn’t fancy, but it was peaceful—the kind of place he knew you’d like.

You leaned against the passenger door, the night breeze cool against your skin as you gazed out at the water. Logan leaned beside you, arms crossed, his eyes flicking to you every so often.

"Better?" he asked.

You exhaled, letting yourself relax. "Better."

Silence settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. The soft lap of the waves, the distant chirp of insects—this was the quiet you needed.

"You didn’t have to hit him," you murmured after a moment.

Logan huffed. "Yeah, I did."

You glanced up at him. "Because of what he said about you, or what he said about me?"

Logan’s jaw tightened. "Both."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Logan, I don’t care what some drunk idiot thinks."

"Yeah, well, I do," he muttered.

You studied him, the way his hands flexed slightly, his knuckles still faintly red. Logan didn’t get like this over just anything. The guy at the bar had struck a nerve. "Are you worried about that?" you asked softly.

Logan frowned. "About what?"

"That you’ve changed," you said, turning fully to face him. "That you’ve ‘gone soft’ or whatever else he said."

Logan exhaled sharply, looking away. "Ain’t about that."

You waited.

After a long moment, he shook his head. "Spent too long fightin’ for nothin’. Every time I threw a punch, it was just one more reason to keep goin’ down the same road. Thought maybe one day, I’d just stop caring." He looked at you then, his expression unreadable. "But you? I do care. And I ain’t about to let some asshole talk about you like you’re a damn leash around my neck."

Your chest tightened, warmth blooming under your ribs. You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. "You don’t have to prove anything, Logan. Not to me."

He held your gaze for a long moment before squeezing your hand. "Yeah. I know."

The quiet stretched between you again, but this time, it felt different—warmer, steadier. Logan turned back toward the water, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

"You still mad?" he asked after a moment.

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder. "A little."

Logan chuckled. "Guess I still owe you, then."

You sighed, closing your eyes briefly as the breeze picked up. "Yeah, you do."

He exhaled, tilting his head slightly to press a kiss against your hair. "I’ll make it up to you, darlin’."

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "You better."

And as the night stretched on, the fight at the bar didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

---

“You’re bad at this.” Gabby announced, as she sat on her bright pink bike, finished with tassels on the handlebars and training wheels. “Why can’t Mommy teach me?”

“’Cause your mom doesn’t know how to ride a damn bike.”

Gabby blinked up at Logan, her tiny hands gripping the handlebars of her bright pink bike. Tassels swayed slightly in the breeze, and the training wheels sat firmly on the ground. She tilted her head. "What?"

Logan sighed, shifting his weight. "She never learned."

Gabby’s little face scrunched in disbelief. "But Mommy knows everything."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. "Not everything, kid."

Gabby frowned, processing this. "But… why?"

Logan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn’t have a bike growin’ up. Ain’t somethin’ she got to do."

Gabby’s brows furrowed even deeper, her little mind clearly working through this new, baffling information. Finally, she looked up at him, eyes wide. "Can we get her one?"

Logan smirked. "Not sure she’d go for that, princess."

Gabby pursed her lips, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but after a long moment, she shook her head and refocused. "Okay. I learn first."

Logan chuckled, crouching beside her. "That’s the spirit, kid. Alright, you remember what I told you?"

Gabby nodded, her curls bouncing. "Feet go here." She pointed at the pedals. "Hands here." She gripped the handlebars tightly. Then, after a pause, she wiggled her butt against the seat. "Sit here."

Logan smirked. "Yeah, good start."

Gabby beamed. "Go now?"

"Almost." Logan placed a steadying hand on the back of the seat. "Now, you gotta keep your feet moving. You stop pedalin’, you stop movin’."

Gabby hummed in understanding, then nodded seriously. "Okay."

Logan exhaled, bracing her bike. "Alright, kid. Let’s go."

He gave her a gentle push, just enough to get her moving. Gabby’s little legs pumped furiously, the training wheels keeping her steady as she wobbled forward down the driveway.

For a moment, she was silent—completely focused. Then, as she picked up speed, a delighted squeal broke from her lips. "Daddy, look! I do it!"

Logan walked alongside her, arms crossed. "Told ya you could."

Gabby grinned, clearly pleased with herself. She kept pedaling, tassels fluttering, her face full of determination. "Fast?"

Logan smirked. "Go for it."

She pressed her feet harder against the pedals, and though the training wheels kept her stable, she still wobbled slightly as she went. Logan kept pace beside her, watching as she got more confident, more excited.

Then, out of nowhere—

Thump.

Gabby’s foot slipped, and the bike jerked to one side, throwing her off balance. She yelped as she toppled, landing on the grass with a soft oof.

Logan sighed, already walking over. "You alright, kid?"

Gabby groaned dramatically, rolling onto her back. "Nooooooo."

Logan crouched beside her, resting his forearm on his knee. "Ain’t even been two minutes, and you’re already takin’ a nosedive."

Gabby huffed, sitting up with an exaggerated pout. "Bike rude."

Logan smirked. "Nah, kid. You just gotta get used to it." He patted her helmet. "You’re fine. Shake it off."

Gabby crossed her arms, clearly not convinced. "Maybe I need Mommy’s science magic."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "Ain’t got nothin’ to do with science, princess. You just gotta keep tryin’."

“Do or do not, there is no try!” Gabby exclaimed.

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he crouched beside her. "Your mom’s been lettin’ you watch Star Wars again, huh?"

Gabby nodded furiously, gripping the handlebars of her pink bike like she was about to take on the entire Empire. "Uh-huh! Mommy says Yoda’s real smart. And he talks like this!" She scrunched up her little face, lowering her voice into a serious attempt at an impression. "Patience, you must have, my young Padawan."

Logan smirked, resting his arm on his knee. "That what she tells you when you get all wound up?"

Gabby nodded. "And when I say ‘are we there yet?’ too much."

Logan exhaled through his nose, amused. "Figures." He tapped the handlebars lightly. "Alright, Yoda. You gonna try again, or are you givin’ up already?"

Gabby gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "No give up! Only do!"

"Then get back on the damn bike."

Gabby puffed up her little chest, gripping the handlebars with renewed determination. "Okay!" She scrambled back onto the seat, wiggling into place. "Feet go here. Hands here. Sit here."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, kid. We covered that part already."

Gabby ignored him, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she started pedaling again. Logan jogged alongside her, keeping a steady hand on the back of the seat as she wobbled down the driveway.

"You’re doin’ good," he muttered, watching as she gained a little more control. "Keep goin’—"

Gabby suddenly veered too far left, nearly toppling over again. Logan grabbed the seat just in time, keeping her upright.

Gabby let out a little huff, gripping the handlebars tighter. "Dumb bike."

Logan smirked. "Ain’t the bike’s fault, princess."

Gabby pouted, looking down at the pedals. "Maybe I need a speeder bike."

Logan sighed, straightening up. "Kid."

Gabby twisted around to look at him, her curls bouncing. "Can we get one?"

Logan shook his head. "Not happenin’."

Gabby let out a dramatic sigh before turning back to her bike. She took a deep breath, her little hands tightening on the handlebars before she pushed forward again. This time, she didn’t wobble as much. She kept going, focused, her face scrunched in pure determination.

Logan kept pace beside her, watching as she gained speed. "Yeah, that’s it. Keep your feet movin’."

Gabby’s tassels fluttered as she rode down the driveway, her grin growing wider with every push of the pedals. "I do it! I do it!"

Logan smirked, finally letting go of the seat. "Told ya."

Gabby gasped, realizing he wasn’t holding on anymore. "I do it alone!"

"You did," Logan muttered, crossing his arms as he watched her ride in a small circle before coming to a wobbly stop near the porch.

Gabby jumped off the bike, arms shooting into the air like she just blew up the Death Star. "I did it!"

Logan smirked, walking over. "Yeah, you did good, kid."

Gabby beamed up at him before turning toward the house. "Mommy! Mommy, I did it!"

Logan exhaled, shaking his head. "She’s inside, Gabby. You can tell her when she comes out."

Gabby frowned for half a second, then seemed to remember something even more important. She gasped dramatically, turning back to Logan with wide, serious eyes. "Daddy."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Gabby pressed her hands against his leg, looking up at him with the utmost urgency. "It’s Star Wars night with Mommy!"

Logan sighed, already knowing where this was going. "Yeah? What’re you two watchin’ this time?"

Gabby practically vibrated with excitement. "Revenge of the Sith!"

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. "Again?"

Gabby nodded furiously. "Uh-huh! It’s so cool!" She started bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Lightsabers! And space battles! And Obi-Wan and Anakin go whoosh! And Padmé is pretty! And R2 is so funny!"

Logan smirked, crouching down again. "Yeah? That your favorite part?"

Gabby nodded, but then she paused, her little mouth pulling into a mischievous grin. "Mommy likes Anakin."

Logan’s smirk faltered slightly. "That so?"

Gabby giggled, covering her mouth like she was telling the biggest secret in the world. "She thinks he’s good lookin’."

Logan blinked. Then he exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, your mom’s got real questionable taste."

Gabby gasped, scandalized. "Nuh-uh! Mommy’s smart!"

Logan snorted, ruffling her curls. "Yeah, kid. She is."

Gabby giggled, grabbing onto his arm. "You watch with us?"

Logan exhaled, shaking his head. "Ain’t my thing, princess."

Gabby pouted. "Why not?"

Logan sighed, standing up. "Because I ain’t into all that space crap."

Gabby frowned, clearly unimpressed with this answer. "But space is cool!"

"Yeah, yeah," Logan muttered, picking up her bike and propping it against the porch. "Go tell your mom ‘bout your bike. She’ll wanna hear all about it."

Gabby gasped, like she had just remembered the greatest news in the world. "Oh! Mommy!" She took off running toward the house, her little legs pumping as fast as they could go.

Logan shook his head as he watched Gabby disappear into the house, already yelling at the top of her lungs about how she rode her bike all by herself. He could hear her little feet thudding against the floor, her excited voice carrying down the hall.

He sighed, rolling his shoulders before heading toward the porch. By the time he stepped inside, you were crouched in the hallway, brushing Gabby’s curls back as she babbled excitedly.

"Mommy! I did it!" Gabby practically bounced in place, her hands flailing as she explained. "I pedaled so fast and didn’t even fall! Well—only once, but that doesn’t count! And then I went whoosh and Daddy didn’t even hold on!"

You smiled, adjusting your glasses. "That’s amazing, sweetheart! I knew you could do it."

Gabby beamed, hugging Nova tightly to her chest before her eyes lit up with another thought. "And it’s Star Wars night!"

You chuckled, standing up as she tugged insistently on your sleeve. "I know, baby. I remember."

Gabby turned toward Logan, her expression full of mischief. "Daddy says space is boring."

Logan exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes as he hung his jacket on the hook. "Ain’t what I said."

Gabby gasped dramatically, clutching Nova like he had just personally offended her. "But space is cool!"

Logan smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Maybe for you and your mom." Gabby huffed, clearly not satisfied with that answer. Logan continued, “y’know, Gabby told me somethin’ very interestin’ just a few minutes ago.”

You raised an eyebrow, “oh?”

Logan smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah. Gabby was just tellin’ me how much you like Anakin Skywalker.”

Your eyes widened slightly, then flicked to Gabby, who was now hugging Nova tightly to her chest, looking suspiciously pleased with herself.

“You ratted me out?” you asked, lips twitching.

Gabby gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “No! I just told Daddy the truth.”

Laura, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, smirked. “It was bound to come out eventually.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “I never said I liked him like that.”

Gabby turned to Logan, beaming. “Mommy thinks he’s good lookin’.”

Logan huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, kid, she’s got real questionable taste.”

Gabby gasped. “No! Mommy is smart!”

Laura snorted. “She’s got a point.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re supposed to be watching the movie, not holding a Senate hearing on my Star Wars opinions.”

Gabby, still grinning, skipped toward the living room. “Come on! Movie time!”

Laura followed, but not before muttering under her breath, “At least she didn’t say Kylo Ren.”

You shot her a glare, but she just smirked and walked off.

Logan leaned in slightly, his voice low with amusement. “You could’ve at least picked Obi-Wan. The guy’s got a better track record.”

You sighed, brushing past him toward the living room. “I didn’t pick anyone. I just said he’s—ugh, never mind.”

Logan chuckled, grabbing your arm to pull you to him. “Nah, you already admitted it, sweetheart. No backin’ out now.”

“Well, if I admit it, will you admit you like Leia in Return of the Jedi?”

Logan scoffed, arms still crossed, leaning against the wall. "Ain’t the same thing, sweetheart."

You smirked, adjusting your glasses. "How is it not the same thing?"

Logan shrugged, like the answer was obvious. "You got a thing for a guy who wipes out an entire Jedi temple. Leia ain’t never done nothin’ like that."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I never said I had a ‘thing’ for Anakin. I just said he’s good looking."

Gabby, still clutching Nova, beamed up at Logan. "Daddy, do you think Leia’s pretty?"

Logan exhaled sharply, shooting you a look. "This what we’re doin’ now?"

You smiled, not backing down. "Answer the question."

Logan rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off an interrogation. "Yeah, kid. Leia’s pretty."

Gabby gasped dramatically, like this was the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard. "Mommy, Daddy likes Leia!"

Laura, who had been silently observing with her arms crossed, muttered, "I can’t believe I’m witnessing this conversation."

You smirked at Logan. "See? Not so different after all."

Logan huffed. "Still ain’t the same."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright, whatever you say."

Gabby, practically vibrating with excitement, started tugging at your hand. "Come on, Mommy! Star Wars time!"

You let her pull you toward the living room, where the TV was already on, paused at the Revenge of the Sith menu. Laura flopped onto the couch, arms behind her head, while Gabby scrambled onto the floor with Nova in her lap, eyes wide with anticipation.

Logan sat beside you on the couch, arm draped over the back of it, completely relaxed—at least until the 20th Century Fox logo flashed on-screen, and Gabby twisted around to face him.

"Daddy," she said, her expression serious. "No talking during Star Wars."

Logan smirked. "Yeah? Who made that rule?"

Gabby straightened her spine. "Me."

Laura smirked. "And she enforces it, too."

You nodded solemnly. "She really does."

Logan sighed, shaking his head. "Fine, princess. No talkin’."

Gabby beamed and turned back toward the screen, hugging Nova tightly.

The movie started, the Star Wars theme blasting through the room, and for the first few minutes, everything was peaceful. Gabby was completely enraptured, Laura casually flipping through her comic in the corner, Logan beside you, warm and solid.

---

Your chin was propped up on your hand as you stared at your computer screen. According to Hank and Charles and their ‘inside sources,’ there was a small asteroid heading for a remote piece of land close by. You had been keeping an eye on it for the past few days and according to your calculations, it should be hitting land in 6 days.

The soft glow of your computer screen cast a faint light across your desk as you absentmindedly tapped your pen against the open notebook beside you. Your calculations were solid—unless something changed drastically, the asteroid would make impact in six days. Remote area, minimal risk to human life, but still worth monitoring. Hank and Charles had their sources, but you liked running your own numbers. It gave you something concrete to work with.

You pushed your glasses up your nose and rubbed at your eyes, stretching your neck slightly. The mansion was quiet for now—classes were over, Gabby was with Jean, and Laura had disappeared somewhere with her latest comic. That meant you had a rare moment to yourself.

Or at least, you thought you did.

The familiar scent of cigars and worn leather crept into the room before the door even opened. You barely had time to glance up before Logan stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

"Didn’t hear you knock," you murmured, still scanning over your notes.

"Didn’t," he muttered, moving toward you.

You smirked, shaking your head as you jotted down a few final numbers. "You’re supposed to set a good example for the kids, you know."

Logan snorted, coming to a stop behind your chair. "Yeah, ‘cause I’m real good at that."

His hands found your shoulders, warm and solid as he kneaded at the tension there. You exhaled, letting your head tip forward slightly. "Been in here all day?" he asked, his voice lower now, rougher.

You hummed. "Classes, then lab time. You know how it is."

Logan leaned down slightly, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "Think maybe you’ve been in here long enough, sweetheart."

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. "I was just finishing up."

He smirked, his grip on your shoulders tightening just enough to make you shiver. "Good. Then you’re free."

You arched an eyebrow. "Free for what?"

Logan didn’t answer—not verbally, anyway. Instead, his hands slid down your arms, fingers brushing over your wrists before gripping the sides of your chair. With barely any effort, he spun you to face him, his smirk deepening at your startled expression.

"Logan," you sighed, trying to sound exasperated, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.

"Been waitin’ all damn day," he muttered, stepping between your legs. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. "You know how hard it is to sit through a whole afternoon while you’re buried in numbers and asteroid shit?"

You bit your lip, tilting your head up at him. "You could’ve found something to do."

"I did." His grip on your waist tightened slightly. "Waited for this."

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed under the hem of your shirt, teasing against your skin. "Logan, we’re at work," you reminded him, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

He smirked, leaning in. "Then be real quiet, darlin’."

His lips brushed over yours, slow and deliberate, and you knew damn well you weren’t getting any more work done today.

But then he leaned in just a little too much, and suddenly, you felt the chair tip.

Your stomach flipped as gravity took over, the wheels of your office chair catching awkwardly on the floor. There was barely a second to react before the entire thing gave out, sending both of you crashing to the ground.

He quickly spun you two around, grunting as he hit the floor, and you let out a startled gasp, your glasses slipping down your nose. For a moment, you just lay there, sprawled half on top of him, the chair lying on its side beside you.

Silence.

Then—

“Son of a—” Logan groaned, shifting beneath you. “What the hell was that?”

You blinked, adjusting your glasses before pushing yourself up slightly. “My chair.”

Logan frowned, looking over at the broken mess beside you. “The hell’s wrong with it?”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “The back part broke last week. I ordered a replacement piece, but it hasn’t come in yet.”

Logan exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “And you didn’t think to maybe—I dunno—fix it before sittin’ in it?”

“I was fixing it,” you muttered, shifting your weight. “I was just waiting for the part to come in.”

Logan groaned again, dropping his head back against the floor. “Unbelievable.”

You huffed, pushing yourself up further, but Logan’s hands found your waist before you could move too far.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” His voice was low, rough—too casual for someone who had just fallen.

You raised an eyebrow. “Off the floor?”

Logan smirked. “Ain’t in a rush, are ya?”

You shot him a look, but before you could argue, he rolled, flipping the two of you over so that you were pinned beneath him. You let out a small gasp, the weight of him pressing you into the floor.

“Logan—”

He dipped down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your neck. “Been waitin’ all damn day, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched. “We’re at work—”

“Door’s locked,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your jaw.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “You planned this?”

“Planned what?” Logan smirked against your skin. “You’re the one who fell first, darlin’.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “We are not doing this on the floor.”

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with amusement. “You got a better idea?”

You shot him a pointed look. “Bed.”

His smirk widened. “Yeah?”

You huffed, pushing at his chest. “Yes.”

Logan chuckled but didn’t argue. With ease, he pushed himself up, hauling you with him. You barely had time to straighten your glasses before he scooped you up, tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Logan!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, completely unbothered. “Quit squirming.”

“I thought we agreed you weren’t gonna carry me like this anymore!”

Logan let out a low chuckle, completely unfazed by your squirming as he adjusted his grip on the back of your thighs. “Yeah, well, I lied,” he muttered, his voice rumbling against your stomach.

You sighed, adjusting your slipping glasses. “Logan, put me down.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest as he carried you effortlessly down the hall. “Nope.”

“Logan.”

“Nuh-uh.”

You groaned, pressing your forehead against his back. “This is undignified.”

Logan snorted. “You’ll live.”

The trip was short—too short for you to come up with a decent counterargument. Before you could protest further, Logan pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside.

And then, just as abruptly as he’d scooped you up, he set you down. Well, ‘set you down’ wasn’t exactly right. Because instead of gently placing you on the bed like a normal person, he pressed you up against the nearest wall, his hands bracketing your hips as he leaned in.

You inhaled sharply, your back hitting the cool surface, the contrast making you shiver. Logan’s smirk deepened at your reaction, his eyes darkening as he dragged his hands up your sides, his thumbs teasing at the hem of your shirt.

“Told you I’ve been waitin’ all damn day,” he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as warmth pooled in your stomach. “Logan—”

“Mm.” His nose brushed against your jaw as he inhaled, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Y’got no idea how hard it is, sittin’ around while you’re holed up in that damn lab.”

“You could’ve distracted yourself,” you managed, but your voice came out weaker than you intended.

“Oh, I tried.” Logan smirked, pressing closer, his hips slotting against yours. “Didn’t work.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping his shirt tighter. “We—”

“The door’s locked,” he muttered, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Ain’t nobody gonna bother us.”

Your head tipped back against the wall as Logan kissed along your jaw, his stubble scratching against your skin in a way that sent warmth pooling low in your belly. His hands slid under your shirt, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your waist before gripping firmly.

“Y’know how long I’ve been puttin’ this off?” His voice was a low drawl, thick with heat. “Too damn long.”

You shivered, your glasses slipping down your nose again. Logan huffed out a quiet chuckle, reaching up to push them back up with one finger. “Gotta get these tightened, sweetheart,” he teased.

You swallowed hard, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You gonna do that for me?”

Logan smirked. “I got somethin’ else in mind.”

His lips crashed against yours before you could respond. The kiss was rough, heated, like he’d been starving for this—like he was making up for lost time. You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Logan groaned against your mouth, his grip tightening on your waist as he pressed you harder against the wall. His fingers flexed, his thumbs stroking slow, teasing circles against your ribs as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke.

You exhaled sharply, your head spinning, warmth curling through your veins like fire. Logan’s hands roamed lower, his touch possessive, insistent, like he was mapping out every inch of you.

You barely registered when one of his hands moved to grip your thigh, hitching it up against his hip. The shift pressed you even closer together, and you gasped softly at the sensation, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Logan pulled back slightly, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and hooded as he studied you. “Still think this is a bad idea?”

Your head was spinning, your body thrumming with heat, and you knew there was no going back now. Which is why when you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him back to you, he hummed against your lips.

---

You barely had time to turn around before Gabby was practically vibrating in place, holding up the biggest axolotl Squishmallow you had ever seen. It was nearly half her size, a soft pink with little embroidered gills and stubby arms. Her eyes were wide, hopeful, practically pleading before she even said a word.

"Mommy!" Gabby exclaimed, gripping the plush with both hands. "Can I get it?"

You adjusted your glasses, glancing at Logan beside you. He was already watching Gabby, his expression unreadable—but you had a feeling you knew exactly how this was going to play out. "Sweetheart," you said gently, "you already have Nova."

Gabby clutched the Squishmallow tighter, undeterred. "But Nova needs a friend."

Laura snorted from where she stood near the shelf, flipping through a comic. "Nova has, like, twenty friends."

Gabby gasped dramatically, twisting around. "No, he doesn't!"

Laura barely looked up. "What about all the other plushies in your room?"

Gabby frowned, her little brows furrowing. "Those are his friends. This is his best friend." She spun back toward you, her curls bouncing. "Please?"

You hesitated, giving Logan another glance. He still hadn’t said anything, just watching Gabby with the same unreadable look, his arms crossed.

"We don’t have a cart, sweetheart," you pointed out, trying for reason. "That’s really big. How are you going to carry it around the mall?"

Gabby immediately hugged the plush to her chest, resting her chin on top. "Like this."

Laura snorted again. "You’ll drop it in five minutes."

Gabby gasped, clearly offended. "No, I won’t!" She turned back to Logan, her eyes shining. "Daddy?"

Logan exhaled through his nose, finally speaking. "You got a lot of these things already, kid."

Gabby nodded earnestly. "But not this one."

You watched as Logan glanced between Gabby, the Squishmallow, then you. There was a beat of silence, and you knew right then that this was already over.

Logan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Alright, princess. Get your damn axo-whatever."

Gabby squealed, hugging the plush so tight it nearly swallowed her. "Thank you, Daddy!"

Laura groaned. "Seriously?"

"You’re the one who told her she’d drop it," you muttered.

Laura rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Gabby bounced excitedly in place, her little hands gripping the Squishmallow. "His name is Bubbles."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Already got a name for it, huh?"

Gabby nodded. "Uh-huh. Nova told me."

You sighed, shaking your head as Logan grabbed his wallet. This was how it always went. Not that you were surprised. With Bubbles secured in Gabby’s arms, you headed toward the register, Logan already pulling out his card. You glanced at him as he paid, lowering your voice. "You caved fast."

Logan smirked, handing the cashier his card. "Yeah, well. Kid’s persistent."

You smiled, nudging him lightly. "Understatement of the year."

Gabby hummed happily beside you, still hugging Bubbles. "Lucky magic."

Laura sighed. "More like ‘lucky Daddy.’"

Logan shot her a look, but before he could say anything, Gabby grabbed his hand, her tiny fingers gripping tight. "Thank you, Daddy," she said again, her voice softer this time.

Logan exhaled, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, yeah, princess."

You smiled, watching as Gabby turned back to Bubbles, completely content.

Well, at least until she spotted another store up ahead. "Mommy!" Gabby gasped. "Can we go in there next?"

---

“Alright, you hook it—no Gabby, careful.” Logan’s voice was firm but patient as he watched Gabby fumble with the fishing line, her little fingers gripping the rod too tightly. She huffed, her brows furrowed in frustration.

“I am careful,” Gabby insisted, though the way she was handling the hook suggested otherwise.

Laura, already sitting on the edge of the dock with her own rod in hand, snorted. “No, you’re not.”

Gabby shot her a glare before turning back to Logan, pouting. “Daddy, it’s not working.”

Logan exhaled, kneeling beside her. “That’s ‘cause you’re holdin’ it like you’re tryin’ to fight it, kid. Loosen up.” He reached over, adjusting her grip. “You gotta be patient.”

Gabby groaned dramatically. “No fair. Laura’s already fishing.”

Laura smirked, reeling her line in slightly. “Because I listened.”

Gabby gasped, scandalized. “I listen! I listen good!”

You, sitting in a fold-out chair a few feet away, hid a smile behind your hand. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the lake, the water rippling gently in the breeze. You’d been content just watching—Logan with his steady patience, Laura with her effortless competence, and Gabby with her boundless energy.

Gabby turned to you suddenly. “Mommy, tell Daddy I listen good.”

You adjusted your glasses, glancing at Logan, who just arched an eyebrow at you. “Sweetheart, maybe listen a little more before making Daddy do all the work.”

Gabby huffed, but she let Logan guide her hands properly this time. He helped her cast the line into the water, watching as it plopped beneath the surface.

“There,” he muttered. “Now you wait.”

Gabby frowned, staring at the still water. “How long?”

Logan smirked. “As long as it takes.”

Gabby’s face scrunched up. “That’s so long.”

Laura, barely looking up from her own fishing rod, muttered, “It’s been five seconds.”

Gabby groaned dramatically, letting her head flop against Logan’s arm. “No fair. Fishies should be faster.”

Logan chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Ain’t how it works, princess.”

Gabby sighed, resting her chin on the handle of her fishing rod. “Maybe if I ask nicely.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “You think fish take requests?”

Gabby nodded seriously, gripping the rod tighter. “Maybe.”

Laura snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Gabby ignored her, straightening up and puffing out her chest. She cleared her throat, then leaned over slightly toward the water. “Fishies!” she called, voice bright and expectant. “Come here, please!”

Silence. The lake remained perfectly still.

Gabby blinked. “Hello?” She tapped the water with the tip of her rod like she was knocking on a door. “Fishies? Anybody home?”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “Kid—”

Gabby turned back to him, completely serious. “Maybe they’re sleeping.”

Laura, shaking her head, reeled her line in slightly. “Or maybe they’re avoiding you.”

Gabby gasped, horrified. “Why would they do that?”

Laura smirked. “Because you’re loud.”

Gabby crossed her arms, glaring at the water. “Fishies are rude.”

You let out a quiet laugh, watching as Logan just shook his head. He turned to Laura. “You catch anything yet?”

Laura shrugged. “Not yet.”

“Probably ‘cause your sister’s scarin’ ‘em off.”

Gabby gasped even louder, twisting to face Logan. “Daddy!” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “No fair!”

Logan smirked. “Ain’t my fault.”

Gabby turned back toward you, her expression full of betrayal. “Mommy.”

You bit your lip, adjusting your glasses. “Sweetheart, maybe try being a little quieter.”

Gabby frowned deeply, gripping her rod. “Fine.” She puffed out her cheeks like she was physically holding in her voice, then whispered, “Fishies. Please come out.”

Laura sighed. “That’s not how it—” But before she could finish, her own fishing rod jerked suddenly. “Oh—wait.”

Logan straightened. “Got one?”

Laura nodded, focused, reeling it in carefully. Logan stepped closer, watching over her shoulder as she worked.

Gabby, however, was not happy. “No fair!” she whined, gripping her rod tighter. “I was talking to the fishies first!”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe you just need to be patient, sweetheart.”

Gabby grumbled under her breath, but she didn’t let go of her fishing rod. Instead, she turned back to the water, her lips pursed in deep thought.

Then, slowly, she reached into her backpack and pulled something out. Nova.

You tilted your head, curious as she lifted the well-loved plush bear up toward the lake. “Fishies,” Gabby whispered. “Nova says hi.”

Logan exhaled sharply. “Kid—”

Gabby turned to him, completely serious. “Maybe they like him.”

Laura, now pulling a small fish from the water with Logan’s help, looked over and snorted. “You think fish like stuffed animals?”

Gabby nodded sagely. “Maybe.”

Logan just rubbed his face with one hand. “Christ.”

You bit back another laugh, watching as Gabby continued her impromptu diplomatic relations with the fish. “Maybe they’re shy,” Gabby whispered to Nova, pressing his fuzzy face close to her ear. “Like Mommy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m not that shy.”

Gabby nodded solemnly. “But fish are extra shy.”

Laura shook her head, dropping her caught fish back into the water. “You’re talking to a bear, Gabby.”

Gabby ignored her, still whispering to Nova like she was negotiating an international peace treaty.

Logan sighed, standing back up. “This kid’s gonna give me a damn headache.”

You smiled, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “You’re doing great.”

He gave you a flat look. “You gonna help?”

You smirked. “I am helping.”

“How?”

You squeezed his hand again. “By watching.”

Logan exhaled, shaking his head with a small smirk. “Unbelievable.”

Gabby, still holding Nova, suddenly gasped. “Daddy! Mommy! Look!”

You and Logan turned just in time to see her fishing rod twitch. Logan’s brows lifted. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Gabby squealed, gripping the handle tightly. “Fishy!”

“Alright, kid, easy,” Logan muttered, kneeling beside her again. “Reel it in slow.”

Gabby nodded furiously, her little hands twisting the reel as best as she could. “It worked! Nova’s magic!”

Laura groaned. “Oh my God.”

Logan sighed. “Yeah, yeah, kid. Lucky magic.”

Gabby beamed, her excitement radiating as she reeled in her catch.

And even though you weren’t fishing, even though you were just sitting there watching, you felt something warm settle in your chest. A quiet kind of happiness.

---

"Quiet." You whispered to Gabby, holding a finger to your lips. "You don’t want to wake Daddy and ruin the surprise, do you?"

Gabby, standing on a chair beside you, immediately clasped both hands over her mouth, her wide eyes peeking up at you over the edge of the mixing bowl. She shook her head furiously, her curls bouncing.

Laura, already sitting on the counter with a glass of milk, smirked. "She’s gonna last, like, two minutes."

Gabby gasped, scandalized, and pointed her tiny wooden spoon at Laura. "No! I’m good at secrets!"

Laura just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

You smiled, adjusting your glasses before reaching for the cinnamon-sugar mixture. "Alright, Gabby, you ready to help me roll these up?"

Gabby nodded excitedly, shifting her focus back to the dough in front of her. You had already spread the filling across it, and now came the fun part—rolling it into a perfect swirl.

Gabby placed both hands on the dough and started rolling, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. She got about halfway before it started looking more like a squished tube than a neat roll. "Mommy, it’s wobbly," she whispered, worried.

You chuckled, steadying her hands. "Here, let me help." You guided her little fingers, rolling it evenly. "See? Nice and tight."

Gabby beamed, watching as the cinnamon roll took shape. "Pretty!"

Laura took another sip of her milk. "Is it gonna taste as good as it looks?"

Gabby gasped again, eyes wide. "Mommy’s cinnamon rolls are the best."

You huffed a soft laugh, brushing some flour off your fingers. "Thank you, sweetheart."

From the hallway, you heard a faint floorboard creak. Gabby immediately froze, her eyes snapping toward the door. "Daddy?" she whispered, her hands gripping the counter.

Laura sighed. "It’s probably just the house settlin’."

Gabby narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the doorway. "Maybe."

You shook your head, reaching for the knife to start slicing the dough into rolls. "We still have time. Laura, can you grab the pan?"

Laura hopped off the counter, opening a cabinet and pulling out the baking dish. "So, are we bringing this to him, or are we making him come out here?"

Gabby gasped dramatically. "Breakfast in bed!"

You smiled. "I think he’d like that."

Gabby clapped her flour-covered hands together, sending a small puff of white into the air. "Lucky magic!"

Laura muttered, "That’s not how that works."

Gabby ignored her, already helping you place the sliced rolls into the pan. You worked quickly, arranging them neatly before grabbing a dish towel to cover them while they rose. "Now we wait," you said, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel.

Gabby frowned. "How long?"

"Not too long," you reassured her. "Just long enough for the dough to get puffy before we bake them."

Gabby pouted, clearly not thrilled about the waiting part. She turned to Laura. "Wanna play a game?"

Laura shrugged. "Depends. Are you gonna cheat?"

Gabby gasped. "I don’t cheat!"

Laura smirked. "Uh-huh."

Gabby stomped her foot. "No fair!"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Alright, you two, let’s keep the peace. We still need to make the icing."

Gabby immediately perked up. "Icing!"

Laura rolled her eyes but grabbed another stool, watching as you measured out powdered sugar.

As you mixed the ingredients, Gabby leaned in close, eyes locked on the bowl. "Mommy, can I lick the spoon?"

"After we’re done," you said, handing her a smaller spoon to stir with.

Gabby hummed happily, stirring with exaggerated care, while Laura watched, arms crossed. "You know he’s gonna know something’s up, right?" Laura muttered.

You exhaled, shaking your head. "Yeah, probably."

Gabby, still stirring, grinned. "Surprise anyway!"

---

By the time the cinnamon rolls were out of the oven, golden brown and smelling absolutely perfect, Gabby was practically vibrating with excitement. "Plate, plate, plate!" she chanted quietly, holding onto the edge of the counter as you drizzled icing over the warm rolls.

“Alright, alright. How ‘bout you and your sister go wake up Daddy? I’ll be right behind with the cinnamon rolls, okay?”

Gabby gasped, clutching Nova tight to her chest. “Laura! Mission go!”

Laura smirked, already a step ahead. She snatched a small air horn from her dresser—something she had swiped from Kitty before heading to the bedroom where Logan was still sleeping. Holding up the tiny canister, she nodded at Gabby. “Ready?”

Gabby nodded so hard her curls bounced. “Ready!”

With a wicked grin, Laura pressed the button.

The air horn blared through the room, loud enough to shake the walls. Logan shot upright, his hand already halfway to his nightstand like he was expecting an attack. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, sticking up at odd angles, and his eyes were still half-closed from sleep. “What the—” His voice was a deep, gravelly growl, rough with sleep.

Gabby immediately launched herself onto the bed, giggling wildly. “Daddy! Wake up!”

Logan exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, kid, I noticed.”

Laura crossed her arms, satisfied. “Mission success.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at her. “Yeah? You think so?”

Before Laura could react, Logan moved fast—one second he was lying down, the next, he had Gabby tossed over his shoulder and Laura pinned down in a playful headlock. Gabby squealed, kicking her legs as she wiggled in his grasp. “Daddy, noooo!”

Laura grunted, trying to squirm free. “You can’t just—ugh—use brute force!”

Logan smirked. “Sweetheart, that’s all I ever use.”

Gabby was laughing too hard to argue, her tiny hands smacking at Logan’s back. “Put me down! Put me down!”

“You sure?” Logan adjusted his grip, lifting her a little higher. “I dunno, kid. You woke me up, seems only fair I get to throw you around a little.”

Gabby gasped, gripping onto his shirt like she was suddenly questioning her life choices. “Wait, wait, wait—”

Before Logan could make good on his fake threat, you stepped into the room, balancing a tray carefully in both hands.

“Alright, I leave you three alone for two minutes, and you’re already wrestling?” You arched an eyebrow, adjusting your glasses as you took in the sight—Gabby dangling from Logan’s shoulder, Laura still caught in a half-playful, half-serious struggle, and Logan looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Gabby immediately turned toward you, her eyes wide and pleading. “Mommy! Help!”

You sighed, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “Logan, put her down.”

Logan smirked. “She started it.”

“She’s four.”

“She knew what she was doin’.”

Laura grunted, finally managing to twist out of his grip. “Yeah, yeah, we did. Worth it.”

With a dramatic sigh, Logan finally set Gabby back onto the bed. She flopped onto the blankets, arms spread out like she’d just survived the battle of a lifetime. “So mean,” she mumbled.

You shook your head, sitting down beside them. “Well, since you’re all awake now, we made you breakfast.”

Gabby gasped, immediately sitting up. “Oh! Daddy, it’s a surprise breakfast!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, finally noticing the tray. “That so?”

Laura huffed, stretching. “Was supposed to be a peaceful wake-up, but someone got carried away.”

Gabby stuck her tongue out at her. “You used the horn.”

“You agreed to it.”

Logan smirked. “You two are a real dangerous team, y’know that?”

Gabby beamed. “Lucky magic.”

You smiled, handing Logan his coffee. “Happy surprise breakfast.”

Logan took the cup, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second longer than necessary. His smirk softened, something warm settling in his expression as he looked at you. “Yeah. Happy surprise breakfast, darlin’.”

Gabby immediately reached for a cinnamon roll, already beaming as she stuffed a too-big bite into her mouth. “Mmmmph. So good.”

Laura grabbed one too, leaning back against the headboard. “You’re lucky Mom’s good at baking.”

Gabby nodded furiously. “Lucky magic!”

Logan chuckled, finally taking a bite of his own. His eyes closed briefly, a quiet hum of approval rumbling from his chest.

You watched him, waiting.

After a long, deliberate moment, Logan finally cracked one eye open. “Alright, yeah. These are damn good.”

Gabby cheered. Laura smirked. You just smiled, nudging your glasses back up.

go read part 2!

[herbirdglitter]

Bestie I’m already on my first rewatch of the whole show.

I think you’re right. I think that’s what makes it feels so good, that they write real people vs characters. I like how they’re not afraid to make people gay if the plot requires it.

Like if they’re all sitting round in the writers room and someone says “guys we need a reason why he definitely doesn’t want her” no one seems to be worried about the audience or the ratings or anything, they just make them gay. It’s rather refreshing.

The gaslighting ghost in church gay is great, but as I saw that actor first as the German spy priest in Foyle’s War, that is who he’ll be forever in my brain. However I’m willing to be believe he was gay too.

THE DRAG BOOKCLUB MUMMIFIED BROTHER, HOWEVER.

CHILLING. On the second time through, I apparently forgot about the mummified brother part but as soon as they’re doing those mysterious shots over the headboard where you can just see his feet… it’s so so good.

Does he count as good queer representation if he’s dead the whole time? Idk but he’s so present in the story that I feel like the answered yes. And the drag guy. I mean does every gay in the episode die? Sure. Besides the owner of the gay bar. And Troy (because he gives off such major closeted bi vibes) but like, you never get the sense that they got killed of because they’re gay, even if that’s literally what happened in the story.

It never feels like bury your gays, and I do love that.

I'm watching Midsomer Murders for the first time and the vibe of the queer representation is so confusing that it's amusing.

like I am four episodes in to this show, and this season aired in 1998, and there have been canonical queer characters in ever episode so far. Every one. in 1998. But they also fall into some interesting stereotypes. spoilers btw

we have one very creepy weird slimy dude, who has a weird relationship with his mother, he's gay.

Then we have a trans icon, or a gay person who liked doing drag, they just see women's clothing and jump to conclusions and then constantly call them by the wrong pronouns which, I mean it's the 90s. they're the victim, because we can't have nice things

then we have a nice couple, one of whom I took one look at and said "he's going to be gay because they've put him in a floral waistcoat" and I was right, because that's the type of show it is, and then his concerning partner, who was most likely bisexual, but they act like he just hasn't gotten over women yet or something, and of course he cheats

and then there's a lesbian couple. and to no one's surprise, they are the murderers. or both played a part in it anyway. but, there love is treated like it's very real, which is nice.

but the bit that's absolutely sending me is the different attitudes of Barnaby and Troy. The decision to make Barnaby, the older more experienced one perfectly ok with it all? spectacular. And the way he keeps sending Troy to talk to the queer people specifically because he knows it makes him uncomfortable??? unparalleled. Except when it really matters and he goes and talks to the one lesbian about the well being of her partner.

I am in love with this man. This show is so fun and now I have 24 seasons to watch. and it's still airing. Now I have something to fill the hole law and order left in my heart.

[citruscloudsandmoon]

I am perturbed and somewhat fascinated by bhakts way of thinking. Who in the right mind would name the project 'Operation Sindoor'? 👀...do you honestly see Pakistan as some kind of a bride who you are planning to claim? Or there's actually more to it?

Also so very brave of Modi government to strike in the middle of the night in the civilian areas, where innocent people were residing.

Kaisa aadmi hai, aurat aur bacho mein warr karta hai, Raat Kay andhere mein

[bugwolfsstuff]

Percy (and maybe the other big three kids) being sent back in time to the Titanomachy by the Fates.

Percy expecting to see adult gods fighting, the gods he knows.

Percy seeing kid-gods barely older than him, some younger. The myths were wrong.

Percy seeing kid-gods huddled around a fire, eyes so unused to so much light and awkward, flailing, scarred limbs unused to being used other than to hold each other up (stomach acid can dissolve metal. How painful was it for beings who cant properly die?)

Percy seeing god-kids who cant even sleep alone let alone fight adults that have killed before and is fine with killing them. Blood only matters when it is spilled here.

Percy seeing kids go to war regardless.

Percy seeing kids go to war against the same monster he fought 1000s of years later. He sees his friends in these kids.

Percy realizing that this is a cycle. Since the beginning its always been kids going to war for their parents. It probably will be that in the end.

...

And that's why you should always age-down the elder Olympians (Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, Poseidon and Zeus) for the Titanomachy. For the parallels, for the angst and for the lolz.

[olenvasynyt]

I’m actually going to answer these

- Eris smells like cloves, pine, and vanilla

- Rhys’s mom definitely slept with Stryga but for the alive people I wanna say Azriel or Nesta

- They gotta have earth powers like vines and rocks and stuff though I’m amazed Spring or Autumn don’t have those powers. I would also say metal magic where they can form metal like Toph in ATLA! They could be essential to making weapons during the human war.

- LOA had a sapphic tryst but it was when she was younger and not yet living in the Forest House yet

- Rhys’s mom having seer powers is one of my favorite headcanons and it makes the dresses she had fitted for Feyre so much more interesting! You did that amazing fic Beneath The Stars ugh I think about it all the time!

- For Day Court I wanna say Rhys actually that’s why him and Helion are buddy buddies

- Eris presides over the east / south-east province that spreads down the coast. I headcanon that his secret cottage (with his secret lover) is on the coast

- Eris 😚

pro this anti that ship war blegh meanwhile all I want to talk about is:

what does eris smell like?

who is most likely to sleep with stryga?

what kinda magic do they have going on on the continent?

has the lady of autumn had a sapphic tryst with one of her handmaidens?

did eris find out?

was rhys’s mom prescient?

which bat boy has attended the most day court orgies? (azriel duh)

which autumn court province does eris preside over?

eris eris eris?

[fever-project]

With Ur undertale x linked universe au it's now making me think about the scene where sans stacks hot dogs in frisks head and now it's making me think about warriors just stacking hot dogs in winds head like janga

I’m taking this as a request >;)

Also, @hyruledwarriorr you’d like this

[cinerins]

The ever-elusive Jaster Mereel I know in my heart actually wouldn't be particularly happy about being assigned "King of Mandalore" or something like that. I think he'd rather skip over to the other end of the galaxy to keep doing his mercenary thing, than trying to run an entire sector indefinitely.

He feels confident enough in leading his own group, and I do think he'd be willing to step up as a military commander or even just tactical advisor in times of crisis, but not as a Political Leader. That's not who the Mand'alor is supposed to be, anyway, according to his own reformations.

I see it as less of a ruler and more of a guide—a role meant for emergency purposes only, so all the different clans don't fall over each other while making important decisions or surviving a war. A respected individual with the necessary skill would be assigned by the greater majority for that specific crisis, they don't necessarily keep the title forever.

That's what a "Reform" is: changing outdated or even harmful notions to fit contemporary ideals and needs. Jaster didn't want to restore the Mandalorian Empire and start up another line of One True Kings—that was Death Watch rhetoric.

From a modern perspective, the actual governmental structure(s) could be anything. I honestly don't think he would've cared that much whether some planets wanted to run a monarchy or just vibe. To him, being Mandalorian wasn't about nationality or being part of a specific system, but a code of conduct—something you chose to do.

It's funny how similar this concept is to the Jedi; you could be born force-sensitive and hone your skill, maybe even master your powers, but it's the active devotion to a duty and code of ethics that actually makes one a Jedi.

That said, I believe Jaster Mereel would probably find people fighting over a laser sword as a "right to rule" pretty fucking stupid.

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[anarcho-astromech]

i need fic about perrin and or leida’s immediate reaction following ep9 and there’s nothing. i cant find anything please i cant be the only one who wants this

[skyloftian-nutcase]

All right, here's my ask for the prompt event

"Link, you are loved."

Your choice of which one and how to show them that but it's one of my favorite things in your writing so here we go. ❤️

Congratulations on the milestone

The wind chimes hummed gently, their song carried in the breeze that generated it, warm and gentle and comforting. Crickets accompanied it softly, a lullaby to the world as night swaddled the sky in its midnight blue embrace.

Two figures moved silently in the grass, their footsteps lost in the symphony of the night, quiet with trained precision.

Impa inhaled slowly, taking in the scent of honeysuckle, guiding her ward along. Link’s hand was warm in her own, callouses a rough reminder of all the times he’d held a blade, making her stomach churn a moment as she redirected her mind from—

Link, staring at her, covered in blood, knife slipping out of his slack fingers as he collapsed—

Impa paused a moment, and Link stopped with her. He glanced at her, just barely moving his head, eyes tired, a glimpse of how worn thin his spirit truly was. Impa took a breath, asked for strength from Din, and walked ahead.

It had been a few days since everything. Link hadn’t been outside that entire time, and Impa had decided that needed to change. The boy needed fresh air. They both did.

Eventually, Impa found one of the many benches scattered across the castle gardens. It was one with a backing, which was nice, dark metalwork intricate in how each strand interwove with the other to form a patterned design. Impa guided Link gently, and the pair sat down.

Impa waited a moment before speaking, eyes roaming across the garden. She was looking for something specific - Link was quiet in his tastes, but she knew for certain that he loved a certain summer bug that came out at night. There didn’t seem to be any here quite yet, though. She half wondered if they should keep wandering in search of a better spot, but at this moment this seemed the best place to settle. Link didn’t have much energy to walk around a lot.

Pulling out cloth from the bag she’d brought along, she gently wrapped it around Link’s shoulders. It was light blue, soft, with frayed edges and different stitches mending bits and pieces of it. It was well worn, cared for with love and bloodied hands, treasured since it had been first gifted to the young Hero many years ago.

His mother’s scarf. Link had worn it into battle time and again during the war. He hadn’t touched it since the royal wedding. He’d grown into it over the years, using it more as a shawl when he’d been younger. It was still a bit wider than a scarf for his size, but it made it a great little blanket on an evening like this one when unfolded entirely.

Link tugged sluggishly at the ends, staring down at the cloth between his fingers. He bit his lip, the distance between his eyebrows closing.

“I remember when you were born,” Impa said quietly. “Your mother had been so excited to meet you. She told your father while she was in labor that she couldn’t wait to tell you how much she loved you.”

Link swallowed thickly, turning his face away from her.

“I’m sorry she never got the chance,” Impa continued, slowly resting her hand on his back. “And I am certainly no substitute for her. I haven’t been there for you when I had promised you I would be. But Link…”

Impa faltered here, her own voice getting caught in her tightening throat. It wobbled as she said his name, displaying a vulnerability she rarely showed anyone.

She remembered painfully during the war when Link had joked around, inebriated as he’d been, calling her “mother.” She remembered the way the little one always looked up to her when he’d been growing up in Kakariko, the way his eyes had immediately sought hers out after he’d completed his trial, seeking approval. She remembered the faith he’d placed in her during the war, the way he’d smiled at her when she’d hugged him at its end, just before everything had fallen apart.

She remembered the look on his face, broken and pleading and terrified, as he’d fallen to the ground, blood pouring from his throat.

Impa took a shaky breath, closing her eyes and grabbing firmly to her resolve. “Link, you are loved. By so many. The people of Hyrule adore you, the Sheikah are proud of you, and I…”

A hiccup threatened to escape, and she held her breath to stop it, eventually looking at the teenager as he slowly returned his attention to her. Whatever tears that had been trying to leave him before had dried, emotions buried under a blanket of bone deep exhaustion. His lip no longer trembled, eyebrows heavy over his eyes, red eyes dull and seeming to look beyond her.

Impa felt her heart break once more, but it also spurred her to speak again, and she moved her hand from his back to his cheek, making him look at her. “I love you dearly, Link. And I… I will take care of you. All I ask is that you… you live. Please, love. If for nothing or no one else, for me. Just… just live.”

Link’s eyes roamed from whatever void they were lost in, looking at her, questioning her words, debating them. He looked worn thin all of a sudden, empty at the mere thought of listening to her words, and for a heart stopping moment, she was afraid she couldn’t reach him anymore.

But then his eyes watered, and he looked down to avoid her gaze, leaning towards her just a hair, a subtle, pleading request.

Impa pulled him to her in an instant, holding him tightly. She felt him go boneless under her touch, trembling, her shirt steadily staining with warm tears. He didn’t have the energy for outright sobs, spirit utterly depleted, but occasionally she’d feel a little sniffle shake his body. She ran her hand through his hair, detangling little knots as she went, disregarding the brittleness of it, the split ends that indicated how little he’d been taking care of himself lately.

The wind chimes continued their gentle serenade. As Impa continued to soothe the teenager, light caught her eye, and she finally saw what she’d been hoping to find by bringing him out here.

Impa shifted, repositioning Link with her, letting him scoot closer but turn his head so he could look out at the garden. Slowly, the environment started to glow gently, fireflies filling the space like silent fairies. Link’s eyes never left the sight, tears quietly falling down his cheeks, bathed in the warm light of the little creatures he used to seek out at night.

Impa kissed his head, closing her eyes and saying a prayer, begging for blessing and mercy on the poor child. She felt her resolve strengthen as Link let her hold him, as he weakly lifted a hand to grip her wrist in return.

The Sheikah chief took a deep breath. It would get better. He would get better. She’d make sure of it.

[therebelcaptain]

The posters have nothing in common

As a graphic design major with a good understanding of visual language, I completely disagree with your assessment and here's why:

First there's the most obvious element: the use of the Death Star as the backdrop. Then there's the respective leads Cassian and Jyn featured as the most prominent of the main cast. The title is surrounded by various ships as the sky of the planet comes into view. The effect used to blend the image of the Death Star into the landscape imagery, as if it is emerging from the smoke/clouds. There are also stormtroopers wading through the field (Andor) / the sea (Rogue One) in the featured landscape.

The overall composition of both posters are very similar and I would guess that the reason certain elements are different (i.e. the positioning of cast members vertically alongside Cassian vs horizontally beneath Jyn) is because of the different aspect ratios. The Andor poster has been made for online use and looks to be 4:5 while the Rogue One poster was made for print and is likely 2:3, making the latter narrower than the former. Regardless, both posters were made by the team at Bond so it's likely that they intentionally referenced the Rogue One poster or were at the very least briefed to do so given Andor is leading directly into the film.

Anyway, I'm assuming that you're just reflexively disagreeing with me because I had the gall to put the two posters side by side and point out that Cassian is looking toward Jyn (who you most likely hate for... Reasons) thus making it about rebelcaptain/jyncassian. Given the name of this blog that was always going to happen, regardless of which direction Cassian was looking in the Andor poster. I mean, I literally spent the entirety of S1 making everything about this ship. But I have the Rogue One poster on my wall and look at it every single day, so when I saw the new Andor poster this morning, I clocked the above visual similarities immediately. So, no, it wasn't purely about Jyn and Cassian—I just framed it that way because I am who I am.

Would you like me to make a diagram of the similarities, or is this a sufficient enough explanation for you?

[namiisei]

Fuck, Marry, Kill. PJO characters are playing but it's EVERY DEMIGOD (Apollo included). DEAD OR ALIVE, because Nico, somehow, can temporarily project them all just for this instance.

They sit in a large circle with the hearth in the middle to promise to their darling aunt Hestia not to kill, maime, or start a war that night. They all should be civil but insults and threats are welcome!!! Just don't do anything about it.

Everyone has a collective agreement to either Marry or Fuck Nico, apart from his sisters, Bianca, Hazel and Reyna then there's Ocatvian who has an anthology of how he'll kill Nico.

As the night goes on, the choices get more unhinged to the point they're all debating if its necessary to throw in your dead body to the mix.

[specterthief]

The "just not the dub" in your tags, thanks 🙏. (I do think the dub has its place and it's got some stuff but it's not necessarily the same show. And the original is just superior when it comes to the emotional beats. The dub I think tried too hard to be "funny" and it kinda took away some of the characters' good qualities (esp Reki imo).)

tbh ironically reki is the one character who i think suffers least from the dub because when the script is good his performance is generally really good on a technical level and pretty fitting to the character's original tone, and he seems to have suffered from the least like... active material changes to his characterization, i guess because no one really had any problems with reki lol

but saying "when the script is good" is kind of fraught in the first place, because untangling the absolute mess of the general scriptwriting from the intentional character changes from the actors improvising with no oversight is such an overwhelming task i've tried to break it down and given up multiple times already, so even generally feeling like reki was the character who had the best transition to dub he's still held down by being in this dub

i do think it can have some entertainment value just to watch a bit here and there to hear the characters speaking english but the fact that they self-admittedly completely rewrote characters and altered the script to the point of changing the actual plot and themes of the show just kind of supersedes the few praiseworthy things it's got, because it's treated as an equal and equivalent way of enjoying the story and it's just... really functionally not the same story. and now the fandom is full of people going solely off the dub and thinking it's the same story and projecting that back on the original text or gleefully praising the dub's (again, admitted) efforts to "improve" the source material and "make it gayer" by adding fanservice while censoring the actual text. it doesn't even hold up for a theoretical accessibility use case, before you even get to the story changes, because important information in the visuals that's conveyed in characters' dialog and tone in japanese gets completely cut or lost in english.

i can't stop people from enjoying it obviously but i wish there could at least be an understanding that it's not the same show and shouldn't be discussed as if they're interchangeable, and i'm always going to put disclaimers like that on any kind of recommendation because the original story is what i'm recommending and the dub isn't that. i love the original show and i want people to experience that as nearly as they possibly can, not someone's smug fanfiction pasted over the original animation.

[mystical-salamander]

kit! Zeb idea you say? 👀👀👀

Yeee!! 👀👀👏

So I talked about this briefly on the discord, but basically! It's an old concept that I'm finally working on of Zeb getting temporarily turned back into a kit through some Force shenanigans.

He, unfortunately, has no memory of his present and is understandably confused and scared. He's somehow far away from home with no memory of how he got there– all he remembers is telling his parents goodnight before suddenly waking up on an unfamiliar ship!

So it's a mix of slice of life and angst– with the Specters and Kallus having to deal with a rambunctious kit running around the Rebellion base. Doesn't help that they have no idea how to take care of a kit and can't communicate clearly with him because he really only speaks Lasana. Thankfully we have Kallus who was learning a bit of Lasana (along with maybe Sabine? Haven't made up my mind) who can somewhat translate.

I also wanted baby Zeb to keep asking to go home– he misses his parents and siblings. But for some reason whenever he asks these strangers who call themselves his friends, they just sadly smile and keep telling him that "he'll go home soon they promise." :) Kallus especially looks distraught whenever he mentions it :)