#teach a child to read from scratch

[nereidprinc3ss]

i keep you clean; you surrounded me

in which husband!spencer reid spirals after realizing he can't be your daughter's hero forever.

angst, fluff warnings/tags: this fic is about spencer's past addiction, and how he's afraid it will impact his relationship with his daughter, conversation about alcohol, this is a fix-it fic for my life, ends on a hopeful/positive note, lots of self-loathing from Spencer, uses the phrase "shooting up", PLEASE do not read if this is going to upset you!! PLEASE!! fem!reader a/n: this felt healing in a way for me but that might not be your experience reading if you also have issues with a parent with addiction so please tread lightly and make the right choices for you. CHOOSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH OVER MY DUMB FANFIC I CAN'T STRESS THAT ENOUGH!! and ily

“Daddy?”

Ada’s not asking for you, but you look to her anyway. She’s squeezed between you and Spencer on Rossi’s swing, and her cheeks are still feverish—remnants of a recent and rather hysterical fit of giggles. She has a glass of lemonade between her little hands (you’re trusting her with a big girl cup, if only because it’s not your glass or your house) and she peers into it intently. Her little grass-stained feet kick. Spencer pushes the swing back ever so slightly, for her entertainment. 

“Huh?”

She holds her glass up for him. 

“Our drinks are the same color.”

“They are,” he nods. “Do you like yellow?”

Ada shrugs. It’s exaggerated—one of her favorite moves as of late. “It’s okay.”

Spencer glances at you like he always does when he sees glimpses of you in your child, eyes sparkling as if her opinionated and bluntly honest nature is in any way reminiscent of you. 

“Yeah, I agree. Yellow is just okay.”

She leans against him and he’s quick to accommodate her, affectionately brushing his knuckles over your bare shoulder as he slings his arm across the back of the swing. 

“Daddy?”

“What, lovebug?”

You smile, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. The sun is warm on your face. 

“Mommy’s drink is red.”

Nothing gets past her. Rossi had pushed the drink into your hand almost the second you stepped through the door, insisting it would go well with lunch. It sits otherwise untouched on the glass table. 

Spencer hums. The swing rocks gently. 

“That’s because she’s not having lemonade like us. She’s having a grownup drink.”

“Oh.”

You think that’s the end of it, that she’s satisfied with the answer, until another moment passes, and her voice, sweet as the tinkle of little fairy bells, is posing a very loaded question. 

“Why don’t you ever have grownup drinks? Me and you always have the same.”

Spencer’s already looking at you, brows drawn as you sit up. Your eyes, open now, go wide, and you shake your head slightly to signal you have no idea how he’s supposed to respond either. 

His hand goes to Ada’s hair, gently scratching her scalp as his eyes dart over your face. You can see the gears turning in his head. This is one of very few things he clearly didn’t read about in any of the literature on raising kids when you were pregnant. 

“I… some people don’t like grownup drinks.”

It’s an inadequate answer, especially coming from Spencer—just this morning he explained to Ada why the sky is blue. Rayleigh scattering. Blue light scatters more than any other kind of light. Which then led to an impromptu lesson on oxygen molecules and other basic chemistry in the car on the way here. 

So there are standards. 

“Why not?”

You interrupt, unable to watch Spencer flounder any longer. “Ada, why don’t you go see what Henry and JJ and Uncle Dave are doing? That looks fun, right?”

You gesture down the yard to where JJ and Rossi are teaching Henry to play cornhole. 

She looks at you with big brown eyes—the set of them, the color—those are all Spencer.

“Can you and daddy come?”

You straighten out her dress and take the half-full glass from her little hands, setting it next to your own on the table. 

“In a minute. Go ahead.”

Spencer’s hand slips from her hair as she pushes off the swing and bounds down the yard. You make sure she arrives to her destination without incident, before scooting closer to your husband and taking his vacant hand. 

“Spence?” You ask quietly, leaning in to try and insert yourself into his eye line. He doesn’t look away from Ada. 

“That was bad.”

“It wasn’t. She doesn’t understand. It’s fine.”

“I didn’t—”

He looks down, lips pressed together, and your heart twists and drops like overripe fruit from the vine as you realize his eyes have glossed over. 

“Baby,” you whisper, relinquishing his hand only so you can rub his back. Your other finds his knee, drawing as close as you possibly can. “It’s okay.”

“How am I supposed to explain it to her?”

A tear falls, making a dark splotch on the fabric of his pants. 

“You don’t have to. She’s only five. I guarantee she’s already forgotten all about it.”

“I will. I’ll have to tell her one day. She thinks I’m perfect, how am I supposed to—”

He stops himself, voice tightening to a halt. You watch him hold back a cry like you haven’t seen in years. It’s an old, familiar ache for you. You can’t imagine how it feels for him. 

“Spencer,” you coo. “She adores you. She loves you so much. That’s never going to change.”

His nose twitches. 

“I’m going to disappoint her.”

“How? How are you going to disappoint her?”

“I think it’s pretty disappointing to find out your dad is a junkie.”

His tone isn’t particularly harsh but the words are like a slap anyway. 

“Spencer…” For a moment you don’t know what else to say. It’s not a secret that he’s ashamed of that chapter in his life, but you had no idea he was contending with this much self-loathing over it, even after all this time. It seems like such a distant point in the rearview mirror that the two of you almost never need to talk about it anymore. “You are not a junkie. It’s been, what—a decade?”

“I don’t want to have to tell her what drugs are, let alone that I... she thinks I’m the smartest guy in the world, and one day I’ll have to tell her that drugs are extremely dangerous, and I was shooting up for four months anyway. No matter how I try to explain it to her the ultimate takeaway is going to be that I’m weak and I wasn’t smart enough and she’s never, ever going to forget that. How am I supposed to—I can’t be a role model for her. I fucked up so badly.”

Your chest aches, somewhere deep and hollow, as he leans forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, only for a moment—before Ada shrieks and his head snaps back up. Henry is chasing her with a worm. Spencer watches on, tears still leaking from his eyes and expression otherwise neutral. It’s bittersweet to hear him express such deep insecurity about the thing he’s best at in the world, even as those parental instincts kick in and he’s setting aside his own feelings to keep an eye on her. He’s never trusted himself. He’s never seen himself the way you do. 

“Baby, you are her dad and she loves you. Her love for you is not contingent on your past. You are so, so good to her. That’s all she knows, okay? She doesn’t care what you were doing when you were 25. She cares about whether you’ll be home for dinner, and if you’ll play dolls with her, and if you’ll tuck her in. That’s all she needs to love you.”

JJ wrangles the kids and after a moment Spencer looks down again, brow furrowed deeply as drops like rain dot his lap, but he hardly makes a sound. You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “And until she’s old enough for the whole story, which involves a lot more violence than I am comfortable with her being subjected to right now, you don’t need to explain it to her. You have time.”

“She wants to know now.”

“She also wants icecream for every meal. But I can’t make her understand why that’s a bad idea. What she wants and what she needs and what she is capable of understanding are all different categories. I know you love answering all her questions, and you’re a really good teacher, but you can’t make her understand something as complex as addiction.”

Spencer sniffs. 

“Developmentally she’s only really capable of understanding the world as it exists in relation to herself.”

“Exactly. So give her some time, and give yourself some time.”

“What if she asks again?”

“Then… you say you don’t like how it makes you feel. And tell her to clean up her toys. Condition her to stop asking.”

Spencer stumbles over a teary laugh he hadn’t been expecting. You sit up straight, holding his face between your hands and encouraging him to look at you. His cheeks shine with tears, but you wipe them away tenderly. 

“You’re perfect to her,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to one cheek, “and you’re perfect to me.” He cups your elbow as you kiss the other and looks at you with so much sheer adoration you could get all choked up, too.

“Wow,” he sniffles, and takes a deep breath, pulling you into him, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as he presses three kisses to the curve of your neck where he’s buried his face. 

“I could be canonized as a saint and not deserve you.”

Sainthood. You ponder that. 

Saints have to live virtuously. They also have to be dead. 

You hold him a little tighter. You like him exactly how he is: technically imperfect. Probably not getting into heaven. Still venerable. Very much heroic. Alive, and with you.

“I’m really glad you’re not a saint.”

He chuckles. His hand slides up your back, and then side to side—a path it’s made time and time again which has only ever led you to wonderful, perfect places.

“Me too.”

[dulcet-aurora]

permanent . damian wayne x reader. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ❛ when you press me to your heart, i'm in a world apart. ❜

❪ in which. ❫ what better an idea to immortalize your best friend in time.

⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. pining, pining, pining. did i mention pining? slightly ooc damian but like whatever i just want a yearning man. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕. 1.3k. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔. @di-lucss, @ephemerensis, @dollishmehrayan, @aangelinakii, @minorlyatfault. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓. inspired by thinking of you by sister sledge! the writing is an actual excerpt from my diary about a man because if he won't yearn i obviously have to. ignore how shitty this is because it was 10pm and i miss the girl i used to be. enjoy!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝒊f i were any other version of myself in this timestream i would say that i am exhausted of being in love. my thoughts are blurred by a fog where each particle of water is one tiny thing creating this sole, large, mystical being that cloud my senses and drive me half to insanity.

but i am a changed man and unlike the child formed of snapped bones and spilled blood that was deemed as useless as water, i have found myself thriving on the galleons of blood pumped daily by my palpitating heart for this girl. she is magic incarnate and i am under her spell. i cannot explain it and it is terrifying and awfully thrilling all at once because this is the first time i have not been able to draw a conclusion or a reasonable answer based on fact nor logic to my feelings. my feelings themselves have always been buried— crushed by burdens and grandfather's teachings that emotion was weakness, but for some reason she has latched them by a hook and drawn them up and claimed them as her own.

in my own way i fear her. she is the very opposite of every lesson i've been taught, the moral behind every beating i took. she took my heart of stone and cracked it in two and found the humanity within me, glowing like the contents of a geode and it shines just for her. i do not know how she managed it. i do not know how i let her manage to do it. i have never been vulnerable and never did i think i would ever be vulnerable and yet i stand here pouring out my feelings in ink like the blood i spilled as a child.

yes, it on paper but i would rather stain the carcass of a tree than the blank canvas which is her and risk leaving the mark of my impurity on something as pristine as her. i cannot bear damaging her because i felt too much.

— d.t.w.

damian sat on the floor at the foot of the piano bench, the tip of his pen hovering limply over the paper. his feelings stared back at him like a mutilated corpse, ugly and disgusting and something he couldn't believe he'd done in a moment of clouded judgement. the sound of the piano echoes through the empty ballroom of wayne manor. the space was empty and rarely used more than twice a month for when bruce held a gala. you sat at the beautiful grand piano, your fingers delicate on the keys as the instrument sang a solemn melody.

you pressed aimless keys as the moment of serenity faded and the melody fizzled out. "do you ever get frustrated with a piece of your art?" you sighed, leaning forward on the bench to peer at the sheet music of your newest piece that you'd scribbled out on a few sheets of loose-leaf paper. the penmanship was horrendous, chicken scratch only a musician could read in between wrinkles and creases from being folded time and time over to fit in your pocket.

damian snapped his journal shut. "exasperation in the creation of beauty is inevitable," he said. "you as a musician should already know this."

"you always make it look so effortless, though," you groaned, supporting your weight with your hands as you leaned back on the bench.

"do i?" he arched a dark eyebrow, his viridian eyes glinting with something between curiosity and amusement.

"yes," you sighed. "you can paint, you can sculpt, you can write the perfect essay. art comes naturally to you."

damian pondered this for a moment. "i come from a long line of individuals who took pride in the destruction in beautiful things," he said. "i suppose i did not want to be like them, when there are so many specks of the heavens in the world around us. i chose to trap them in time then to make them memories."

"you would be a lovely playwright," you declared after a beat. you cleared your throat, "i bethink thou art something of a twenty-first century shakespeare." you reached over the side of the piano bench and gripped the cover of his journal.

damian's heart stopped. he yanked the journal from your grasp so hard you pitched forward and had to steady yourself by gripping the piano. "methinks you jest." he snapped.

"methinks thou hadst a stick up thy ass."

"methinks thou shouldst shut thy trap." damian tilted his head back to look up at you.

you put a hand over your mouth and laughed, and damian's heart jackhammered against his ribs. that laugh, that feeling reminded him why he chose to paint your smile that he saw every time he closed his eyes, why he sculpted your jaw that he dreamed to hold with the tenderness he was never shown, and why he made you a permanent fixture in time with his words.

"play me that piece again," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent.

"you've heard it a thousand times," you complained, wringing your hands. "along with my tears and sobs and fussing."

"i enjoy it," damian said simply, rising from the floor and sitting beside you on the bench. your knees pressed against each other. damian wishes it was your lips.

"well, you have to," you pouted, "you're my best friend."

"i am not obligated to 'liking' anything, i enjoy what is enjoyable and your piece fits the criteria of pleasurable things," he said. "so play it again."

you groaned and before damian could even exhale to protest again you poised your hands over the piano and began to play.

magic flowed from your hands, infusing the keys with some sort of golden ichor with every press of your fingers. it was a piece in f minor, but transitioning to a sweeter major with a signal of a small breath from your lips. it was incomplete, damian could see the question marks replacing notes on the staff on the last page of music but, oh, was it beautiful. if your hands hadn't both been on the keys he would've laced your fingers together.

eventually the melody tapered off again and you sighed in defeat, slumping your elbows against the keys with an exasperated huff. "yeah, that's that," you sighed.

"it is a lovely composition," damian said earnestly.

you smiled faintly. "i had a great inspiration."

he tilted his head. "did you?"

you sighed, your gaze almost dreamy. "the best."

your words stuck with damian all day, even till the dead of night where he lay awake and his brain did its usual run through of the thought of you. he lay in his bed and you were tucked against his side, passed out after hours of trying to figure out the right notes. your sheet music lay on your stomach and your pen was clasped loosely between your fingers. damian sighed.

"foolish girl," he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. you sighed in your sleep and damian softened. he took the sheet music off your abdomen and plucked your pen from your limp hand. he turned around as gently as he could to set your sheet music on his nightside table. as he laid it down on the top he caught a glance of the title and his breath hitched.

damian's theme. a musical memoir to the boy i adore. written in a handwriting that was messy and barely legible and that could only be yours.

he stiffened. "i had a great inspiration. the best." you had said. his heart slammed against his ribs once more and he was sure his bones were painted red from how often that happened. he looked over at you, his sleepy musician, his modern day clara schumann, the reason he chose to create instead of destroy.

damian made art because it was permanent, and it was precious. he'd never felt precious or had anything remotely permanent in his life other than the ghosts from his past that followed him. but now he realized that he truly was treasured. and it wasn't so bad.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[rosenclaws]

Lost || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You risk your life on missions when you shouldn't. Logan can't stand it. He thinks it's because you want to play hero. It isn't until something shifts that he realizes there's more to it. That the two of you are more alike than ever.

warnings: Suicidal ideation, implied Self harm (scratching), depressive thoughts and feelings, self hatred manifesting in different ways, mostly the reader is very mean to themselves, the reader is having a mental spiral basically, poor eating, angst, injuries, hopeful ending.

wc: 3.3k

a/n: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This fic contains very triggering topics and if you think that reading or being exposed to them will hurt you please DO NOT READ. I value peoples well being over this fic 1000%. If I'm being honest this was my own kind of therapy. The way I wrote the reader's thought process and feelings is a lot like my own. I've been going through it a little and I just needed to get something out. I would also like to disclaimer that I am okay! Please take care of yourself first and be gentle to yourself. If you need someone to talk to my dms and inbox are open or please consider reaching out to someone

Things worked like clockwork around here. The kid would go to class. Do their homework. Play outside. The adults would be training or teaching. Dinner was at the same time every night. Occasionally the team would get sent on a mission and even then things worked like they normally did.

Scott led the team with a plan, Logan usually ignored that plan, Ro got between them when their childish bickering got to be too much, and you all got home just fine.

"Again?" Beast is shaking his head as you hobble into the lab again. A pained smile on your face as Scott helps you onto the cold metal table. 

"What can I say beastie, I just love your company." You groan as he gently touches your side. A sharp pain shoots through your body and dark spots cloud your vision.

 "Broken ribs, definitely." He mutters as he writes something down. He asks you to follow his finger and you do your best. 

"Concussion. Again." You wince as his tone grows harsher.

 "Superficial cuts and bruises." The list goes on and on as you're examined.

"Can you just prescribe me some pain meds and let go? That's what we did last time." You ask and he just looks at you like a disappointed parent.

 "We did that last time and the time before that and the time before that. This is your third concussion and I can't even remember how many broken ribs." You feel like a child as he starts lecturing you on safety and the dangers of missions and blah blah blah.

Look you get that this isn't great but you're an X-Man right? They help people by any means even when the world seems to hate them. So you're helping people by putting yourself in harms way. Even your teammates.

 "I really don't understand why you continue to do this to yourself." Beast injects something into your arm and you flinch.

 "Fuck! A little warning next time please." You rub your arm and close your eyes as the exhaustion is starting to catch up to you. 

"No missions for at least three months." He says to Scott who you forgot was still there. 

"What!" You shoot up and double over in pain from your ribs.

 "Come on, you can't bench me for three months." You whine as you look at Scott. 

"Our top priority is that you're safe and healthy firefly." Scott says and you scoff. 

"No our top priority is helping people." He sighs and pats you on the shoulder. Great, is this another scolding? Beasts was like a parent but Scott was always more brotherly than anything.

 "Firefly, We understand the want to help but you can't help people if you keep getting hurt. You throw yourself into danger without even thinking about it." 

"So does Logan!" You protest but you know the argument is futile.

 "Logan has rapid healing factor. You don't. Look, just take the three months okay? Please? We worry about you." Scott says with such sincerity it makes you feel a little bad. 

"Okay fine." You mumble in agreement. Satisfied with your answer Scott leaves, letting Hank patch you up. You're silent as you think back to the mission.

It was dangerous. You weren't dealing with low level grunts or something. These people were deadly. They weren't going to spare anyone. Rogue and Jubilee joined the mission and as much as you loved them they weren't ready. The fight was getting messier and exhaustion was kicking in.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jubilee and Rogue barely fighting off their attackers. Without thinking you jump in to help them. The calls to retreat came and you saw Logan come help the three of you. His claws sliced his way through. 

"Get back to the ship!" He growled as he took down yet another man. Everyone else was safe except for the four of you. 

"Go, I'll be right behind you!" You yell over your shoulder.

You put up a wall to block the bullets as you walk back. In your head you know how this plays out. You get on the ship and they shoot it down, killing you all. Or you don't make it. Or a million other ways it can go wrong. As Logan grabs Jubilee and Rouge and pulls them onto the ship he holds his hand out to you.

 "We need to go!" Without thinking you take down you start to build energy in your hands. The wall wavers as the bullets continue. 

"Quit fucking around and get in here!" Logan roars. Sorry Logan, you tend to ignore him anyways on missions. Which is how you tend to get hurt but you always end up okay. 

"I got this!" You can hear Logan's angry shouting as the plane door closes. They had no choice but to listen to you. A bullet pierces your wall and rips through your side. You let out a cry as your knee buckles. Sweat pours down your face as you gather every last bit of your energy into your hands.

 "Eat shit." You snarl as you make eye contact with who you assume was the leader.

You release the energy and it blasts through everyone and everything around you. The ship is safe due to protective measures but you aren't. The blowback slams you into the hard jet doors. A sickening crunch as your body hits the cold metal. Your vision becomes hazy as you hit the ground hard. Spots dancing in your vision as you crawl away from the jet.

Everything fucking hurt. You vaguely hear the doors opening again and the hands-on your face. Someone's talking to you but you don't register a thing they say. Which landed you back in the lab. Right now getting patched up.

"Thanks Hank." You say as you hop off the table. You decline any help getting to your room and awkwardly walk to the doors. To your surprise, Logan stands right outside of them. Arms crossed a really pissed off look on his face. 

"Logan, always a pleasure." You flash a smile and he rolls his eyes. He stalks after you as you walk slowly to the elevator. 

"Did Charles send you to check up on me or something because I'm really not in the mood." 

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He snarls. He slams his hand on a button and the elevator stops.

 "Logan I really want to go to bed." You groan as you try to push past him but to no avail. It was like a brick wall.

 "No, you're going to shut up and listen. I don't know what compels you to be so incredibly stupid but you need to fucking quit it." You shrink under his harsh words.

 "I've seen people like you before, always trying to play hero. You're reckless. Putting yourself into danger so you can be the one to save the day." You let him rip into you. Not speaking a word he slams his hand on the button and the elevator moves again.

 "Nothing to say?" He rolls his eyes and storms out of the elevator. 

"I'm sorry." You whisper to no one as the elevator doors close on you.

No one sees you for a while. You stay locked up in your room. Not even coming out for food. Every day some student brings food to your door and leaves it there. You wonder who told them to do that. Jean maybe, probably 'Ro. 

Sometimes you take it just so they don't worry but other times you leave it there until the next plate comes. You spend your day staring at the ceiling or sleeping. Sometimes though you're too tired to sleep. Does it make sense? No but it's how you feel. Logan's words replaying in your head.

If Beast and Scott were like family, Logan was something more. As much as you tried to hide it your feelings had changed, evolved from friendly into something more. You cared so much about what he thinks of you even when you don’t want to. You can’t help it. 

So his words cut deeper than anyone else's. You aren't trying to be a hero or take the glory. But maybe you are? Maybe you want that love and recognition from people, from him. Does it matter though? What your intentions were?

Apparently, you come across as an egotistical reckless person with a hero complex. It's not like that. You argue with yourself about it all the time. Shifting from hero to villain in an instant. You're selfish. You do it for attention. 

No wonder he thinks that way. Does everyone else think so too? But you care. You're an X-men but you aren't one of the X-men. You're not the one people think of when they come to save the day and you're okay with that. Your expendable. Better you than them. Right? You've hurt people in your past. You aren't worthy of this life. This family. You need to prove yourself. Sacrifice yourself if needed.

The spiral won't stop. It never. Stops. You can't get it to stop. You just want peace. Just one day where you don't wake up and feel guilt in everything you do. A loud knock on your door rings through your room but you don't move. 

"Hey." It's Logan. What is he doing here?

 "Look I uh, I shouldn't have snapped at you. The other day." You can tell he's struggling to get his thoughts out. Not that he didn't want to do it, he just didn't know how.

 "I was angry." He waits a few moments and you hear a frustrated growl. 

"Come on firefly, you've been holed up here long enough." You roll onto your side to face the door. Looking at his shoes through the small crack in the bottom. He's pacing.

 "Seriously I-er We're getting worried alright?" You don't catch the slip of his tongue. Too wrapped up feeling guilty. Again. Guilty for hurting your team, for not understanding what was wrong with you. Guilty for even feeling this way in the first place. 

"I thought you should know that Remy's making your favorite dinner." You hear him sigh and walk away. More guilt creeps up on you. You're making everyone worry about you.

 You're being selfish, just pull it together. Beating yourself up over and over again. As the sun goes down the smell of dinner wafts through your room. It doesn't normally do that so you suspect someone is trying to lure you out. Enough of this.

You get up and change your clothes. You stop and look in the mirror, trying to put on your best smile. You don't look very convincing but it should be fine. Peeking your head out you hear a lot of voices coming from the kitchen. You quietly walk into the doorway.

It takes a second but someone notices you and then everyone does. The talking dies down as they just stare at you. It's really uncomfortable. You feel terrible for making them worry. You don't deserve to be worried about like this.

 "All this for me?" You joke and thankfully the room grows louder again.

You say hi to some of the people who come up to you. A plate is placed in front of you and you graciously accept it. Looking across the room you can see Logan staring at you. He's silent but watching your every move. 

"So how's recovery coming? You've been taking bed rest pretty seriously." Scott says with a smile.

You know he doesn't mean anything by it but for some reason, it stings. Like you've been lazy or something. You're a mutant. Recovery shouldn't take this long. You're not putting in the work. You're wasting your time. You don't get to rest. 

"Hey? Firefly?" You snap out of it and put on a smile.

 "Going great, it's nice being able to sleep without interruption." People seem to accept that answer and the conversation moves on.

You pick at your food, moving it around your plate and chopping it up but never putting it in your mouth. It's your favorite meal but you just, can't bring yourself to eat it right now.

The room is so full of talking and laughter but for some reason, you feel a million years away. Like you're lonely. Really, really lonely. How can that even be? To feel so alone while being surrounded by so many people. 

As dinner wraps up you quietly slip out. Sneaking out to the gardens instead. It's cold and you have no coat but you don't care. Some fresh air is what you need. Maybe the trees can tell you what's wrong with you. You find a small bench and sit down.

The stars shine so nicely tonight. You wonder what it'd be like to be a star. If it's freeing to be up so high. Or is it lonely? To lack the warmth of the sun and be a million light years away from each other. 

"What are you doing out here?" Logan stands in front of you. You hadn't even noticed him. 

"Nothing." He lights a cigar and takes a seat next to you. His legs spread out, knocking his knees into yours. 

"So you wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"What are you talking about?" You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hide away. 

"You may have fooled everyone else but I know somethings going on in that head of yours." You just shrug. 

"I'm fine."

"Bullshit." Logan scoffs. You watch the soft glow of cigar ash tumble to the ground.

The light dies out as it hits the cold cement. He wants to help, or at least he wants to listen. For some reason, you can't get the words you. Anger replaces any rational thought. You want him to leave, to not care so damn much.

"Why do you even care? Last time I checked you don't do these heart to hearts." You snap.

The cold air bites your face and you shiver. Your nails scratch down your arms harshly. The slight stinging soothes you in some fucked up way. Logan notices and grabs onto your hand. Taking it and holding it in his warm one. 

"Just leave me alone Logan." You try taking your hand away but he won't let you.

"No. You're right I don't do the sappy shit but this is different. It's more than you're letting on." You feel a pit forming in your stomach.

Everything in your body screams for you to run. To hide and put up your walls and ignore this ever happened. But then you look into his pretty hazel eyes. The rough and tough Wolverine was silently begging you to stay. To talk to him. 

"I don't try to be a hero, It's not a hero complex, or a savior complex or whatever you want to call it." His thumb rubs over your hand as you talk. He wants to butt in but he lets you talk.

 "I don't know. It's a lot. What goes on in my head." You start to count the blades of grass that you can see. Anything to keep you from breaking down. 

"I don't care if I get hurt if I'm helping people. I just. It's how I help. My life is worth saving people. Saving you guys. I don't care if..." You trail off. You can't get the words right.

 "You don't care if you die." Logan finishes. He swallows harshly. It breaks his heart to hear but that small part of him understands. More than you’ll ever know. 

 "Kind of. It's complicated alright? I'm not actively trying to die but...Look I don't think I deserve this life sometimes. I've caused a lot of hurt and I've lost so many people." Logan reaches up and wipes away a tear.

There's a lot of pain that sits with a lifetime of trauma. Pain that you've chosen to ignore over and over again. Burying it until you've convinced yourself this is what life is like. What you deserve. 

"It's stupid right? There's so much that I should be grateful for. What right do I have to complain about?"

 "You're a mutant, your life hasn't been easy." 

"Yeah I guess." Logan doesn't let go of your hand. He holds it, squeezes it. Its warm and fits perfectly with yours. 

"Life sucks, a lot. Trust me I understand. It's like the days blend together right? There's this massive hole that just seems to get bigger. You can stuff it with things, try and close it up or even pretend it never exists. But it never goes away." Logan says.

He understands because he feels the same way. Maybe not exactly how you feel but he knows what its like. To have this, hatred for yourself grow and fester until you can't breathe. You convince yourself that nothings going to change so why even bother? 

"I just want it to go away." You whisper sadly. 

"It will, we're tough. We survive."

"What if I'm tired of surviving? What if I don't want to be strong anymore?" You confess. You feel like you have to be strong all the time and it weighs you down like bricks. You're drowning. 

"That's okay, you come to me and I'll carry what you can't." He pulls you in closer and you bury your face in his neck. He's warm, protecting you from the chill.

 "Just please, promise me no more heroics on missions okay?" He mumbles. 

You scared the shit out of him. You were bleeding and in so much pain. You couldn't even register that it was his hands on your face. That he carried you to the jet and held you while you went in and out of consciousness. He stayed by your side until you got back. He disappeared to the background as Scott took you to the lab. His worry and fear of losing you turning to anger. Wondering why you continue to put yourself in danger.

 "Okay." You lean in and press a light kiss to his cheek.

"Logan, Can I ask why you're out here? How did you even notice something was wrong?" It's not that you weren't friends, in fact you were closer than most. But Logan isn't really the best with this kind of thing. Yet somehow, he always knows what to say.

"You mean a lot to me firefly..."

He could tell you that he loves you right here and now. Tell you that you're everything to him. How he's fallen in love with you over the years. But he keeps it inside. It's not the right time. Sometimes love isn't enough to get better and he knows that there's work to be done. He doesn't want to put this pressure on you to get better for him. He wants you to get better for yourself. He'll be by your side for the whole thing though. He won't let you spiral as long as he's there. 

"You mean a lot to me too Logan." You smile, a real one this time. He caresses your face, tilting your head as his lips kiss your forehead. You giggle as beard tickles your skin.

 "There's that sweet sound," He hums. He takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulders. The worn leather smells like him.

 "You really think things get better?" You ask as you link your hand with his. He doesn't answer right away. He'd be a hypocrite to preach that everything's fine and dandy all the time. Sometimes he doesn't believe it himself. But he keeps going, every day. Just as you do. 

"Yeah I do, I don't know when. But someday it will." You nod and rest your head on his shoulder. It might take a long time until you truly feel better but you can keep going. Waking up and living.

With a hope, no a belief, that someday. It will get better. 

[deerdoegone]

love interest typology, one.

looking for inspiration for a love interest? maybe you don't want a canon or crossover significant other, and want to start from scratch. feel free to use this for your own self, significant other, or even friends but this had romantic intentions. without further ado, here's information and inspiration for the following tropes. western child, the sheriff, the southern traveller, the cowboy, the isolato.

these are all best for small towns, old westerns, southern states, eerie midwest gothic, whatever you can toss a pebble at and land between western cowboy and stern bartender. this is a build-your-own-partner kind of thing. i just provide the tools! some images may include americana or religious motifs, but they are not meant to be the main focus, thank you!

possible traits, the good, the bad, and the neutral. sweet. well-mannered. humorous. loyal. dependable. extroverted. hard-working. honest. charming. intelligent. good-natured. optimistic. energetic. caring. romantic. determined. supportive. open-minded. brave. considerate. calm. dedicated. disciplined. generous. honorable. resourceful. leader. a follower. aggressive. messy. closed-off. dishonest for the sake of others. secretive. quiet. naive. wishful. clumsy. nervous. shy. finicky. detached. imaginative. arrogant. aloof. cowardly. cynical. dull-witted. impatient. indecisive. moody. sarcastic. timid. stubborn. emotional.

possible hobbies, everyone needs a hobby, right? sewing/crochet. horseback riding. line dancing. cooking/baking. hunting. card games. mechanical work. rodeos. rope catching. whittling. archery. gardening. reading. hiking. jogging. collecting. camping. cloud gazing. embroidery. photography. playing guitar

possible love languages, kisses and hugs. gift giving. words of affirmations. physical touches. goodbye forehead kisses. hand holding while lounging around. hand on the thigh while driving. rubbing your back. tippy-toe kisses. tucking you in tighter if they come home late. teaching you their unshared hobbies. hands on yours while showing you how to shoot a winchester rifle.

possible aesthetics, pinboard.

possible face claims, list is incredibly messy, will update. mike faist. gerran howell. anthony boyle. devon bostick, kinda. freddy carter. jacob elordi. justice smith. johnathan daviss. lil nas x, hear me out. reece king. taylor russell. mia goth. julia ling. colman domingo. rami malek. dev patel. young michael imperioli sadie soverall. avantika vandanapu. glen powell. dakota beavers. kuang tian. ayo edibiri. halle bailey. kaya scodelario. zion moreno. sophie wilde. doechii. mari wapichana. blair lamora. richa moorjani. trevor stines. ramona young. fernanda ly. curley gao. ethel cain. phillip bread.

[cheeseborgorbord2]

Beauty Created in the Strangest Way

(amab) Sevika x (afab) Harpy reader headcanons

Men and minors DNI

Warnings: fluff, dead dove content, dead animals, depression, smut, breeding, breastfeeding

Jinx and Isha cammeos

SFW

⇒You and Sevika cuddle and sleep every night in your makeshift nest. She's completely forgotten her own bed exists.

⇒Isha has been teaching Sevika American Sign Language and cues you use to communicate with the lack of hands, while Jinx has been teaching you to speak. You couldn't get it right the first few times, but slowly, you mimicked her. And to Sevika's dismay, you occasionally go on cursing tangents.

⇒You hide any feathers you take off into her hair. Sometimes, you come to her with any old flight feathers and bring them to her as a gift. She now has a box dedicated to all the feathers you give her or that she finds herself.

⇒Sevika noticed something strange about you. Recently, you had become more motherly and protective towards Isha when she and Jinx visited and stayed over. You nearly suffocated Isha trying to incubate her and always kept her in your makeshift nest. You would follow her around to make sure she was safe, even to the bathroom- outside, of course. Even harpies understand privacy.

⇒When Isha wasn't there, you'd baby Sevika. You would chew her food and try to regurgitate it back to her. You'd bring her any rats or mice you caught in the apartment and tried getting her to eat them. Sometimes you'd leave them on her pillow as she slept, scaring the fuck out of her when she woke up.

⇒The feathers around your chest and inner thighs were falling off. Some you pulled yourself. Your intimate areas were becoming more visible. Sevika had to slap some clothes on you so you wouldn't scar Jinx and Isha by accidentally flashing them.

⇒She's begun doing more research on harpies. She's read on behaviors, diet, anatomy, and mating habits and rituals.

⇒She learned that the change in behavior was due to the upcoming mating season. You were getting ready to raise a baby, explaining your treatment towards Isha, a child.

⇒You've stood in your nest for days, not getting up for food or water. Sevika had to get it for you. To lessen the load on you, she would take turns on keeping the nest warm. She wanted to get an understanding of what she might get into.

⇒Then, one miraculous day, you laid an egg. The egg was as large as an emu's, with brown freckles scattered around the white shell. You were so proud of your creation that you brought it to Sevika the moment she returned from work. She could see the joy in your eyes as your feathered tail wagged. She placed a gentle kiss on the egg before handing it back to you.

⇒She watched as you kept the egg warm under your feathers for 2 months.

⇒She also watched as the disappointment and sadness glossed over your eyes when month 3 hit and your first egg never hatched.

⇒You became depressed after your first egg didn't hatch. You wouldn't eat or leave the nest, not wanting to leave your precious egg unattended. Sevika had to fight you to get the egg out, which resulted in several scratches and bites on her attached arm and repairs needed on her mechanical one.

⇒You hadn't eaten in a few days. You refuse to eat. Not even your favorite food, thawed rats, tempts you. Sevika doesn't know what to do.

⇒She brings Jinx and Isha over; she needed some help.

"She won't eat, Jinx! I'm terrified! What if I lose her?" Sevika rambles.

Isha is currently combing through your hair and feathers in comfort.

"When did she stop eating?" Jinx asked.

"After I took her egg away."

"Why would you take her egg away? It's like kidnapping a baby. Even I wouldn't do that," Jinx crossed her arms. "You practically took her baby away."

"Damn it, I know. But her egg didn't hatch. She wouldn't leave her egg. I had to take it."

"What if you get her a fake egg?" Jinx proposes.

"Where in the world am I going to get an egg the size of Isha's head?"

"I dunno," Jinx shrugged. "Wait, did you say the size of Isha's head? Damn...Which side did she push it from?"

"Jinx!" Sevika scolded.

"What? Geez, I can't ask?" Jinx puts her hands up in defense.

Sevika huffed as she looked over at you. She saw how motherly you were with Isha. She didn't know what to do. She felt helpless, and that was her most hated feeling.

⇒One night, as she lays in the nest next to you, she thinks back on the research she did. She remembers a page she read on mating rituals and habits. Female harpies have been known to force humans into mating and becoming sperm donors, resulting in female offspring. Then, an idea popped into her mind; she could willingly mate with you.

⇒The next morning, she caresses your face, her calloused hands running over your skin. You let out a small tired trill as you're awaken with rare gentleness.

"Morning, Birdie. You okay?" She asked, her thumb running along your cheek. You shake your head, resting it against her chest.

"I can make it better."

NSFW

⇒Sevika kisses you with passion and sweetness. She puts all her love in the way she kissed you, the way her hands roamed your feathered body.

⇒Her hands slip off the tube top and boxers she lended you, revealing your fully naked parts to her. She worshipped your nipples with her mouth as her thick fingers ran along your slip.

"You want this, my good girl?" She whispered into your ear. You nod, letting soft moans slip out.

⇒Her fingers start at a low pace inside you at first but speed up when you beg her to.

"P-please, fuck, fuck," you choke out.

⇒When she makes you come, you waste no time in struggling to take her pants off, but damn these wings.

⇒ She's huffing and panting as she thrusts her hips up as her cock drives deeper into your tight pussy. The sounds of skin slapping echo throughout the room. Your gummy walls gripped her like a vice, sucking her in further, the tip of her cock hitting your cervix. Your wings wrap around her as she brings you closer to another orgasm.

"Co...come..ing!" You squeak as your walls spasm around her.

"Fuck!" Sevika groans, her hips thrusting up a final time, her hands holding your hips down as she shoots thick ropes of cum into your womb.

⇒She peppers kisses all over your face after coming down from her orgasm. She gently lays you down against the pillows, allowing you to relax before moving her hips again, fucking her cum more into your womb. Your tits bounce with every impact of her hips against your thighs.

⇒She lifts your hips up, angling them, her shaft rubbing against that special spongy spot that makes you see stars. The friction quickly brings you to your third climax. She slows her movements.

⇒ The next thing you know, she's folding you in half, knees to your chest, into a mating press, roughly pounding herself at the delicious angle. Her heavy balls, churning copious amounts of cum, slap against your slightly feathered ass.

⇒She's whispering sweet nothings into your ears as she gets close.

"Gods, I love you so much. Good girl. I can't wait to have a baby with you."

⇒Her hips deliver the final blow as she busts more seed into your womb, holding you close. Her cum drips out with her cock inside, your womb and pussy filled to the brim.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

SFW (again)

⇒Sevika is happy when you begin eating again.

⇒She's awoken in the middle of the night by you shaking her to show her the five new eggs you finished laying. She smiled, a tear slipping out her eye.

⇒It's been two more months. Any day now, the eggs should hatch. Sevika has called in sick with food poisoning and is staying at home. She wants to be there when her babies are born.

⇒You two are asleep when the sounds of cracking break the silence of the night. You two immediately perk up at the noise. You lift up your feathers to the sight of cracked shells. As you move for Sevika to get a better view, your eyes light up.

⇒Two of the eggs hatched successfully. Two baby harpies are born, naked wings and small yet sharp talons. Their skin is light brown, and they have small tufts of hair and feathers covering spots on their heads.

⇒You hold one baby girl to your breast, helping her latch on, your daughter hungrily feeding. Meanwhile, Sevika holds your other daughter in her arms, looking in adoration at her two daughters.

"They're beautiful."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Headers made with Pinterest images (no art featured in the future is mine, unless stated otherwise). I did make the headers.

Please do not copy my work without credit. Likes and reposts are appreciated.

[sorcerous-caress]

could u possibly do how companions would treat tav's kid? like in a situation where a tav had a child/younger sibling or smth. fluffy fluff all around

You know how sometimes fate aligns so that your past deeds follow you into the future? This request gave me a flashback to my old writing blog.

Companions reacting to Tav's younger sibling/child

[ bg3, fluff, several characters ]

[ Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Karlach, Laezel, Shadowheart, Minthara ]

Astarion

What on earth is that little gremlin following you around? Just make sure that no one feeds it after midnight.

To say he's not a fan is a huge underestimation, he signed up for a camp full of hot available single adults and not a daycare. How are you expecting him to be his usual self when a pg13 warning keeps chasing you around.

Whatever, he will just ignore the goblin-like thing. He can do that, how hard can it be?

Well...actually now that some time has passed, he has to admit that the little menace is really funny at times. Especially that one time he stole Gale's books to build a book throne in the mud, Astarion swears he could still hear Gale's heart shattering into a million pieces, what a fond memory.

What? Pfff, no, he isn't getting attached. He just...well was doing some trick with a coin to make it disappear, and the kid happened to be nearby, Astarion definitely wasn't trying to impress them.

Now the thing about picking locks is that it's better to teach them young. Think of all the small places, nooks, and crannies they could fit into, bringing them some loot and actually be useful.

And since he's already bothering to do it, might as well teach them how to wield a bow. Properly wield a bow, not like how Wyll does it no, it requires elegance only an elf is capable of and Astarion is the most expert here to train them.

Did you see that? They're actually getting better. He genuinely is impressed, so much that he doesn't register the smile of pride adorning his face, the excitement in his voice as he boasts about the kid's accomplishment and how they're clearly superior than the other crotch goblins.

Gale

Ah, children, truly the future of mankind. Humanity's hope and the ones who will carry the torch after us.

He is almost giddy at the idea of having an impressionable youth to teach, to steer and to spoil rotten like he was spoiled.

Will show off magic tricks nonchalantly, he definitely has a hidden agenda in trying to make the kid a wizard. After all who is better than him, an arch wizard, to teach a new curious soul about all the wonders of the weave? No magic is too advanced, everything is possible with imagination.

If anything, kids have the best imagination, better than adults do. Which is the argument he uses when you ask him why your little one can shoot invisible fireballs now.

He would love to read to them, he has all kinds of stories about heros, past legends and fables that will guarantee them a safe and sound mind. A healthy mindest to nurture then into a good kind hearted adult.

Even when his books end up the subject of the kid's abuse kind of a lot- Gale is nothing but forgiving. Cut the kid some slack, if anything, Gale is happy they are safe and sound.

Would make special meals for the kid during dinner time a lot, bunny shaped carrot cuts or soup with a sparkly finish. He can even teach them some basic recipes, cooking is a very important life skill afterall.

Wyll

He is very experienced with kids. Feels a bit concerned for the fact they're at camp all alone and volunteers to stay behind and watch them. And no, unlike the previous two, he doesn't try to indoctrinate them into elf supremacy culture nor tactically manipulate them into being a wizard.

He just lets them be a kid, plays ball with them. Shows them how to play fetch with Scratch. Overall a very cool and laid back older brother.

He definitely takes great inspiration from his own dad and how he raised him, offers the same advice and wisdom his own father shared with him.

Shows the kid that life is so much more than it seems, nothing is truly evil and nothing is truly good. Both can be found in each other. He treats the kid with respect and doesn't pull the older than you card unless necessary.

He wants them to establish their own being, their own character and carve their own path in life.

Definitely does whatever he can to keep Mizora away from the child. That devil cannot be trusted, and even while he knows the kid is smart, he doesn't want to leave it up to fate whether Mizora tricks them into a pact or not.

Halsin

The kid adores him and all of his animal forms. Halsin indulges them a lot and changes into whatever wildshape they deem the coolest that day to play with them.

When he looks at them, he sees a seed for the future. It requires care and nurturing to grow properly, and he is willing to make this world a better place for them.

Shows them how important nature is, how we should take care of the world just like it takes care of us. How we should respect the plants and the animals, how every meal is a gift and should be treasured.

He has a very fatherly vibe to him. It comes naturally, and he doesn't even have to try. Whenever the kid feels overwhelmed or scared, it's Halsin they run up and hide behind.

Also, when they get in trouble too because they know Halsin will take their side.

And he knows the kid is using him sometimes, but he lets it slide. Takes the kid on walks a lot, helps them make friends with the nearby cat that sometimes frequents the camp.

There is a potted plant they're both growing, a small shared project between the two of them. Halsin adores the look of happiness the kid has whenever the plant sprouts a new leaf and grows taller.

They don't have to know that it was Halsin's powers keeping it alive throughout the frequent changing of their camp and consistent travelling.

Karlach

Little soldier is what she calls them.

Picks them up a lot after her engine gets fixed, let's them ride on her shoulder and hang on to her horns sometimes. Even indulges them and pretends she is a robot that they're controlling.

Sorry Astarion, she can't stop hugging you. She's a simple robot, and the overlord kid on her shoulders demanded it.

While Wyll is the cool yet dependable older sibling, Karlach is the even cooler one who's very chaotic and would help the kid in their pranks and cause trouble a lot.

Ah, what the hell kid, sure you can pick up her great flaming axe and swing it around. Actually she will use a nearby table as a shield and you should definitely try throwing it at her.

It's not that she means to be a bad influence, it's just that she is extremely indulgent. That it circles back to being a bad influence without meaning to.

They want to only eat sweets for dinner and all day? Hell yeah little soldier she wants the same. They want to do it for the rest of eternity and never eat vegetables again? Sign her the fuck up because she is ride or die.

Oh yeah, your kid/sibling can swear now, thanks to her, you're welcome.

Jaheira

Is the one feeding them the vegetables, after telling Karlach off and putting her in the timeout corner.

It's not enough that she has a gaggle of children back home, but you had to bring another one with you to the camp? Oh cub, you and your own little cub are going to be the death of her.

If Halsin thinks he can hide them behind his bear form he better think twice, Jaheira isn't below putting the both of them in line if she has to.

She demands respect, and the kid definitely ends up giving it to her, begrudgingly or not. They understand she is the true form of authority in this camp and that they better do what she says and finish their chores.

They definitely see her as a grandma. She is secretly touched if they call her that but acts unaffected. She just doesn't want to let the kid down. She has to be strict because medicine never tastes sweet.

They remind her of her own kids backhome sometimes, she does get homesick a lot more with them around.

Shadowheart

No, she isn't emo. No, she isn't goth either. What is this kid talking about? They better know that worship of lady Shar is very sacred and not a passing phase she will grow out of.

You know how kids are overly curious and always ask these intrusive questions? Shadowheart is a magnet for that.

They just go up to her ,unannounced, and tell her about the recent camp news. She sips on her wine and gives the kid a glass of grape juice while they gossip.

Yes, she is a half elf. No, she is still as capable as an elf.

Wait, what did Astarion say about her? Really? Well, kid, thanks for being a snitch now. If you'd excuse her, she has urgent business to take care of.

She sees them and wonder if this is how her childhood was supposed to be like, if this is what she was missing out on all her life. Sometimes she can't help the burning envy at the back of her throat as she watches them be showered with love and care for simply existing.

But she doesn't let the bitterness get to her, not with how the kid looks at her in awe and admiration. She vows to be at least a decent example and not disappoint them.

Laezel

If left unattended, she will start a boot camp. Come one kid, get down, and give her 40 push-ups now.

What? She is just looking out for them. How else are they supposed to join the battlefield if they have no upper body strength?

Yes, the battlefield, why do you ask? Of course, she wants them in the front lines eventually. War is the perfect environment to raise a child, to make them strong and fast. You were very smart for bringing them here with you, she has to admit.

Bah, she scoofs at Karlach and Astarion's ways. It is a danger hazard at best. The kid needs to start with training equipment and not actual weapons. Her companions' lack of braincells does surprise her sometimes.

Well...she also does mention the fact that for them to graduate, they have to actually murder someone from the camp. You know, like how she murdered half her classmates when she was still in training.

She actually...does a good job at training them safely, she evaluates their weakness and strengths and gives them advice based on it on how to improve. She looks out for their well-being and shows them the most efficient way to end a fight.

But she's only joking? Right? Right???

Uh....did anyone see Gale??

Minthara

To put it in the nicest way possible, they are terrfied of her.

She thinks it's good because any sane person should be afraid of her. Frankly, she'd be concerned for a possibility of brain damage if they weren't.

They avoid her, and she barely pats an eye over it.

Although she was always the first to act whenever they were in danger, completely beheading the enemy with her sword before they could touch a hair on the kid. Still she doesn't care for the fact the child is drenched in blood and just saw someone get murdered.

She thinks they should get over it. The sooner, the better. Life is full of murder and blood, you'd be only dooming them if you don't let them see things for how they really are.

Drow culture for raising their children is very brutal, most of them die young and even the ones who do make it alive, don't live as long as the surface elves do.

Each drow carries deep scars from childhood, both on body and mind. Minthara wasn't the exception.

She tolerates your young out of respect for you. She tolerates what she deems as disobedience and disrespect from them.

You're not sure if they'll ever stop fearing her, but you also know that you can trust her to be there for them. To not hesitate a second in saving their flesh no matter what the cost is.

[miyaz6ki]

hello reshi good weather today innit

first of all iwant to say that i LOVE YOUR WORKS i gobbled them all up its not funny 😂😂😂😂😂hheneelelpp…… the brainrot is real and its eating AWAY!!!!!!!!!

seconf of all i keep going back to your kinich breeding kink fic. which made me wonder liek what do u think about dad kinich ,??:?\ mmmaybbeee…. mayhaps…

FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS no pressure ^_^

also can i be 🦢 anon i think ill probably return

hallo 🦢 nonnie!!!1!1!1 and ty, I'm happy lots of ppl read n enjoy my stuff, feel free to send more ideas >_0

he'd honestly frfr be a super good dad. like as someone who's learned that life is precious, and he's happy to have made some with you.

but if you take it in the single parent kinich aspect instead—he's just such a good dad, and often leaves hi child with mualani IF he still decides on doing saurian hunter stuff. but for sure I feel he'd leave the night warden war stuff behind

he honestly felt...somewhat scared. he fact he might have been about to lose his chance to hold his little girl again :(

oh but real talk he'd let his kid get their own saurian. I feel like he'd get them a saurian that is anything but whatever ajaw is.

he loves to throw them up in the air like genuinely he loves it so much.

same with swinging them, probably makes a playground set for them from scratch because his kid asked

he watches cartoons w your guys' children and acts like it doesn't really hurt him when something crazy happens to the mc

like ex. trolls when poppy lost her color. he was just as heartbroken as your daughter.

lowkey gains a dad bod if you think about it >_0

he always does the "ask your mom/other das" when it comes to serious stuff or things he doesn't wanna answer

example: kid asks about where babies come from..? go ask your mother sweetheart.

he brings the kid on his adventures sometimes—sometimes—only because it's his gift to them. but he knows if it were any other occasion then the kid's birthday you would kill him 💞

whenever you both do corny couple stuff the kid is always gonna go "ewwww!!" and run away while laughing.

"well would you rather me and your daddy fight all the time?" you joke as you finish braiding the little splitting image of you both's hair. "nooo! never! but you guys are cheesy!"

ajaw will be teaching the kid swear words and then blame it on kinich

like randomly while you and kinich are discussing things about I don't know getting a yumkasaurus for your little girl—you hear the same little one shout the word 'fuck.'

"where on earth did you hear that word from young lady!" "from daddy." "KINIIIICH!!"

and ajaw giggles behind the curtain watching everything unfold and he's rubbing his hands together like "muehehhehe... ur done kinich!!!..." even when u meant ur scolding light hearted after finding out about uncle ajaw. and will scold ajaw later.

thanks for coming to my ted talk

[hmslusitania]

Just like life to come and teach me a lesson every time I swear I forget it (Chapter 6)

hi hey hello hi I'm back from the dead. Please enjoy this new chapter of now-adult-previously-child-star!Kon and workaholic-CEO!Tim

“How does the CEO become the expert in anti-corruption?” Clark asks, examining the minimal decorations in Tim’s dining room when Tim has him over a week later. “At the age of, what, twenty-five?”

“Um, not until July,” Tim says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and examining his decorations as well. He’d only put them up in the last week — prints of some of his favourite photographs he’s taken. Mostly, they’re family shots taken in various candid moments, but there’s a few that are just artistic. “But, you know, the stereotype is that New Jersey is just a few dozen mob families in a trench coat pretending to be a state, and that’s a gross exaggeration, everywhere except Gotham. Bruce had been so focused on the philanthropy branches of Wayne Enterprises, which I don’t fault him for, but it meant when I took over there were some… irregularities? And so I spent, like, the first year and a half figuring out how to get the corruption out of WE basically by myself because I was the only person on the staff who I could guarantee wasn’t in anyone’s pocket. So I got pretty good at figuring out what was up and where.”

“That sounds… lonely,” Clark says, glancing at a picture of Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim from about ten years ago.

Tim shrugs. “I was a college dropout so all my friends were still in school. It’s not like I had anything better to do. And my family was around, they’re just not business people.”

Clark’s face twists like he’s fighting against the urge to say something — Tim’s got even odds on whether it’s direct concern for him, or an indictment of the adults in Tim’s life — but he stifles it and takes a seat at the dining table.

Keep reading

[monimccoythings]

Random headcanons of Alastor and his child!reader

This will mix headcanons from both the living and the afterliving times.

Tw: Controlling behavior, implied cannibalism, references to murder.

This is not proof read so I apologize for any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

Your home is always filled with music. Be it the radio, a record player or him singing. There's always someone playing a tune. Even now at the hotel you can always find him in one of the common rooms humming a song or with his cathedral radio on.

Loves dancing with you, you'll be helping him cook and next thing you know he is swirling you around the room, music mixing with your combined laughter.

From a very young age, he will teach you to love the radio. He is immensely proud of his job (the legal one) and wants to share it with you.

Likes to treat your wounds and illness the traditional way, just like he used to when you were alive. You got a scratch? He is cleaning it for you and bandaging it up. You are down with something? He'll wrap you in blankets with a hot water bottle and feed you old family remedies and warm soup. If the wound or illness is way too severe to his liking, he will immediately make it go away with a snap of his fingers, otherwise he just likes to act like your caregiver and mother hen you.

Really loves to pull the 'single hardworking dad' act that makes the mothers and female teachers at your school swoon. He is not really interested in pursuing anything further with them, but boy, does he enjoy the attention.

He likes to check on you while you are sleeping. Sometimes he just stays there, quietly watching you sleep, his ever present smile growing bigger as a sense of pride fills his chest.

Lots of dad jokes, I think he's the only one who could pull it off and have everyone laugh. It goes with his radio host charisma and personality.

He does your hair. This man has singlehandledly researched and become well versed in the art of braiding hair. Braids, pigtails, or just brush it, you call it, you got it.

Alastor loves control and having power over people, he is the kind of dad that will subtly talk you out of doing something he doesn't approve of, just using his inmense charms and smooth talking skills to convince you into thinking this was your decision after doing some critical thinking. "Cher, I don't think you should do X, how about you do Y instead?" "I'm sure your friend is too busy to hang out today, why don't we go to the ice cream shop?" He won't ever put you down or make you feel bad about anything, but if you are deviating for the path that he has already set for you (the safe path) he will immediately persuade you to go back to the right way, his way. In Hell that aspect of him has become a million times worse, since he has already lost you once and has become someone with many dangerous enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use you to get back at him. His overprotectiveness and controlling behavior skyrocket when he becomes a demon, which eventually will come back to bite him in the ass.

Doesn't like having anyone question about your biological parents. He is your parent. You don't need anybody else.

Alastor is not fond of physical affection, unless he is the one initiating it. But, since he has had you since you were a baby, he has mostly grown used to your touch. He has become proficient enough in detecting your moods that he knows exactly when you are going to need a hug, a kiss or some other kind of physical comfort, so he can get ahead and start the contact first. He admits that one of his favorite ways nowadays to show affection to you is ruffling your fluffy hair, lightly tickling your ears, his eyes fill with joy when your ears get all twitchy.

Your room back at the hotel is a carbon copy of the one you had back when you were alive, but bigger, and with a private old timey bathroom. Alastor likes to come in whenever he pleases, he is the unliving embodiment of "I'm respecting your privacy by knocking but asserting my authority as your parent by coming in anyway". He even said so once. Word by word.

You can't stand Mimzy. Sorry, it's a fact, she always gets your name wrong and only comes by if she needs something from your dad. She seems to not be very fond of you either, can't understand why in Hell Alastor would waste his time so willingly just to take care of a snooty brat that ain't even his. But your father seems to like her enough, so you swallow up your critics.

When he was alive, and came back from a 'hunt', he always brought a little memorabilia for you, maybe some old watch, a fancy toy or trinket the victim had on them at that moment. Whatever little thing that wasn't too incriminating and pretty enough to be worthy of you. Now that you know the truth, you can't stop wondering with dread if every little thing he gifts you belonged once to a poor tormented soul that crossed in his path.

Might had fed you human remians in his stews. He utterly denies it, claiming that he would never do that to your delicate stomach. But the suspicious way his eyes quickly dart around the room, makes you think otherwise. It was the Great Depression after all, food was scarce. You'd rather not dwell too much on it or you will never eat anything ever again.

He is a monster, and it pained you to have been so blind all these years, but even after discovering his true nature, the only thing you could say about his parenting before that terrible night of the discovery, was that he was an excellent dad, a tad bit overbearing and overprotective, but a great parent nonetheless.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - BEGIN AGAIN

A/N: And here I am, once again. With another one-shot. Well... not a one-shot. This is chapter one of a series with Logan. More on that later.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: none

Summary: After a failed mission, Logan unexpectedly brings home an injured mutant.

Please, do not read if you are under 18. This story includes mentions of abuse.

Words: 5300+

Important note: Again, Logan is a tall MF, because they fucked up in the movies. Also, Hugh Jackman!Wolverine.

A TOUCH OF HOPE MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - BEGIN AGAIN

Logan’s mission was a failure, a trap. He was glad he got away before he could end up in a cage, locked forever. It was supposed to be easy. An in-and-out mission with a mutant child. Fuck no. He was met with a bunch of soldiers, ready to kill him. And, there was no child. He quickly learned that it was a set-up. The child that Charles had found got moved away from that facility. 

On his way back to the school, he found a place to get a drink. The moon was up in the sky, illuminating the night world. The air got colder. He still had a long road home. One little detour to a bar wouldn’t hurt anybody, right? A drink would lift his spirits.

He parked a stolen motorbike in front of a dive bar. Drink or two to get his mindset straight, and then he would head back to the school. 

The place smelled like a hellhole - urine, spilt alcohol and cigars. It was a perfect place to hide a corpse. By the smell, he wondered if there wasn’t a rotten body under the floor. He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and minded his business. He could hear everything with his enhanced hearing - even a pin drop. 

Whistles came from behind his back when he was on his second beer. That could only mean one thing - a woman entered this hellhole. Probably a hooker, he thought. 

“Hey baby, are you lost?” he heard someone’s sleazy voice. 

“Now that’s what I call entertainment for tonight!” another man shouted. Some even made howling sounds. 

Logan gently turned his head to the side, ready to see an old hag or a trashy whore. What he found was a young woman approaching the bar. She had torn old clothes on her, covered in dirt and dust. He wouldn’t stare at her if it weren’t for the bruises and scratches on her face and hands. He frowned. What the fuck happened to her? 

She took a seat two seats to his left side. The corner of his eyes captured three scumbags approaching her as if she was their prey. Logan gripped his beer bottle tighter, his knuckles becoming white. 

“Baby, let’s have some fun,” one guy touched the woman’s shoulder, making her face them. 

“Leave me alone,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Come on, sugar, don’t be a prude,” another man touched her cheeks, mapping the wounds on her face. “Somebody had their turn. Now, we want to have some fun. Huh?” 

It was Logan’s cue to step in. He was fast enough to take the man’s hand off the woman. He gripped it tightly with his, twisting it. “Leave her alone, dipshit. I’m not gonna say it twice.” 

“Get your paw off me, dude,” the man growled. He couldn’t get away from Logan’s hold. His friends got his back, ready to beat Logan’s ass. “And leave before the we will teach you a lesson.”

The woman’s breathing sped up, distressed from everything that was happening. “Stop, please,” she said to all of them. But she was cornered at the bar by one of the guys. There was nowhere to escape.

Logan smiled at the bastards. “I’d like to see you try.” 

His adamantium claws slid out and penetrated the man’s skin on his arm, almost cutting off the limb. He screamed from the pain, blood spurting everywhere. Then was kicked in the gut. 

One of the men grabbed the woman’s shoulder, pushing her to him. A knife appeared under her throat. He wanted to get away with her. “No, please,” she gasped as she felt the man’s other hand wrapped around her torso, holding her against her will. She was tired, beaten and ready to give up. 

“Shh, darlin’, it’ll be over soon. We’ll have some fun. Be a good girl and come with me.” 

Logan’s eyes found the woman visibly disgusted and afraid. As he was about to finish the second guy, the woman pushed the bastard off her. 

“No,” she screamed. And with that painful sound, some force escaped her body, knocking down everyone around her, even Logan. He flew through the bar and smashed into a wall like the rest of the people. Glasses and bottles shattered around the place. 

Logan grunted, surprised by what happened. Slowly, he got on his feet. His eyes found the woman again, standing at the same spot, alone. Her body was shaking. It seemed she was on the verge of crying. 

Grunting, he stood up and walked to her. She pressed herself against the bar. “No, please.”

“Don’t worry,” his voice was softer than before. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, kid.” 

She took a step back, shaking her head. She didn’t believe a word he said. No wonder. 

Fuck this night! Then and there, he knew he had to take her with him. At least he wouldn’t come empty-handed. 

“We are the same,” he tried again, slowly reaching for her. “I can take you to a safe place. There are people like us who can help you.” 

His eyes scanned the woman’s face. He knew only two options could have happened: A) She got beaten up by her significant other. B) She escaped some sick fuckers who experimented on her. 

People around were getting on their feet, shaking off the dizziness. They were processing what happened. Some of them were able to put two and two together - mutants.

“Come before they try to kill us both,” Logan tried her again. “Take my hand. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“Fucking mutants!” someone shouted. “Kill them! Kill them both!”

This time, the woman didn’t hesitate and grabbed Logan’s hand. What choice did she have? He led her out of the bar before the first gunshots started. He got to his bike and sat on it. “Quick, hop behind me.” 

At least seven men ran out of the bar with shotguns and pistols, shooting at them. One of the bullets hit Logan’s shoulder. He snarled from the pain. He started the bike before more shots could get to him or the woman. 

When he felt her body against his back, he started the engine. “Hold me tight,” he shouted at her. 

The woman grabbed him by the waist, gripping him tightly. The gunshots weren’t stopping. A few of them swished near their heads. Her heart beat fast. She gave her life to some stranger. The last time that happened, they tortured her. 

One of her hands let go of the man’s and turned her weak body to the side. One more time, the power escaped her hand, and she protected them from the bullets that kept flying around. Again, a veil of some energy surrounded them. Under the moonlight, it seemed silvery and light blue.  Bullets got absorbed into the shield. 

It lasted only a few seconds, and then the energy disappeared. The shooting stopped. Logan got them far away from that hellhole. Now, it was just the two of them on the bike driving away. 

“You okay?” he asked, shouting through the wind. 

He then felt her other arm sneak around his waist to hold onto him. The rest of her body leaned against his back. He heard a deep exhale and a soft “yeah”. 

He couldn’t believe anything that happened today - first, a failed mission that almost got him captured. Now, a woman on his bike, whom he saved from pervs. Plot twist - she was a mutant with an ability he had never seen before. 

And he didn’t know her name. 

Logan registered that her body got heavier, and the grip on his waist loosened. “Shit,” he cursed and slowed down, bringing the vehicle to a stop. He moved fast, doing his best to capture her body before she could fall. 

“Hey,” he shook her a little as he took her into his arms. “Come on, kid, I need you to come back and look at me.”

Unknowingly, he brushed her cheek with his thick fingers. Damn, she was pretty. That’s when she opened her eyes slowly, staring into his. “I’m sorry,” was all she said. 

“That’s okay, kid. Can you hold on a little longer? We are two and a half hours away from a safe place.” 

She took a deep breath. “Please, just kill me and don’t make me suffer.” 

Logan frowned. He got an answer he wondered. Option B was the correct one. “What? No, not happening, bub. I won’t harm ya. I promise you that.”

“I’ve heard that before.” 

“I get it, kid. I get you have no reason to believe me. Just this once, trust me.” 

He helped her to her feet, holding her tight in case she’d lost balance. Her eyes found his. Tears were sparkling inside of them. “Okay,” she whispered. 

“Good girl,” he praised her gently and helped her get on the bike behind him. “If you need anything, tell me and I’ll stop. Keep your eyes open.”

I should have stolen a car, he thought. But at least they were on their way to Charles Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. 

They entered the school’s estate. From afar, they could see the lights coming from the building. The woman exhaled, and her hands again lost their grip. This time, she fell from the bike onto the hard ground. It was so quick that he didn’t have time to notice she was slipping off him. “Shit!” Logan cursed and brought the bike to a halt, jumping off it. 

He ran to the woman, kneeling next to her. First, he checked her up, just to be sure she wasn’t dead. “Hey, hey,” he tapped her face, trying to wake her. Nothing happened. His fingers managed to find a pulse. Fortunately, it was there. “Storm! Charles!” he shouted from the top of his lungs. “Anyone!” 

Logan grabbed her body, holding her under the knees and back. He started to walk to the school. One of her arms was hanging in the air. 

The main entrance door opened. Several people ran outside. Storm was the first one out, followed by Beast and Bobby. They were all dressed in sleep outfits. Their sleep was interrupted by the unexpected turn of events. It was two in the morning. 

“Holy shit,” Bobby commented when he noticed the woman in Logan’s arms. 

“Oh my god! What happened?” Storm questioned. 

Together, they walked inside the mansion and headed to the lower grounds where they had their infirmary. It was hard to be silent. When they walked inside, Logan put the woman on an examination table. 

“Damn,” Scott commented. 

Jean was already there, prepping the tools. When she approached the woman, she gasped. “What the hell happened to her?” Storm helped as much as she could. Hank approached the table as well.

Logan was visibly pissed. His chest was heaving, and he wanted to punch a wall. “Where the fuck is Charles?” he asked loudly. “Fucking mission, fucking night!” 

“Who did this to her?” Storm asked, her hands gently brushing the woman’s bruised face. It played with colours, spreading from one side to the other. Her fingers brushed against the scratches. “What’s her name?” 

Logan huffed. “Don’t know. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity to chit-chat when scumbags were shooting at us,” he explained to them. “All I know is she’s a mutant. She protected our asses. That’s why I brought her here.” 

“Vitals are stable. There is no internal bleeding.” Jean informed them once she checked the first data that she got. “Hm,” a sound escaped her throat. “We need to scan her body to see if she has anything broken.”

“Logan had to get a child, and he comes back with a woman,” Scott commented not so silently. 

“Scott,” Ororo glared at him. “He saved her life.” 

“You’re such a dick, Summers,” Logan frowned at him. 

“It’s good you brought her here, Logan,” Hank joined the conversation. 

“She was about to become a toy for some fuckers who can’t keep their dick in their pants,” Logan said. “And then she showed me what’s in her. I’ve seen a lot of shit throughout my life. Honestly, I’ve never seen this kind of mutation.”

“What did she do?” Hank asked. Everyone wanted to know more. 

The Wolverine grunted and shook his head. “Dunno how to describe it. Some force got out of her that threw us all away from her. It was powerful, it stung like a bitch. It looked like a veil of energy. When she used it again, it absorbed all the bullets fired at us.” 

“Flyrokinesis?” Jean questioned. 

“It’s a possibility,” Hank nodded. “But I’d need to see it. Or it could be Flyrogenesis.” 

“Or both,” Jean added.

“Defensive mutations are rare,” Storm chimed in. “It’s been decades since we got any information about a mutant like this.”

“Until we know more, we can only speculate,” Hank ended the discussion. 

“Let’s give her some rest,” Jean turned to the screens. “She’ll be out for a while, and we all need to rest. We’ll know more tomorrow.” 

They left the infirmary one by one and headed back to their rooms. The last two people who remained were Storm and Logan. Both of them stayed by the unconscious woman. “I cannot believe someone did this to her,” she said. 

“I think she escaped some lab,” said Logan. “When she was conscious, she didn’t believe I wanted to take her to a safe place. She wanted me to kill her.”

“It’s a good thing you brought her here, Logan,” Storm patted his shoulder. 

Logan’s eyes kept travelling around the woman’s face, taking in her hair and their colour. “For now, we can only guess what happened. But, fuck, she looked like she escaped hell.” 

. . .

White light, so bright it hurt her eyes. It was painful to open her eyes. She slowly got used to it by rapid blinking. The white turned into silver, then steel-blue, until the first outlines appeared. Her ears registered a steady beeping sound. Where the hell was she? What happened? What was this palace? Panic started to rise inside her chest. Her body started to shiver.

There was a man who promised to take her to a safe place. How could she trust a stranger?

Fuck, it was hard to breathe. The beeping sound fastened. She ended up locked somewhere. Again. It was another lab - she was sure of it. 

A woman’s face appeared above her. She had short white hair and a smile on her face. Weird. “It’s okay, you are safe,” were the first words she heard. “Calm your breathing. You are in distress.”

“W-what-”

“You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you here,” the woman had a soothing voice. 

“W-where am I?” she whispered with fear. Her whole body was shaking. Tears threatened to escape her eyes.

“You are in a school for mutants,” she explained. 

“School?” 

“Yes, school. It is not a lab or some kind of crazy facility. We have children here who are like us, special.” 

A school for mutants, she repeated inside her head. New emotion came to her face - confusion. “I don’t understand. W-who are you?” 

“My name is Ororo Munroe,” she introduced herself. “But they also call me Storm.” 

She tilted her head to the side. “Storm?” 

“I have weather-manipulating abilities,” she said with a smile. “What’s your name?” 

 She took a deep breath. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N,” she introduced herself, eyes never leaving Ororo’s dark ones. Y/N sat up carefully. 

It had to be a lab. There were monitors and displays with data. Her eyes lowered to her hands, and she saw an IV on top of her hand. Y/N realised her hands were not tied up. Was Storm telling the truth? 

“How are you feeling, Y/N? Do you need anything?” 

“Uh,” she tried to find the right words. “I’m tired, my whole body hurts, and I am confused.” 

“Give it a moment. It will all click together. I can promise you that,” said Storm. 

The door to the infirmary opened. An older man wheeled in on a modified wheelchair. Y/N’s eyes followed his every move. He was bald but dressed in a fancy suit. He had a gentle smile on his lips. 

“Y/N,” he said her name. 

She frowned, not expecting anyone to know her. It was alarming. “How do you know my name?” 

“Y/N, this is Professor Charles Xavier. He’s like us, a mutant. He has an all-powerful brain thanks to his telepathic powers,” Storm introduced the man to her. “He’s the headmaster of the school.” 

He approached the woman, gently touching her hand. “I am so sorry for your suffering, but please know you are safe here.” 

“Don’t…” she raised her hand. “Please, don’t read my mind.” 

“I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t want to pry. It’s just that your thoughts were screaming so loud, it was impossible not to hear them,” Charles explained to her. “I will not talk about it. It is up to you to share your story.” 

Her shoulders dropped, and she relaxed. “Thank you.” 

“Now, let me tell you about this place,” he wheeled a bit farther away from her, observing the room as if he were there for the first time. “In this school, we not only teach children and help them learn their mutations, but we also accept fugitives and help them learn.” 

She tilted her head, wincing in pain. “Are you offering me a place to stay?” her voice was softer than before. 

“That is if you want to,” Charles nodded. 

It came as a shock. Tears appeared in her eyes. “I don’t have to run anymore?” she asked timidly.

“No, Y/N,” he smiled. “You are safe here, with us.” Charles wheeled back to the door, obviously pleased. “Welcome to the X-Mansion. If you need anything, come see me in my office.” And then he was gone. 

Y/N turned her head to Ororo, wiping off the tears that gathered in her eyes. It was all surreal. “I was expecting many things to happen, but not this.” And then, “Wait, but I have nothing. No money, no clothes. I can’t afford to stay here. I can’t give you anything.” 

Ororo stopped her. “Don’t worry about it. First, you need to get better. You still have bruises and wounds around your body that need to heal.”

Y/N’s hands shot up to her face, fingers grazing over scratches. Then, under her fingertips, she felt a bruise under her eye that hurt a little. Her eyes were looking for a mirror or a reflection. She needed to see the damage. Her mind wandered into her memories, looking back at what happened. For now, it was all a mush. Everything that had happened overlapped. She pressed fingers to her temple, massaging them. 

“You okay?” Ororo’s hand appeared on her shoulder. 

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, just a mild headache.” 

Half an hour later, she met more people - Dr. Jean Grey, who ran more tests on her. She X-rayed Y/N’s entire body just to be sure there was nothing broken. Later, she did a scan to see if there was any indication that would capture Y/N’s mutant power. 

When Y/N met Hank, she got scared. She never saw a mutant who looked like that - a blue ball of fur and monster claws. No, he was not a monster. He looked like a beast. “I’m sorry,” she quickly apologised. 

Hank was with Jean, looking at scans they made together. “Do you see that?” he asked, his thick blue finger pointing at the blue hue floating inside her body. “Have you seen anything like that before?” 

“No,” she said. “But it’s nothing, to be honest. It barely showed in the scan. It might not even mean anything.” 

“Or it can be everything,” Hank looked at Jean. “But I agree, so far we have nothing. She’ll be healthy in no time. But, we need to know what she can do.” 

After the tests, Ororo brought her a bathrobe and took her upstairs. It was a perfect time to walk around the mansion. All the kids were in their classes or outside, and no one was around. 

Y/N’s eyes wandered around the place. She couldn’t take in how massive the institute was. It carried the history and memories of so many people. Overall, in one word, this place was magnificent. “This is amazing,” she whispered. 

Ororo’s hands held her shoulder as they walked to the highest floor in the mansion. She opened one of the many doors. They belonged to a bedroom. “Is this yours?” Y/N asked. 

“No,” Storm closed the door. “This will be your room, Y/N. You have a bathroom here,” she pointed at the door beside the bed. “And a closet.”

“I thought that this was your room. It’s too nice.” 

Storm laughed. “I have my room on a different level. Here’s how it works: The students share bedrooms. The youngest are in groups of three to four. The older two to three. Adults like privacy, so they have a room for themselves.” 

Y/N nodded, understanding what she was saying. “Thank you.” 

After Storm gave Y/N instructions, she was left alone in the bedroom. She had to sit down on a bed to take it all in. They gave her a bed, hot water, and so much more. It seemed surreal. What if this was all a dream? She sat in silence, waiting for someone to wake her up with torture.

Five minutes passed, then ten and fifteen. Nothing happened. Maybe it was real. Y/N pinched herself, and it hurt. It is real. She went into the bathroom and took a shower. Everything was there - towels, soaps, shampoos. 

Surreal. 

Clothes were resting on her bed when she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in fluffy towels. There were jeans, socks, underwear, bras, t-shirts, sweaters, hell even shoes. There were only a few pieces from each item. Y/N pressed her fingers to her temples. She wanted to cry. How is it possible that her life turned upside down in less than a day? 

Once fully dressed, she opened the door and peeked into the hallway. No one was present. She walked outside, clean and fresh, ready to explore the place more. Her walk was careful and slow. Her fingertips touched everything she could reach - the wooden walls, the statues and the paintings. Her eyes were travelling around the place, taking it all in. 

What was fascinating was the portraits of Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen and other novelists. It brought her memories of when she would read books in her bedroom.

“You alright, kid?” 

That voice was familiar. It made Y/N turn her eyes to see a well-built man with unusual facial hair. She couldn’t deny he was handsome. She had to blink a few times. This man was the guy who got her here. As she observed him, the white tank top with a black flannel shirt over it, she tilted her head to the side. Damn.

“Yeah,” she said. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he took a few steps closer to her. 

“You are the guy who brought me here,” she pointed a finger at him but quickly retracted it. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I remember so little from that day.” 

“Well, tough night.”

There was a flash of memory from that night. His face, looking down at her, lips moving and saying something that she couldn’t quite comprehend. “Sorry for ruining your evening.” 

He chuckled. “You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” 

She opened her mouth but then closed it. She didn’t know what to say. The man talked instead. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“Y/N,” she introduced herself.

“Logan.”

“Logan,” she whispered his name. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for saving my ass.”

He only nodded. “I should get goin’. I have a class to teach,” he said. 

She crossed her arms akimbo. “You teach? Here? In this school?” 

“What, is it that hard to believe?” he chuckled. 

“Actually, yeah. You don’t look like the guy who wants to teach kids,” she commented. “What do you teach?” 

“History and combat training.” 

Y/N opened her mouth but then made a face, perplexed. “Combat training?” Why would they teach combat training in a school? And then it hit her, to defend themselves if necessary. 

Logan walked past her, heading to the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 

She gave him a simple nod, and then he was gone. Y/N’s eyes had trouble pulling away from the spot she saw him. This Logan guy was a handsome man with a rough exterior. 

She continued walking through the long hallway until she found another set of stairs that she took to a lower level. She must have been walking like this for another thirty minutes until she came down to the entrance hallway. This place was indeed huge. 

She kept turning, trying to figure out which way to go next. A school bell started to ring. Another lesson was over. The doors opened, and kids of all ages walked out. There were so many of them. And they were all happy. They weren’t lying. This building was filled with them - from the youngest kids to teenagers. 

A paper plane flew before her eyes, steadily floating in the air. A boy used his ability to make them fly. Magical. 

Her eyes captured Storm walking with another man, chatting. It was probably another teacher. Y/N decided to wait for Storm and ask about the place some more until someone shouted: “Watch out!” 

Y/N spun on her heel. Her breath got lost when she found a fireball heading straight to her. Her hands immediately went up in the air. To protect herself, a veil of blue hue covered her whole being. It was a forcefield, and it absorbed the fireball. Y/N could feel the energy in her palms.

Why would anyone throw a fireball? That scared the shit out of her. The veil disappeared once the danger was gone, and her hands fell to her body. She took a few deep breaths. Her eyes caught a boy staring at her with big eyes. Was it him who did it? Impressive. 

“Did you see that?” 

“Who is she?” 

“What kind of power is that?” 

The students saw it all. They whispered about it while staring right at her. There were many of them looking and talking. The voices rang in her head. Just calm down, Y/N, she told herself. They are just kids. 

Storm’s eyes were wide and sparkling with excitement. She was fast enough to run to her. “Forcefield,” she exclaimed. 

Y/N twisted and turned on the spot, looking at everyone. All eyes were on her. It made her feel vulnerable. Her eyes caught Logan standing at the stairs, observing. She couldn’t read his face. 

“Everyone back to your classes,” Logan ordered the students. 

“Amazing,” Storm commented. “We were wondering what your power was.” 

Y/N’s eyes widen. She’d never heard someone say that to her. Creep! A woman’s voice screamed inside her head. Murderer! Psychotic bitch! She wrapped her hands around herself, taking a step back. It all came back again. 

“Hey, hey,” Storm put her hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to hide here. We are all the same. The students were surprised by your ability.” 

Come to my office, Y/N, she heard in her head. She spun on her heel to look around, trying to find the source of the voice. 

“I think I heard the… the Professor,” she said.

“He’s in his office. That way,” Storm turned Y/N to the right side. There was a hallway leading to a big wooden door. 

Y/N managed to catch Logan’s eyes looking at her before he left. He was something else - that’s how she could describe it. 

Hesitantly, she walked over to the door, ready to knock, when she heard the Professor telling her to come in. As said, she opened the door and walked inside. She was met with the older bald man, still wearing fancy clothes. 

“Take a seat.” 

Y/N sat on a brown leather armchair. The place smelled like wood and books. There were lots of them. The armchair was comfortable. Her back was straight, and her body was stiff, always ready to run if necessary. 

“I would like to know more about your mutation,” he wheeled closer to her. 

“What do you want to know?” 

He smiled. “Anything you’d like to share with me. I know I can look, but I don’t want to pry.” When he saw the distrustful look, he chose different words. “The more we know about your power, the better we can train you. We can give you more information about your mutation.”

“How can I know you won’t use it against me?” 

Charles nodded. “You don’t. We will need to build the trust together.” 

“Before I answer you,” she took a deep breath. There were some questions, and she needed answers. “What exactly do you do here?” 

The man sighed. “What you see is true - this is a school. There was an idea it would become a mixed school for mutants and humans. That never came to life. Now, it is a safe place for mutant kids, disapproved by the regular society. I find children around the States, and we bring them here - if they want to. Occasionally, we give adults a place to stay, like we did for you.” 

It was sincere. Charles wasn’t lying. She could feel it. “This ability showed when I was around 15. I know that it can protect me when I am in danger. I can sense the energy in my hands when I let it out. I can’t protect another person if you are wondering.”

“But…” he goaded. 

“I killed with this burst of energy. I hurt people with it. I believe you saw it, didn’t you?” 

Charles nodded. “Yes, I did. You can create a protective force field that keeps you out of danger. For example, what happened minutes ago, the fireball one of the students accidentally threw at you.”

She frowned at him, not liking what he was saying. “Then why did I kill with it?”

“There is an explanation to it. From what I saw-” 

“When I asked you not to look,” she cut his speech. 

“I apologise, Y/N. It is not my intention to hurt you or be nosy. As I already told you, your thoughts and memories were screaming, mixing inside your head. The door was open, and I only peeked in.” 

She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. “You saw it all?” 

“No,” he shook his head. “But enough to have a picture. As I said, it is your story to tell, Y/N.” 

“What you saw?” 

“The day you used your power for the first time.”

It was a moment, a three-second glimpse into her past, but she was back in her child's room, messing with her then-boyfriend. And then, they were arguing when it happened. The force that escaped her body killed the boy and destroyed half the house she once lived in. 

“If we want to know more, we must see what you can do. Flyrokinesis is the ability to create and manipulate force fields. It is mostly defensive. However, there can be some offensive moves done with it. This mutation is exceptional.” 

She cocked a brow, not sold on it. 

“We can help you learn and work with your ability. That is if you want.” 

No one is forcing you to stay, Y/N. The choice is up to you. His voice was in her head again. 

No more running, no more experiments or killing. Y/N could choose her life. Out of everything that had happened in her life, this, so far, seemed like the best thing that could have happened to her. Fucking trust issues. 

“We have everything you need and more,” Charles wasn’t using his telekinesis. “You don’t have to worry about anything.” There was a smile playing on his lips. “No more running.”

“No more running,” she repeated. 

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * A lesson to Learn — Gojo Satoru

Tw: no smut but very very suggestive; Reader is like 4-5 years younger than Gojo; idk? Not proof read; Gojo’s mean :(

“What were you thinking?” A growl met your ears, panting, you dare not look up at him—“was it necessary to be acting like a fuckin’ child? Huh?”

It was the first Satoru had used a harsh tone in front of you- let alone at you- it was baffling in most senses.

More baffling was the way your eyes yearned to look at his annoyed stature, to see his face contorted with rage—baffling was the way you partially did it to get his attention.

Stranded that you stood with him, the middle of nowhere blanketed your forms—a clearance.

“Well?” A lick of your lips, you raised you head finally, hesitantly, a hand on his hip and the blindfold entirely off—you would’ve almost cowered at the way he glowered at you.

“I-” you paused, what explanation would you offer?

There was nothing except the blatant truth that you had wanted his attention, his praise- something he’d been generous with for the past many weeks with his students.

Another lick of your lips, had you known the way Satoru stared at you in this moment still, enamouring all the more.

Slow, your eyes trailed at his figure—his shirt lay sweat soaked, breathy pants his too, it was a tough mission, and he was right too—all you actually was hinder him.

The vision was clear, you were on the ground, as a heap—not a scratch on your face, Satoru wouldn’t ever let that happen after all—he stood unscathed too, “what? Huh? Are you that much of a moron? Don’t fucking follow me, simple instructions- hell my first years carry out instructions better than you.”

Defiant, in the way he spoke—“listen, Toru’ I just… I don’t know what came over me— you went alone and Ieiri told me it’s a tough mission so I just wanted to-”

“-help? By getting your ass handed back to you? Let some things remain in the hands of those who do it best,”

Your face fell at that, best? Sure you weren’t as good as him but…it wasn’t that you were weak?

“I just wanted-”

“No. I’ll tell you what you wanted,” and a sudden way your face flushed, it wouldn’t be that he knew…right?

“You wanted nothing more than my attention huh? Think I don’t notice your shit? Wearing those short fuckin’ skirts to “look over” the training? Giggling around with Nanami? Think I don’t notice your need for my attention? Really? Gonna drop so low to compete with kids for it?”

You’d known it was mostly shameful but just the way he reminded you, the way he was doing nothing but berating you—you couldn’t help the blurry vision your tears suddenly provided.

“Get up,” he scoffed, “C’mere,” you hesitated, did he know you were down there with tears in your face—of course he did.

He was Gojo Satoru.

Steady, you stood up, shaky from the entire experience, shy of becoming just a mess—you stood up, Satoru moved closer and suddenly the proximity was all you could notice.

You were sure, as you stood inches away from him, he was still calling you out—calling off your sheer idiocy but however could you pay attention to that when all you could focus on was the way his abs were visible slightly through the shirt—the way his glossy lips never stopped moving—the way visions of his hand lifting you so casually came flashing in right about now—

“You’re such a whore huh? Here I am going off about how stupid you’ve been and All you wanna do is stare at me?”

Another moment of your ears tipping so hot it was hard to bear it—“n-no I-”

A hand held up, placed quick on your waist, “if a bad girl is what you’re gonna act like then I don’t have issues teaching you a lesson- hell I think that’s the only way your perverted little brain can think,”

A shaky breath was all you could let out, gulping at the facts he presented, and for a second silence that befell you—you stared at his lips, his, yours.

Just a lean in and you could taste him, and lean in he did, fingers gripping your jaw slight, a dark smile he bore.

Your breath hitched- mouth falling open, you continued staring dumbly, a scoff he passed—“as is you like acting stupid school girl who wants attention right? About time you get enough of it—and before the kiss…I think there’s a lesson I gotta drill in,”

“Here?”

An internal face palm you offered yourself—of everything sketchy about possibly having a suggestive conversation with Gojo Satoru, the strongest, someone you’ve admired ever since your first year (and his sudden stops at the school to catch up with everyone), someone who’ve dreamt of since you were 16 and now 24 — the location should’ve been the last of your issues.

A humourless chuckle he passed, “always knew there was a slut in you somewhere,”

A small pout drifted onto your face at that—now uttering a humoured chuckle, his fingers traced your cheek—“don’t think for a second you’re off the hook, y’er just lucky that I’ve wanted you slightly more than you, me.”

Yeah, y’all fuck like bunnies after this <3 I may or may not expand on to it soon.

All of this work is original and entirely my own— please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[rottenpumpkin13]

Thoughts on Genesis being a parent?

So many!! I don't think Genesis would initially think of himself as the paternal type. Children would seem too mundane or confining for someone like him, who craves beauty, art, and innovation. He'd claim that his legacy is in his achievements, the pages of Loveless, or his invention, not through something as "ordinary" as parenthood. But the moment he becomes a father, his entire perspective shifts.

Genesis would treat his child like an extension of himself, like a blank canvas for greatness. He's indulgent, loving, playful, always engaging them in creative ways—reading them his favorite passages from Loveless, narrating stories in a dramatized way that makes them laugh. He'd play pretend games with so much commitment that his child might think he's actually a wandering knight or sorcerer.

When it comes to discipline Genesis would be firm but fair. He'd explain his reasons earnestly, but nag and tease for fun (this poor child would have to endure his wit)

Genesis: "My dear, must you sully your appearance with such mismatched socks? Have I taught you nothing about the art of presentation?"

He'd be an aesthete through and through, ensuring his kid's wardrobe is flawless, even if it means micromanaging their outfits—although he'd be big on self-expression. He'd spoil them with carefully chosen gifts: a handcrafted wooden sword for training, rare books with gilded pages....fire materia they definitely shouldn't have.

But at the same time, Genesis would have a nurturing side. He'd fuss endlessly over scraped knees or colds, wrapping them in the softest blankets and brewing warm drinks while reciting poetry.

Genesis: "Oh, my little one, a scratch such as this requires the utmost care. We wouldn't want you to be unable to wield your blade tomorrow, would we?"

*the kid says it's just a scrape*

Genesis: "Just a scrape? Do not diminish your trials, for even the smallest wounds tell a tale of valor."

When teaching swordplay + materia casting, Genesis would be both patient and demanding. He'd push them to surpass their limits while ensuring they mastered the elegance of the craft.

Genesis: "Your stance, darling. What did I say about balance? You cannot hope to strike down your foes if you look like a fledgling bird."

In conclusion, give this man a child.

[bettystonewell]

HELLO BETH !

Thank you for your question (I‘ll reply to it asap. Need a moment to think about it 😂)

Now it’s my turn hehehe (thanks to you and @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth, you infected me with the tumblr zoomies!)

YOU‘RE MY FIRST VICTIM

Remember when you said that old lady kept asking you about the bible?

Well. She returns for a third time. And just when you wish someone would drag you away, she’s interrupted by a loud baby screaming in the line behind her.

You both turn to see this:

What would you do? Realistically and otherwise 😉🧡

WARNING: self/reader insert fic ahead + Aussie slang, but there’s also DEAN ❤️

Well, Hello Jolly!

OH, my friend. I don’t think you know what you’re asking. I know I seem so kind AND I AM, but I’m also a terrible person.

Before I answer your question, I need to give you some context, so I’m breaking this into two parts. The backstory, and then an actual story at the end featuring Dean, yours truly, and the old Bible lady.

You’re looking at close to 3k words.

*For anyone who might be reading, and are scratching their heads at this ask, HERE’s the context for it

(If you scroll down to the next purple line like the one above, you’ll find the fic)

My day job is what we call a merchandiser here in Australia. I’m one of those people who goes from store to store, representing the brand I work for. I fix displays, tidy, fold, unpack all the pretty new stock, etc. Because of all that, I’m also one of THOSE PEOPLE who tells you they don’t work for the store you need help in, even though I’m clearly working. And guess what? I’m allowed to say it if you’re not shopping for my brand.

Now, normally on the day to day, I have this weird default mode. I hate confrontations, and I would rather back down and walk away, or in this case be polite over telling old ladies all about twigs and berries.

So if I see a customer that clearly needs help, I have two options. I can tell them straight up, “Sorry, I don’t work here. I'm just working for XXX brand,” but sometimes I’m just not in the mood and what I do most often is this:

I’m fucking Houdini! The second you come near me, with something that I can tell is not my problem, I’m noping out. So today, well, technically, it was yesterday by the time of posting this, I saw an older lady doing an Austin Powers multiple point turn with her shopping trolley a couple of racks over. You know this:

Well, I did this:

I’m terrible. She knocked some stock over that wasn’t mine, and I fucking ran 😂

Which brings me to the crying baby.

Now. I have two kids. Love ‘em to pieces. People keep telling me I should try working in child care or becoming a teacher’s aide so I can work at my children’s school and work school hours and to that, I say HELL NO.

I love my kids. I worked as a teacher in Japan for four years and half that time I was teaching little kids. I LOVED those kids, too. I got two marriage proposals out of my junior high kids (that sounds super dodgy, but it was honestly 11-13 yo’s shouting out “Beth-Sensei! Will you marry me?” while I stood at the front of the classroom, straight-faced and trying not to laugh - seriously I have some stories to tell). BUT now that I have my own? I don’t love other people’s children. And I especially dislike babies.

You see? Terrible.

To further explain, until I got to the point in my life when I got clucky and thought having a baby would be a great idea, babies scared me! If a coworker came in with a brand new baby, guess what I was doing? Yup:

I’ll admit they’re cute, but unless I know you, I ain’t coming near that thing with a ten-foot pole. What do I do with it? What if I drop it? I might be polite (yk, my default mode) if I have to stand near you. I might agree with whomever I’m with on how cute they are, but honestly, that puppy across the road is looking a whole lot sweeter. Unless they’re my babies, of course, and even then, at their current ages, that puppy is looking mighty cute…

My four-year-old asked me to make him a toasted ham and cheese sandwich for dinner instead of the dinner I was actually making for us. I’m a nice mum. I said sure. When he asked if he could help, it was a little frustrating, but I let him because I don’t want him to be a man baby who can’t cook for himself when he’s older.

We got butter everywhere. We had a tantrum when I suggested he get his stool so he could reach the bench better. He wanted me to get it for him, I caved and got it (great parenting Beth, really sticking to your guns), and after all that, when he sat down to eat it, he wanted to pull off the ham and ditch the rest…

Okay, yes, a baby wouldn’t do that. But if I saw a guy like Dean, struggling to deal with Bobby-John, he’s the baby in my eyes, and I’m running away from him.

So to your question:

What would I do, realistically or otherwise, if I was being bothered by the old lady and her bible, and I turned around and saw Dean and the baby?

My first thought was, wait, do I know who he is? Is he Dean zapped not only out of the tv, but also Down Under for whatever reason? Is it Jensen Ackles hanging out in my local shopping centre, or is this Dean, Dean, and everything in the show is real, I’m in their universe playing a dumb civilian, and for whatever reason, he’s ended up Down Under?

Side note: Do you know what a down under kiss is? Or that in Australia we have a euphemism for vagina - the map of Tassie. It’s named after that tiny little island of Tasmania (that no one cares about) at the bottom of our map. Go check it out. Notice the shape… I’m not making this up.

Yes, I’m an over-thinker. Don’t ask me to tell you my favourite movie, I will sweat buckets thinking you’re going to hold me to my answer for the rest of my life.

I think you see where I’m going with this, but I’m still going to humour you with a swashbuckling tale of this situation.

*Cracks knuckles*

FOUR ADULTS AND A CRYING BABY

Starring: Dean Winchester, Sam, yours truly (in third person), the old lady with the Bible, and Bobby-John Summary: It was just a normal work day, until it wasn’t - or - holy fuck! That’s Dean Winchester! Why does he have a baby? Warnings: language, craziness

A Monday morning in March. A week since cyclone Alfred was supposed to hit her corner of the state, and she’s frazzled. Forgot she’d promised her manager she’d go into the store on Friday to make up for the visit she couldn’t get to on account of school being closed. 

Why couldn’t that cyclone have just hit? Really. All that fuss, and nothing to show for it. Yes. The fence had to be tied up with a zip tie so it wouldn’t fall down, “we will rebuild,” but where was the big emergency that made having the kids at home for almost a week worthwhile?

The fighting? The tantrums? Okay, she was lucky she didn’t lose her roof. Or the power. Her mum and dad are currently cut off from the main road in their town and can’t leave. Friends are running electricity through a generator because in their pocket of their tiny suburb, they still don’t have power. Yet SHE complains.

No bother. The kids have been dropped off. She’s going to treat herself to some McDonald’s breakfast and an iced latte. Chill for a bit in the food court, working on her writing before she goes to work. 

Her own slice of heaven, minus the noise, but she’s got her earphones for that. And she sits there at the little bench, charging her phone at the same time because Tumblr likes to drain her battery hard and she needs the device for work. Her hand burns under the heat of her iPhone’s blue, but cracked finish. 

She types away. Her fingers glide over the keyboard with ease as she whips up a headcanon about her current favourite hunk of spunk, Dean frigging Winchester, and why he likes to get slapped in the face by a woman wearing a Zorro mask during sex. 

She thanks H for that. H was a genius when she sent that ask. Hilarious H. 

Our heroine giggles to herself as she changes words like breasts to jubblies, and dicks to swords. She slides in another reference to Snickerdoodles & Special Sauce. She refers to Dean’s junk as a set of twigs and berries the second time. 

Damn, Austin Powers, you really are the man.

She’s so focused on her task at hand that she gets a little surprise when out of the corner of her eye she notices someone approaching. Someone who stares. 

But she is nice. She’s not feeling all that terrible at the moment. Frustrated, sure, but this is just a tiny kink in the machine that is her day. She’s enjoying her coffee. Her children are someone else’s problem. And she has not a care in the world. Daydreaming of Dean just does that. 

“Hi,” she says to the little old lady, smiling at her. 

She smiles back. Of course she does, because she is in default mode. She is nice. But inside? Inside, she’s screaming. She has her suspicions. Little old lady, frail and smiling. One who reaches her hands out to take hold of hers. One that’s not afraid to interrupt someone younger than her, busy on her phone and wearing earphones. One that lives in this part of her state, too.

She’s gotta be a Jehovah’s Witness. Or something similar. There’s no way this old lady wants to chat with her about anything other than god.

“Hello,” the old lady says. “Could I talk to you about—”

“No sorry.” There is no way she’s even letting the word slip from the sweet old lady’s mouth. Is she sweet? Really? Coming on up into her space to talk about a man in the sky. Chuck was not all that sweet in the show in the end. What does this lady know?

A smile exchanges between both women again, and the discussion, what lack there is of one, ends. 

The old lady goes to another unsuspecting group, and she’s left alone. 

But we all know that wasn’t the case. We know she moves. She moves closer to the store she’s working in that day, trailing through the shopping centre. Under the bright lights, dodging other customers going about their day.  

She passes the juice bar, Boost Juice, and she contemplates getting one if she has time when she finishes. Past a shoe store, a phone one, the giant grocery chain she shops at, but refuses to go to this one. She hates people, and this one is always busier. 

She finds another seat, a cluster of them right out front of the store she’s working at that day, and finishes what she’s doing. She knows she needs to start work soon in order to get to school pick up on time, so she’s quick. And as she finishes up her final edits, lo-and-behold, who appears, but none other than the old lady, wanting to talk about her Bible again. 

The transaction is quicker, thank god - the irony - and she’s left alone in peace again to finish and upload her piece. But it’s not over. No. Her other online friend J has decided it is not so, and so we jump in time to after the shift, when our heroine decides to pick up a few things from the same grocer she avoids.

Imagine if you will, dear friends. A large Australian grocery store. At the front, rows of shopping trolleys, a help desk behind them where cigarettes and gift cards are sold. Checkouts to the right, fresh fruit and vegetables to the left, and rows upon rows of groceries behind all that.

She likes to use the self serve checkouts, working in retail and often being time poor, she likes to do it herself. Knows how to work the registers faster than the other customers, but not today. She’s buying a carton of Coke, the drink kind, not the kind you sniff. She doesn’t even know what to do with the other stuff, let alone where to buy it.

So she stands in the twelve items-or-less line. She has one item, she’s allowed, and she’s waiting when lo-and-behold, guess who shows up?

How long can one old lady go around talking to people about the Bible in a shopping centre? Their last encounter was three hours ago… But of course she’s forgotten that, and she looks up at her with those kind old lady eyes and opens her mouth to speak when the shriek of a baby rampages through the air.

Dear lord. Was the kid dropped on their head? The sound is deafening. Her eardrums throb as the high-pitched sound pierces through the small skin that covers them and protects her brain.

Of course, she’s smiling. She’s in public, and she’s still in nice mode, but it’s wearing thin.

She looks to the sound with many regrets, but is stunned like a mullet who’s jumped into her father’s tinny, and slapped her young brother on the head. 

Dean frigging Winchester? No. No way!

She rubs her eyes as the cartoons her kids force her to watch on repeat love to do, and she takes a second glance.

“Oh how sweet,” old lady coos, but we know she’s delusional. She wants to tell people about god and forgets when she’s already asked them twice.

Our heroine thinks she’s delusional, too. Maybe cyclone Alfred was worse than they thought and she’s Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Bumped her head? Had her house fall on a witch. Oz was in an episode of Supernatural, right?

Is that what’s happening here?

The guy who stands in the next checkout line over to her has Jensen Ackles’ face. If it’s not him, it’s a damn good doppelgänger, parading around in Dean’s clothing. What the hell?

He holds the screaming child up in the air, much like he did to Bobby-John, and - oh my god - is that Jared Padelecki, too?

What the hell are they doing not only in Australia, but in a suburban little supermarket, dressed as Sam and Dean?

She takes out her phone, close at hand, and opens up her camera. No way she’s not taking a photo of this. But she’s also torn. She doesn’t want to miss this opportunity. She’s going to the Sydney Supernatural Convention in June and those guys won’t be there, just Misha, and god knows who else, but there’s also a baby, and it’s screeching.

She takes a few photos, all while watching the fiasco. What would she say? What would she do? She doesn’t want to go near that baby. Her tummy is flipping all over the place, and the top of her lip twinges at the thought of ever saying hi.

They’re celebrities. She’s far beneath them, especially now, covered in work fluff, dust and sweat.

Her hair, frazzled. She’s wearing her retail black. She’s a hot mess, but she’s not bringing the hot. She’s only hot because she’s burning up with a fire that just comes around Jared and Jensen, or so she’s heard. She’s sure feeling it!

“Come on Bobby-John. What do you need, huh?” Jensen says, and man, talk about method acting. Where’s the cameras and crew?

“Dude. Would you do something?” Jared hisses loud enough so that she hears.

Should she be smiling? Should she expect someone to jump out any minute and say, “Smile, you’re on candid camera!”

Fuck that. 

She pays for her goods. She looks at the two men, even goes up a little closer, and tries to listen in on what they're saying some more. Of course, she pretends to be looking at her phone while all this is happening. It’s not even pretend. She’s zooming in on the photos to study their faces and clothes.

“We need to find a, ah, a working phone. Call Bobby. See if he can figure out what the hell’s going on,” Jared says as they move towards her now. Trolly full of baby supplies. 

“Hey, do you think the shifter’s a witch, too? A wifter?” Jensen gives a couple of heh’s. The same one he gave when Dean joked with Cas about the Ghoulpires. 

Damn. They’re good.

She glances at them, meets Jensen’s eyes. Fuck, he’s so handsome. That jaw. Those brilliant greens pick up the logo of the supermarket’s apple swirl. His smile as he catches her looking is lopsided. Embarrassed, but also curious. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and she can’t breathe. They smell divine. That’s some woody cologne, and a touch of leather? Who cares! Jensen Ackles is talking to her with his Dean voice! 

She chuckles. It’s more of a choke, a whine, a moan? 

She can’t move. Can’t run away. She’s stupefied in the spot in the middle of the shopping centre while Jared Padelecki stares at her with a cocked brow. Hair tucked behind his ears, pushing a trolley and a baby, still screeching by the way, Jensen still at his side. 

“Don’t suppose we could borrow your phone there?” he gestures at the phone in her hand.

Without a word, because her lungs are still dried up, and she’s now having palpitations cause of the kid, she hands it over, fingers brush against his, and she’s now stuck there, only now realising their photographs are right there on the screen.

“What the hell are you doing taking our pictures” Jensen is no longer happy. There’s no goofy smile on his dial. Shit, she’s going to be staring down at an NDA soon.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” she says. Bow’s her head like she’s still living in Japan. 

“Do you know something?” Jared adds. His face is more relaxed, somewhat amused. 

What should she say, what should she do? “I, ah,” she lets out another weird laugh that squeaks in her throat, “I was too afraid to come up and say hi.” She shrugs. Where’s the old Bible lady now?

“Say hi? What? Do you know us?” There’s that Dean voice again, and it’s travelling to places she doesn’t wanna admit. He’s a married man.

“Ah, yeah? You’re Jensen, and he’s Jared,” she says, and at first the latter just stares. 

His mouth opens and closes. His green eyes go wide. “J-j-Jensen?” He turns to Jared, who’s looking just as shocked. “Son of a bitch,” he says, and she’s swooning. 

He said the line!

“Where are we?” he turns back to her, and now she’s confused. 

She states the name of the suburb they’re in, and when they both still look confused, which is impossible. How else did they get there? Come to think of it, where’s Cliff and their bodyguards?

“Brisbane?” she says, and still they stare.

“Queensland?”

She has to wave at their blank expressions. The damn kid still cries like a banshee.

“Australia?”

And this is where I leave you my loves! I hope that was enjoyable. If you want to know more, you will have to beg for it ❤️

I’m tagging my moots/readers who usually seem to appreciate the crazy, have enjoyed Aussie!reader content, who I know are parents themselves or have become involved in this for whatever reason - I’m SOOOOOO SORRY (but also not really) @waynes-multiverse @supernotnatural2005 @ambiguous-avery @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @middleearthislife @ladysparkles78 @losers-clvb @mostlymarvelgirl @my-stories-vault

[alexa-yukiyu]

You know how child!Dokusha often ends up in places she shouldn't be? I think that most of the characters would be understanding of the childs curiosity, while others would scold them for not sitting put.

For example child! Dokusha as mihawks child would get scolded by their father alot for it but he understands that children will be children and be curious. Also the more you tell kids to not do something the more they do it

I feel like shanks would be A father that also let's his crew be fathers. Personally I love the idea that lucky roo is a amazing babysitter, I don't know why

Eat water drink food Alexa 👍

Sneaky sneak ft Mihawk and Lucky Roo

A/N Alright the title is kinda weak but I have nothing, also this is pretty weak especially the part with too so i’m sorry holo 🥲 I am late and lack in

Reader here is replaced with Dokucha for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character readers

Dokucha grinned, realizing the room they had sneaked into was the armory. Their eyes shined in excitement as they examined all the weapons in the room, hopping, crawling, and sneaking around the glittering artifacts until a specific one called their attention.

Grinning, they climbed down from the small ledge they had climbed to take a peek at a bow; they approached the familiar weapon, lips slightly parted in awe as they stood in front of the sword.

"No way…" they muttered gingerly touching the handle of the sword as thoughts raced through their mind.

"It's so beautiful…the best quality leather in the market wrapped on the handle with a lapis lazuli encrusted on the pummel," they muttered, eyeing the large jewel and rubbing the leather, shivering at the supple, slightly grainy texture.

"A half-a-meter gold hand-carved guard with jade and tanzanite on the quillon and the Ricasso," they gushed, eyes twinkling in amazement as their hand lowered to the body of the sword

"A black blade; it could have been his haki, but maybe it was forged like this, put in heat time after time to get such a beautiful obsidian color, and they even added hand-carving to its fuller."

"And it's-

"Not yours to he touching." A stern voice cut in, taking a firm but gentle hold of their hand as it began inching toward the edge of the blade

"Ah! Dad! What are you doing here? " they yelled, their eyes wide as they jumped back from the man, arms now crossed on his chest as he stared them down.

"That is hardly the question here, isn't it?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow, watching as the child began to fidget and look away from the man, trying to put their sight on anything but him.

"I just ended up here; I was going to leave….but then I saw you, and I got a lil distracted."

Mihawk stared at the child, his frown softening until he let out a chuckle. A rare amused smile grew on his face, though he was quick to erase it.

"You know you are not supposed to be here, " he chided, shaking his head as he took hold of his sword. His amusement grew as the move instantly caught the attention of the child.

"However, I will forgive it this time since I see you have been keeping up with your readings," he called, glancing at them; he noticed this caused their attention to switch to him, placing Yoru in its rightful place behind him.

"How about I teach you some hands-on lessons on the art of the swords?" He suggested turning around and making his way out of the room

"Yes!" They hollered, scrambling to follow after the man

"Oi, have you found them yet?!" Hongo called, his voice echoing across the deck, and various negative responses echoed back, much to his annoyance.

"Commander Hongo, do you think they might have followed Shanks out of the ship?" A crewmember questioned, scratching his neck as he looked around the deck for the child

"No, they're a rascal, but they know the consequences won't be light if they leave the Force without permission; they know better," Hongo huffed out.

"This would be so much easier if Yassop were here; he's the only one that can bypass their presence masking," he muttered, calling out to the crewmates to continue their search as he joined them.

"Ha! That's right! Without Uncle Yassop here, they have no chance!" They snickered from below them as they hid on the gun's deck, browsing through the different weapons that were kept alongside the canons

"Oh! They keep the grenades here! Sweet!" They cheered, grabbing the small sphere with a mischievous grin on their faces, until a hand grabbed it from their hands, causing them to shoot up.

"U-Uncle Roo!" they gaped, watching the grinning back as he put the grenade back where they had found it.

"Ha! Ha! That's true, but you still have to find a good hiding spot if you don't want the rest of us to find you," he called teasingly

"You're not supposed to be here," he stated, letting out a small laugh as they just looked away.

"You can't sneak here every time he leaves; you know we are going to find you."

"…are you goin' To tell Dad?"

"Hm, I could! But I could also cut you a deal," he snickered, taking a bite from the usual chicken leg on his hand.

"Deal?"

"You finish your chores, and I won't tell him."

"Ugh!"

I thought I was cookin

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 7

Where Cassian learns the importance of conversation and Nesta learns how strong she is

The bracing summer air chased Nesta all the way to the big house. She dreaded winter already. By winter, things would be different though. There would be more permanent homes built – Nesta would make sure of it. That spark of purpose was shiny and new, but Nesta was desperate to see it grow. She knew exactly how painful life could be when you were hungry and exhausted with no hope. These children deserved a better life. There was nothing else for her in Velaris except sitting on her backside reading, and whilst that was enjoyable, it could not be her forever. Maybe this wouldn’t be either – but Nesta could help here. She could put her extensive, expensive education to some use. If it only changed one child’s life then it would still be worth it. Cassian didn’t scare her, didn’t intimidate her. If he was going to make a move to hurt her, he’d have already tried. Nesta could deal with him.  

More than once that morning when Nesta was busy in the big house, Cassian came by. He would look at her, attempt a word or two then shake his head before departing again. It was rather irritating.

Still, Nesta’s thoughts rarely went to Cassian unless he was looming over her, casting shadows with his wings. Nesta had more than enough on her plate. There were forty-three children in the house. Of those, eight of them were babies or toddlers so would not need a formal education yet. All of them would be starting from scratch, but Nesta expected the quickest progress from the younger ones so she had grouped them that way. Most of her day was spent watching the children – how they interacted with each other, who were the extroverted ones or the very shy children. With help from the females who cared for them, Nesta devised seating arrangements to try and split up the boisterous children. She was sure her well-made plans would rot before they came to fruition, but it was worth a try.

Another thought began to grow too with her ambition. Despite throwing her into it, Cassian’s heart had been in the right place by wanting her to teach the orphans. But why stop with only the children in the big house? Didn’t all the children in Iron Crest deserve the chance to learn? Without consulting her darling husband, Nesta made herself busy in the camp by seeking out females with children and offering them to opportunity to come to the big house in the morning where Nesta would try to group them amongst the others. The ones who only spoke Illyrian would be difficult initially, but hope was a dangerous thing.

It felt so good to have a purpose. Had she ever had such a thing before?

The hours slipped away quicker than Nesta would have liked as she sat outdoors plotting and planning in the late afternoon. They would alternate between reading and arithmetic each day, with time given to rest too. On many occasions, she had stopped simply to watch the camp. Not once did she feel unsafe as she had in Windhaven. There had been no uncouth comments from males. Even the females were smiling or holding their heads up. Children flitted over her head as they chased each other under the sun. She knew this camp was different thanks to one male. Cassian had brought about this change.

‘You haven’t eaten today,’ came his voice, as though he’d known he’d been in her thoughts. 

‘I’ve been busy.’

Cassian settled a bowl of veal stew down for her. ‘Don’t neglect yourself.’

‘I’ll try to resist,’ she sniped.

***

There was such joy on Nesta’s face that Cassian could barely breathe. Warmth seemed to radiate from her as she grappled to hide her smile. He had the sense that she didn’t do it often. That maybe she hadn’t had many reasons to smile in her life.

They were virtually strangers. The titbits of information that he’d been able to harvest about her since that first meeting in Windhaven were likely false. It was the superstitious talk of Illyrians who refused to accept changes. As far as Cassian was concerned, his wife was not a witch. And if she was then he didn’t care.

He hated to take that joy from her. All day, she’d busied herself in the big house then the camp itself. She hadn’t stopped once. When Cassian had heard from Balthazar that she’d gone to families and invited their children to learn too, he had known then that Nesta Archeron was truly his; that the mother had chosen her for him for this reason. They would tend to Iron Crest and see it grow together.

If she would give him a chance. A foundation built on lies would crumble. He wanted to build a legacy with her. One that was stable and to be proud of. So, Cassian prepared himself for the worst and beckoned for his wife to follow him.

As regal and as proud as a queen, Nesta raised her chin and uttered, ‘If I must.’

It would be easier if he could fly her but he wanted their first flight together to be special, not one where his nerves were in tatters. Instead, Cassian led Nesta up through a rocky path which would lead to an overhang that overlooked the camp. What he hadn’t anticipated was how unsteady she’d be on her feet on uneven terrain. Her long skirt hindered her as much as her heeled shoes. When he offered her an arm to steady her, Nesta reluctantly accepted though she didn’t ask where they were going. Cassian wouldn’t have been able to find an answer for her had she asked.

The camp sprawled out below them as it quietened for the evening. They were treated to a glorious sun set that bathed the tents in warmth as mothers chased their little ones inside to bathe before bed. The work was done for the day so many were enjoying the quiet part of the evening.

‘I am to sit on the ground?’

Cassian was about to retort that his lap was always an option but thought better of it. ‘Only for a while. I need to talk to you about something.’

‘If it’s about contacting the Hewn City, do not bother. I have told you my opinion on the matter.’

Cassian patted the dry grass beside him gingerly. Amazing him, Nesta did sit although she sat straight back with a rigidity that suggested she had never in her life sat upon the ground. Maybe she hadn’t. She was the high lady’s sister who was likely born with a wealth that Cassian had never known. There was so much about her that he didn’t know, but he’d assumed they’d have a forever to learn about the past.

‘When word was given that I requested to marry you, why did you accept?’

Nesta gave a hollow laugh. ‘You phrase it as though I had a choice in the matter.’

He’d been brutal and threatened Azriel and Rhysand with bringing war to their veiled city to show that he meant his words.

‘You didn’t want to marry me,’ he said, unable to stop the defeat leaking into his tone.

‘No, Cassian. I do not know you. I have no intention of knowing you.’

The hand resting on his crossed knee bounced as his nerves frayed.

‘Then why agree?’

In a dream world, Nesta would tell him that there was a spark inside of her that she was desperate to see grow. That a hand on her shoulder guided her to Illyria.

Nesta frowned down at the camp. ‘What choice did I have? You would bring war to innocents. There was no option of me refusing. The others made that clear. Only my sister was vocal about the inherent wrongness.’

There was a lurch to Cassian’s gut. For all of the savagery of Illyria, the high lord had given away his mate’s sister with little difficulty. The thought angered him greatly. He’d thought she’d agreed out of desire or curiosity, not because they had forced her hand. He had forced her. Cassian had taken away her choice by blackmailing the Night Court.

‘You cannot think of why I would want you at my side?’

He tracked the bob of her throat as she swallowed. ‘My sister is the high lady of the Night Court. If it wasn’t you who wanted me for the advantage my position holds, it would be another. The heir to the Autumn Court has already raised my name in conversation.’

It took Cassian a long time to find the courage to speak again. This was the moment he’d lose her for good. And Cassian hadn’t even had Nesta yet.

‘The reason why I wanted to marry you was because I thought you felt what I feel,’ he explained, treading as carefully as one could on thin ice. ‘You are my mate.’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘In Windhaven. When I saw you. The bond snapped for me. I thought… I thought you knew it. I thought you agreed to marry me because you knew we were mates.’

‘We are not mates,’ said Nesta, voice fracturing. ‘We’re not. We are not.’

With surprising speed, Nesta lurched around and made to strike him. Cassian squeezed his eyes shut before her skin met his. He heard the crack, violent and loud.

Nesta screamed.

The magical binding on their contract had prevented her from striking him. What it had not stopped was her breaking her wrist in the process of trying to hurt him.  

She swayed where she sat, face pale, as she clutched her injured wrist to her body.

‘Breathe,’ he urged. ‘Breathe, Nesta.’

Her breathing was shallow from the shock. Her wrist was already swelling from the break. In any other time, he might have congratulated her on the strength behind the hit.

‘Healer,’ she gritted out.

‘Illyrian magic aims to destroy. We don’t have healers. Not magical ones at least.’

Carefully, Cassian helped Nesta to her feet as darkness encroached upon Iron Crest. Her breath rattled through her teeth and she still seemed unsteady.

‘Here’s what’s going to happen. I will fly you to our tent. Bal will fly to the Hewn City and summon a healer.’ Cassian stepped closer to her. ‘Put your good arm around my shoulders.’

Despite his attempts at being delicate, Nesta was yelping from pain as he carried her. It broke him to hear it. Balthazar heard him booming his name across the camp then tore off towards the Hewn City to seek a healer for Nesta.

In his belongings, Cassian found a herb that could numb pain and forced Nesta to chew on it while they waited.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured.

Nesta jerked away when he tried to touch her then yelped again in her agony.

It did not take long for the Night Court to descend upon his camp with fury roiling from them. Cassian met them at the entrance to his tent with his hands braced in front of him. Feyre’s face was livid. Morrigan looked as though she might scratch her nails down his face. The other two stood silent and furious.

‘What have you done to my sister?’

‘Where is the healer?’

‘What have you done to her?’ Feyre repeated.

Cassian shrugged. ‘Two high lords wrote the contract. Do you doubt their ability to protect Nesta from harm that I might cause?’

A hand landed on his waist then Nesta was ducking under his wing. Only her iron-will kept her standing. ‘I need a healer,’ she grunted, holding onto him for support.

The mad desire to lean down and kiss her forehead nearly seized hold of Cassian’s control.

Feyre stepped forwards then beckoned for Nesta to come closer - as though she couldn’t bear to be any nearer to Cassian. A savage Illyrian who’d hurt his wife a few days after their wedding.

And then they were gone. All of them winnowed away, taking Nesta with them.

Cassian had lost his mate.

[scoutswritingcorner]

So i was reading your dad alastor headcanons and i love them!!!!!!🥰🥰 I was going to ask if you could do one for the last battle with adam? How would it go?

The Battle

PLATONIC Papa Alastor x Gn!Child!Reader

TW: Talks about the last battle with Adam.

A/N: Aww thank you Love! As always original idea goes to Anon and @aboyscriminalrecord!

Imma just spout this out but if you want a full blown fic just let me know- BUT

If anything, Alastor keeps you far away from the hotel if he has to. He’s made so many back up plans to make sure you're safe. Even if you can hold your own (thanks to him and Vaggie teaching you), you're still his little fawn and he’d do anything to protect you.

If you were somehow in the crossfire between him and Adam? He's in full protective Papa mode and to make it worse? If you took the hit he took? Oh he’s mad mad. Not at you, even if you accidentally got in the way but if it was more of Adam targeting you? Nothing can hold him back. But he’s immediately disappearing with you in his body as he brings you to get help, he’s running cause he has to run. 

And the person he takes you to? Despite their many differences. Is Vox. He’d rather kiss the bottom of Lucifer’s boot than say anything to it about anyone but he trusts Vox with you and he knows Vox can get the right medical help to make you feel better. His ways are old fashioned and he’s as stubborn as a mule but the one thing he knows is ever since Vox was around he’s been more of a help than anything.

After he knows your back to safety with your Uncle Vox and Aunt Velvette (he begrudgingly calls her that), he’s back in the battle and he’s getting a hit on that no good first man for hurting his fawn.

Don’t worry, Vox takes good care of you and keeps Valentino away.

Now if you were hurt by any minor damages and he took the blow like he did in the show, he’s afraid to face you because he doesn’t want you to think he’s a coward. You do cry and yell at him for getting hurt but that’s your papa through and through. He’ll patch up any of your own injuries too even if it was just a scratch.

But to me, Alastor would mostly likely have you hidden away with Rosie as you both get along well enough and that’s your Auntie.