#//like what he did was justified or ???? question mark

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Invincible live up to its own potential challenge, I BEG.

But no seriously, I would enjoy Oliver so much more if he was literally a character who did honestly struggle with apathy towards violence, but that’s a coincidence to any Nolan related. He doesn’t know that man whatsoever, let him be his own person, and his own struggles, unique to his specific, interesting, situation! I’d love see a character struggle with empathy AND sympathy, and have to learn! The fact we keep tying him back to Nolan, a person he should not admire, like, or even KNOW is so insane to me. Like you say, the loops you have to go through to justify these decisions only make more questions. It literally feels like they just set it up and didn’t think about what it meant whatsoever, or if they did, are horrible at articulating anything about it. 

AND TRULY. Single parent Mark arc is so FUCKING perfect for this character in so many different ways, HAVE him step back out of guilt and devote his time to doing something he can’t “fail” in, or feels like he can trust himself to do without someone dying, where he doesn’t have to worry about lives and the apparent burden of heroism. It even gives him time to think about if it’s what he really wants! What did he enjoy about it! Did he enjoy anything?

AND TRULY, having immortal try bringing him back or someone NEEDING him would’ve been spectacular!!! I would KILL for Mark to snap about how it feels like helping and not helping still feels like failing. I am stealing this for my own fic plot thank you (have a mark raised Oliver wip on the backburner lol). But having him he naturally frustrated would work wonderfully but the current setup doesn’t make SENSE. I don’t know who our PROTAGONIST IS?????? 

Truly what the fuck is his man’s moral compass. Because nothing seems to hold. He doesn’t like killing, but then he does. He SHOULD feel guilty about anyone dying, he literally freaked out when Angstrum exploded in the lab, the blood got on him, he should have internalized Nolan saying s1e8 battle is his fault, he literally stayed to help rebuild Thraxan’s civilization until they told him to leave with a baby, HE, PREVIOUSLY, IS DEFINED BY GUILT. WHAT HE FEELS HE OWES. WHAT HE FAILS TO DO? And now he just ??? Dismisses someone asking for his help ??? Doesn’t fight hard enough to avoid killing future!Immortal. Can’t even verbalize why killing is wrong other than it’s bad. 

Truly, where is his mental breakdown realizing he need to go to jail or be punished??? Where is Cecil even taking advantage of that guilt ??? AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON HOW MANY HEROES KILL. They do it CASUALLY and OFTEN. It seems like a very accepted notion they will have to kill on the job, but Mark is oblivious to this somehow? Did no one tell him? How does he not know? Why not tell him? Is he in denial? Why not explore this? I’m sure the TT have their OWN kill count because either you murder a villain, or you nearly die, or at least that’s what it looks like when mfs NEARLY DIED ??? The circular thing is again very real because it just leads you back to “what the fuck are these people trying to do? And why are they so bad at it?”, because there is SOMETHING there, that scratches an itch in my brain, but there’s a million other puzzles that don’t make sense. 

Truly Immortal incidentally makes me laugh at how absurd he is. Like HONESTLY who invited you?? What is no one upset he KNEW Kate was alive and said nothing? How is no one furious he could just step away without telling anyone? How is CECIL not pissed the fuck off he’s got an invasion incoming and his heroes are fucking off for weddings on a whim? TRULY, if they set up Superman-like figures are NECESSARY how many people died because he wanted to play house with Kate???? Does Kate still have an extra copy somewhere, I know they argued AFTER Mark and Cecil, but where’s the fury she LEFT? Who’s to say they won’t again? Who do they know one near death mission and Kate’s gone. Immortal too! What secrets are YOU hiding if you can just vanish off the face of the earth to the guardians? And AGAIN. HOW IS CECIL NOT PISSED??????????? Did he know? Did he care? HE SHOULD. Mark should not be the only one under a very tight leash right now. 

Immortal was crazy. How is killing and enslaving people the only way? Just ??? Step down??? You had no problem with vanishing before, why is it now???? Nolan does make sense, I kinda love he doesn’t know what to do here, Allen and Nolan is a dynamic that’s really growing on me, because mf really thought he could endanger two whole planets and then just die about it. Sir, get the fuck up. 

Truly when he did get so good??? What’s the point of how threatening an entire species of colonizers are of Allen and a random lion are actually really great at fighting them? I’m sure the Lion Guy is a comic character that will be elaborated on, but show-only POV, it seems there could be at least a handful of people capable of fighting back no???? OLIVER BECOMING OP AFTER 0.0008 SECONDS PISSED ME OFF. How can we prioritize mark being PATHETICALLY weak and A CHILD being better? Mark wondering how Oliver got so fast made me so angry. Did you ?? Not ?? Open the season by TRAINING ????? WHERE DID THIS GO??? IF MARK has to lose battles, and I’m convinced he doesn’t, at least make the parameters of “losing” MAKE SENSE. WHY IS HE SO WEAK???? 

As a person who fucking LOVES when characters go berserk and lose their shit and feel incredible guilt afterwards, I am being cruelly deprived of such special moments. There are characters who are secretly strong as hell and lose battles, AKA SPIDER-MAN, but it MAKES SENSE because his prioritizing stopping them, not killing them, and there ARE moments in comics where bad guys realize how much he holds back for his OWN MORALITY and back off when needed be. His morality is VERY CLEAR AND RIGID. So those rare moments are FUN. It retroactively makes shit make sense. Spider-Man could rip your jaw off. Fill your lungs with web fluid. Tear off your skin. But he DOESNT, until he’s rarely pushed. MARK COULD BE THE SAME WAY BUT NOOOOO. 

They should show him holding back, like showing him not even flinching or moving his head when being hit? PERFECT. Continue that. Have him get hit and barely react, and have him uneasy about hitting back even, throwing a punch and apologizing after cause it was too strong, him trying and failing, and then have him go actually APESHIT and then wallowing in guilt. Have him even kill by accident. This extra self indulgent but I would LOVE if before Cecil confrontation, Mark used his powers, hit a building and someone had died but Cecil didn’t tell him. Have someone nearly tell him and Cecil shut it down. THEN, when Cecil and Mark argue, Cecil could throw that in his face and see the guilt eat him alive, or Mark starts being in denial!!!! THERE ARE FUN THINGS TO DO HERE THAT WOULD SLAP SO HARD. 

AGAIN HOW THE FUCK DO YOU SHOW HIM TRAINING AND STILL LOSING??????????? I’m gonna scream. 

Also him not moving faster STAYS pissing me off. Bro, you can fly, how have you not tried just flying through a monster to kill it quicker or simply dodging fast as hell? LIKE, what are we doing here? This makes no sense. What the fuck. WHAT ARE WE DOING. I am being deprived of arcs that would be so good AND FOR WHAT?????? The blandest ship I’ve ever seen in my life? Oliver being a Stan to man he barely MET??? 

Mark agreeing to go hang out on a beach w Debbie instead of refusing and the beach is Beach City (am now officially thinking too much about this crossover lol)

The way I got caught up on our back and forth I almost forgot this, lol! AND OH MY GOODNESS, IMAGINE? I forget exactly what which point Debbie makes the beach offer, but I’d love when exactly in SU/SUF-timeline they’d go? There’s something so fucking funny to me about them going during the SUF-timeline and always narrowly missing the strange, Steven-shaped mental breakdowns in the back. I know those don’t occur in a single day, but it’s tickling me. How could they miss anything? I don’t know I just think it’s funny.

Though, post-SUF is interesting if Gems can see the similar “world on your shoulders”, Mark has going on! Steven can shunt the narrative in the Gems’ minds, which I think is neat, if I’m not misusing the phrase since the guy’s on the road far away. Or maybe it’s just before Steven goes and they stumble into each other. I’d kinda love Pearl and Debbie interacting, honestly, if they could talk about loving someone who hurt you, hide things from you, even when you thought you knew them so deeply, and they left you to raise a child. Pearl being in a well adjusted space, and Debbie still grieving.

Honestly, the gems could help train Mark, they’re got experience and similar-ish powers in strength, sturdiness, and they can jump/run fast enough for flying to be vaguely similar enough to lecture about, I think. Or Lapis Lazulis, haha! Peridot with her trash can lid! Garnet, I’d love to see if she told Mark anything about his future in vague, well meaning advice. Or even giving relationship advice considering Amber. Or, importantly, how to convince an entire reign to end their colonizing ways, lol. Is Mark perhaps willing to start a war, take advantage of being related to any leaders, or fake his own death to varying results?

In general, there’s something so fucking funny to me about Nolan, in the sake of comparison, being Pink Diamond coded. Like OH, did an important or well respected of the colonizing empire come to earth and learn the beauty of its people and nature, including faking/lying/omitting things about his identity and background to being in, only to feel conflicted when his responsibility still remained, and he tried to free himself from them? Yikes! We’ve been through that before! Like gimme Pink Diamond and Nolan outfit swap rn. This is tickling me so much oh my goodness.

[writers-potion]

Storyediting Questions to Ask

As You Read the First Draft:

Are there place that surprised you as you read your first draft? - Why do you suppose that is? - Is there material there you'd like to expand?

What are the character really doing in this story? - Might they have issues you haven't explored fully yet?

Look to the places that drag. - These might be scenes where you have avoided dealing with something deeper. - What are the characters really thinking in these places? - What are their passions, frustrations, and desires?

Imagine alternative plotlines. - How might your plot be different if ti headed off on another tangent from various points in the story? - You don't have to follow them, but they might suggest other streams that can flow into the main plot.

Think About Structure:

Does you story play out naturally in three acts?

Is there an immediate disturbance to the Lead's world?

Does the first doorway of no return occur before the one-fifth mark?

Are the stakes being raised sufficiently?

Does the second doorway of no return put the Lead on the path to the climax?

Does the rhythm of the sotyr match your intent? If this is an action novel, does the plot move relentlessly forward? If this is a character-driven novel, do the scenes delve deeply enough?

Are there strongly motivated characters?

Have coincidence been established?

Is something happeing immediately at the beginning? Did you establish a person in a setting with a problem, onfronted with change or threat?

Is the timeline logical?

Is the story too predictable in terms of sequence? Should it be rearranged?

About Your Lead Character:

Is the character memorable? Compelling? Enough to carry a reader all the way through the plot?

A lead character has to jump off the page. Does yours?

Does this character avoid cliches? Is he capable of surprising us?

What's unique about the character?

Is the character's objective strong enough?

How does the character grow over the course of the story?

How does the character demonstrate inner strength?

About Your Opposition:

Is your oppositing character interesting?

Is he fully realized, not just a cardboard cutout?

Is he justified (at least in his own mind) in his actions?

Is he believable?

Is he strong as or stronger than the Lead?

About Your Story's Adhesive Nature:

Is the conflcit between the Lead and opposition crucial for both?

Why can't they just walk away? What holds them together?

About Your Scene:

Are the big scenes big enough? Surprising enough? Can you make them more original, unanticipated, and draw them out for all they are worth?

Is there enough conflict in the scenes?

What is the least memorable scene? Cut it!

What else can be cut in order to move the story relentlessly forward?

Does the climactic scene come too fast (through a writer fatigue)? Can you make it more, write it for all it's worth?

Does we need a new minor subplot to build up a saggin midsection?

About Your Minor Characters:

What is their purpose in the plot?

Are they unique and colorful?

Polishing Questions:

Are you hooking the reader from the beginning?

Are suspenseful scenes drawn out for the ultimate tension?

Can any information be delayed? This creates tension in the reader, always a good thing.

Are there enough surprises?

Are character-reaction scenes deep and interesting?

Read chapter ending for read-on prompts

Are there places you can replace describing how a character feels with actions?

Do I use visual, sensory-laden words?

For a Dialogue Read-Through:

Dialogue is almost always strengthened by cutting words within the lines.

In dialogue, be fair to both sides. Don't give one character all the good lines.

Greate dialogue surprises the reader and creates tension. View it like a game, where the players are trying to outfox each other.

Can you get more conflict into dialogue, even emong allies?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Chapter I: “Happy Birthday to you (me)”

WARNING: None for now, just a little sad background at the beginning with a calm ending. Enjoy!

Prologue

Masterlist

The hallways are the same as I remember, white walls and full of marked photos, there weren't that many, but enough to make me think that I don't appear in any of them.

Although I am grateful that my room is not that far from the stairs, but at the same time, it hurts.

Looking at all those photos, looking at how everyone is smiling carefree (except Jason), everything is fine, except that one member of the mansion is missing.

And you know what the worst part is? Today is supposedly my birthday.

And I bet you anything that none of them remember.

The last photo they took was still next to the stairs, a photo big enough for all the Waynes to fit into it.

But since I'm not a Wayne, I didn't appear, I'm not, in any sense.

Because I would never "save" a child from the streets so that he would later receive the same treatment he once received there.

I would never allow the child to be insulted and denigrated for coming from the slums much less would I justify it by saying 'he's just a child'.

I would have taken that child directly to another family who could give him the attention that every child deserves. I wouldn't have taken him to a house where he would suffer.

Of course, they never touched him, they never hit me.

But words hurt worse than a sword.

Anyway, I doubt I'll be spending much more time than I should, I have to get back somehow.

But how?

[Name] stared at the photo for a few more moments before finally rushing down the stairs.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind out of control, so many questions hovered around her, stalking her, but there was only one that did not disappear.

Why? Why her? Of all the people who would long for this chance, why choose the one who would hate it the most?

"Lord, or whatever higher being is behind this, if you hear me... I hope you find your partner with another man, you damned wretch." She thought, completely ignoring her surroundings, until Alfred's voice called her.

"Miss" Alfred said, looking at her somewhat strangely. His expression didn't say it, but she noticed it. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I'm still a little sleepy." She replied smiling a little. Alfred just raised an eyebrow but didn't reply further. "Alfred, do you know why the mansion feels so... empty?"

Alfred headed to the kitchen to finish preparing her breakfast before answering, "Today is Monday, Miss. It's normal for the mansion to be like this, even more so in the morning."

[Name] didn't say anything, she looked at him curiously. "I mean, yeah, it's normal, for now it's just Tim, Damian and I living in the mansion." She thought as she sat down in one of the chairs.

"There are two more years until I officially leave the mansion, but, I don't think I can handle two years of pretending to be the same girl who wants approval...I have to-" [Name] snapped out of her thoughts, again, as she watched Alfred place a plate of food in front of her, pancakes with cream and strawberries.

"Happy fifteenth birthday, miss." Alfred said with a small smile adorning his normally serious and expressionless expression.

"Alfred"

"Yes, miss?"

"Is there another important date today? You know, some event, gala, party?" [Name] looked at him curiously and attentively for his answer, Alfred on the other hand didn't say anything.

"No, miss, there is nothing planned for today."

Oh.

Oh.

"Alfred... Were you always this bad at lying or was I just really naive?" She thought with a smile, smiling trying to fake a hopeful look.

"That's great! That means I can spend today with my family!" She said with a smile, she seemed genuinely happy. She seemed.

Alfred fell silent.

"Of course, miss, today will be a special day for you." Those words distracted her a little, but she didn't show it, she had to keep up the role.

"YAY! Well, nevermind, I need to go find a dress and look nice! I want to show Dick the dress I bought, it's blue! I'm sure he'll love it! Bye Alfred, thanks!" [Name] stood up from the chair so quickly that it made a high pitched, annoying noise, Alfred simply tried to ignore it.

He just watched her run up the stairs with a smile, a smile that the butler could sense was strange.

[Name] on the other hand, barely left Alfred's sight, her smile disappeared, now being replaced by an expression of curiosity.

"Well, what happened today? Besides my birthday..." She muttered as she slowed her walk back to the squares in the hallway.

Observing each one of them one by one.

"What are you looking at?"

[Name] almost screamed when she heard the other voice, she turned around to see boy younger than her somewhat sleepy.

Black hair, Green eyes. Damian Wayne.

"Honestly, have I always had bad luck or is it just because I'm in the mansion? Damn it." [Name] thought as she looked at the boy who was looking at her in an angry and discontented manner.

"Good morning to you too Damian."

"Answer my question."

"I was just looking at family photos, I already had breakfast." [Name] said as she turned her gaze back to the photograph, with that she also turned her gaze to one in particular.

"Oh, you mean MY family?" Some won't notice it, but she will, that little silent mockery.

She knew what that boy was trying to do, ever since he arrived a year ago he always tried to do the same thing, to have everything in his favor.

Trying to provoke her.

He had done it with Tim before, a few months after his arrival, and it seemed that now his new target was her.

But this time [Name] couldn't care less about that comment.

She was no longer a Wayne, [Name] already took that for granted the moment she left this mansion.

So why should she be affected by a comment from someone she doesn't care about?

Comment coming from someone who doesn't care about her well-being either. Again, does she have to care?

Obviously not.

"Yes Damian, YOUR family, come down now, your breakfast will get cold." [Name] could feel Damian's normally serious and emotionless expression falter at her response.

A faltered that no one would notice except Bruce, Alfred, or an adult.

A faltering she noticed, technically, she is an adult only she is trapped in the body of a fifteen year old girl.

Damian wanted to say more, but he just closed his mouth, giving her a look of contempt and annoyance.

[Name] felt that gaze leave her and then return all her attention to the photograph that caught her attention.

It wasn't a photograph as such, it was a kind of family tree.

Below each small photo was the name and birthday. In the case of the adopted children without parents, their birthday was the day they came to the mansion.

[Name] looked for his photo and realized that it was very outdated compared to the others.

This was her when she was around ten or eleven years old. Birthday: July 19th.

"Wait..." [Name] began to check the birthday dates of the family members.

Until she got to Tim's.

July 19th. Damn.

"No wonder there was so much silence, now it makes sense because no one remembered mine..." She thought as she touched Tim's photo to frown a little. "But that doesn't justify them in the slightest."

[Name] walked away from the family tree to return to her room. She had already lamented before, what would change if she continued to lament now?

Nothing.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, the silence from before had disappeared over time, just as the morning turned to afternoon and afternoon to night.

"This doesn't affect me, no, it doesn't affect me one bit." That kept repeating in my head like a broken record. But that statement stopped working when I heard them sing.

Their voices were not annoying, on the contrary, those voices were soft and happy.

Even Bruce's voice sounded soft, Haha, it feels strange.

It's been a while since I spoke to him, no, rather, it's been a while since I heard his voice.

He always listened to my voice, my shrill voice demanding his attention and support. That little voice that always wanders through my mind, But will never wander through his.

I'm not complaining, I'm convincing myself.

Convincing that shrill voice that this is not an opportunity, that it should not have hope that anything will change this time.

I don't want it to change, I like my future, where I work and my life before this.

I don't want to hold on to a past that I know, I want to hold on to my future which is not more uncertain.

I want my life, MY life. Not her life. Not anymore.

I just want—

*TOCK TOCK TOCK*

Three continuous knocks managed to get me out of my mind, I'm grateful for that, if I continued like this I wouldn't be able to sleep.

I get up from my bed to go to that attic door and open it. There he was, Alfred looking at me with a small smile.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, Miss."

"Don't worry, I couldn't sleep, did something happen?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, just a request from me." I raised my eyebrow curiously, it's not unusual for him to do this kind of thing, but I couldn't help but have a little deja vu.

"Could you accompany me to the kitchen?"

I stood still for a few moments, until I nodded in approval, Alfred moved to the side of the small staircase so I could pass.

Once done, we both began to walk side by side. my gaze wandered through the photographs again, and there was silence again, which was not surprising.

It was nighttime, but there was still a small light on in the kitchen when we finished going down the stairs.

With that light she was accompanied by a small cake along with a box wrapped in gift paper.

"Happy birthday, miss." Alfred said again as he approached the table where the cake was, the decorations from the old party (if there were any decorations) had disappeared.

I stared at the scene in front of me.

"This isn't the way I would have liked to celebrate your birthday, miss, but it's not an excuse not to celebrate it, don't you think?" Alfred looked at me, his smile never faltering even as I stood there staring at the scene, seemingly paralyzed.

"Thank you Alfred..." This time, his smile faltered for a few short seconds, perhaps it wasn't his smile, maybe it was his look or something else.

I didn't know what my expression was right now, but it must have been something new for him, maybe I'm wrong, but his gaze seemed slightly surprised and comprehension.

As if to say, "Since when could she make that expression?"

But that look changed as soon as I started to approach the box.

Being careful not to make any noise, I tore the paper open to open the box. I opened it, my look now one of slight surprise.

The box was not that big, but it was big enough to fit three items of clothing.

A long, wide skirt with cascading ruffles that give it a flowing and elegant effect.

Sheer fabric cape-like sleeves fasten to the arms with delicate flower-adorned bracelets, creating an ethereal and elegant effect that flows as you move.

Finally, A long white cloth that was soft to the touch. As I pulled out my things I looked at Alfred in confusion.

"This is a big thing for me, Alfred."

Alfred nodded "I know, miss." He carefully grabbed the white cloth, then folded it and put it back in the box, but not before looking for something else inside. "Some time ago you told me that you liked those dancers' dance outfits."

"That's why I decided to ask a friend for a favor and make these clothes." Alfred took out two fans from the same box, he opened one of them revealing that it was not an ordinary fan.

It was a fan that when extended was considerably large, in turn releasing a colorful silk fabric degrading in warm colors, like fire.

"Obviously, I couldn't forget about this." He handed them to me, I took them carefully, with precision and with a little difficulty I extended them both at the same time.

I stepped away from the table and Alfred to spin around a bit, admiring how the fabric circled around me as it spun, then stopped peacefully and elegantly when I did too.

Now I remember this Deja vu, the gift, the outfit and the fans, that outfit was the first one I wore for my first performance at eighteen, when I had just left the mansion.

"It's obviously not for your size because I don't think it's the right outfit for you yet, but once you grow up and still have dancing in mind, it will be perfect for you Miss [Name]." Alfred said as he approached me with the box in his arms.

"Does Dad know about this?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, miss, he doesn't know."

"Alfred..." I said in a scolding tone, which is ironic considering he's, technically, the adult here.

"I know what you're thinking, and let me tell you that money comes and goes, but this isn't going away for a long time." He placed the box in my arms, until now I had only seen his gaze falter once, but now it happened again.

Before I had thought it was a look of pity.

But now, I only see flashes of guilt. Why?

That guilt in his eyes did not reach his smile, which remained intact.

I let out a small sigh that was later accompanied by a smile.

Without warning he dropped the box along with the fans to hug him, I let my head settle under Alfred's chin, I could feel him smile.

Not that polite smile, a smile he formed because he wanted to.

"Thank you Alfred."

Alfred returned my hug shortly after by stroking my head.

"You're welcome, miss."

As he hugged me, I felt a strange sensation, a gaze that pierced my body and soul. A gaze that I decided to ignore, for now, I just wanted to feel like a part of my past, it was good.

NOTES: I'M REALLY SORRY FOR THE LATENESS, god, I think this is the first time I've had so much trouble with a character's age/timeline. But hey, here you go, eat and ask questions my children.

Because I will be more than happy to answer them💋💋.

And also, any ideas or advice to start the masterlist?

TAGLIST:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864 @eyeless-kun @welpthisisboring @saiichai @leeiasure @shycreatorreview @bat1212 @vanessa-boo @midnightgrimoire @thereeallink @c4xcocoa @jsprien213 @stargirl404 @chericia @a-lurking-fae @kye-chen-r @alittletiredcry @lfiee @mishkapi @cxcilla @alittlelostmoonchild @ocean-mochi @randomlyappearingartist

[strangersteddierthings]

Good People - Final Part

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

It is not often that Wayne is happy with the monotony of work. Tonight is one of those nights, if only because it allows him to think about where he went wrong speaking to Eddie. He had never meant to imply he thought Eddie was like Al; he'd meant the apple and tree comment to for Richard and Steve. However, he does acknowledge why Eddie drew the conclusion that Wayne might have thought Eddie would follow in Al's footsteps.

Wayne's being a hypocrite, applying the logic to one boy, but not the other. And even though he never, not once, thought that Eddie would become Al, he'll never be able to take that thought from Eddie's mind that he had. He can apologize until he's blue in the face, Eddie might even forgive him, but he's not sure Eddie will ever believe him. Not truly.

And how could Wayne expect him to?

No. That's a shame Wayne will take to the grave.

Next strike to Wayne's conscious; the misjudgment of Steve Harrington, and how it ties into the fact Eddie accused him of not trusting his judgement, and, moreover, Eddie being right. Wayne hadn't trusted in Eddie's trust of Steve.

He should have. It's been years since Eddie came home crying about a boy, but what father doesn't see their kid crying over their first heartbreak and doesn't grow protective? And with Eddie, it's even more terrifying. Getting mixed up with the wrong boy could mean bruised ribs, black eyes, or worse.

In a town like Hawkins, a boy would just have to claim Eddie made a sexual advance and his murder could (would) be justified.

Now add the manhunt and being suspected of murderer to that. Well, Wayne's scared for Eddie's life almost every minute of his day.

But it's no excuse. Or if it is, it's a poor one.

Wayne doesn't know the full story but he does know that Steve was with the group of people on Eddie's side; that he was there with the Henderson kid, the Buckley girl, and Nancy Wheeler, digging Eddie out of the rubble from the earthquake, getting him to the hospital as fast as they could.

Steve Harrington was part of the group that saved Eddie's life, and that should have meant more to begin with. Instead, Wayne's been waiting for a shoe to drop that very well isn't coming.

He's going to fix this.

He'll give Eddie his space to be angry with him, and he'll try again in a few days.

When Wayne gets home, around 6:30am, Eddie's van is gone. He's not surprised. He probably left shortly after Wayne did, not leaving sooner just to avoid him.

There is a note on Wayne's bed when he makes it there. Says he's at Steve, and instead of letting Wayne know when he'll return it just says the words 'be back' followed by a bunch of questions marks. He ends it with 'call if worried' and leaves a phone number that must be for the Harrington residence.

Another hurt Wayne can't blame on anyone but himself.

Wednesday passes. Wayne eats breakfast, goes grocery shopping, pretends to care about his shows before sleeping the afternoon away to prepare for another graveyard. Eddie has not returned when he wakes, and two short hours later, he's off to work.

Eddie's van remains gone.

Returns from work Thursday morning and repeats Wednesday. He replaces grocery shopping with laundry and cleaning out the leftovers for trash day tomorrow morning. Goes to work.

Friday morning he returns home. No Eddie. He waits for it to be a more appropriate time, a little before 10:00am to call the number Eddie left.

It rings, rings, rings, then, a voice he hasn't heard in years. Richard Harrington's voice sounds as cold as it always was as the answering machine recites, "You've reached the Harrington's. We are not available. Leave a message."

"This is Wayne Munson. I just wanted to make sure Eddie's- that's he's alright. Let him know that I called. Checked on him. He doesn't need to call back but I'd appreciate it."

He hangs up the phone, lump in his throat. He misses his boy, and he wants to make his right, but he can't force that. Eddie has to always want to make it okay between them.

He's usually off Fridays, but he asked to pick up a shift. He can't face Linda without having fixed this. He spends the morning and afternoon doing all the small fixes he'd been putting off. Anything to keep him busy. He goes to sleep at his usual time, and wakes up two hours before his shift like normal.

Check's his answering machine but if anyone called while he was asleep, they didn't leave a message. There's still no van when he heads to work.

The plant tells him to leave an hour early. He tries to argue to stay but he's just waved off, told to go get some sleep because he's been looking a little worse for the wear.

He gets back to Forest Hills around 5:40am and finds there is another car parked at his home. Not Eddie's van, but the sleek maroon BMW that belongs to Steve Harrington parked where the van usually is.

When he pulls into his spot, the headlights of his truck light up Steve, sitting on his steps, wrapped in a coat. It can't be more than 50℉ outside right now.

Steve stands as Wayne cuts the engine and climbs from his truck. He gets to the front of his truck and Steve speaks.

"Eddie's okay," Steve says, hands shoving deep into his pockets, "I tried to get him to call you back yesterday but, well, you know Eddie."

Wayne nods, because he does know Eddie. "I appreciate you tellin' me. But you coulda just called."

"I could have."

They look at each other for a moment, and just as Steve opens his mouth, probably to tell Wayne he's going to go, Wayne speaks first, "you wanna come inside and have a cup of coffee to warm up?"

Steve tilts his head slightly to the left before he says, "are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright," and then Steve steps away from the stairs so Wayne can climb them and let them into the trailer. Steve follows behind silently but with familiarity. He's spent so much of his time here since spring break- the shame crawls through Wayne again. He'd assumed, once upon a time, that Eddie and Steve spent more time here than at Steve's because why would Steve want the trailer park boy in his big fancy house? Now, though, he wonders if it's because this place felt more like a home, even with Wayne's cold shoulder.

Steve sits at their little kitchen table, a luxury they didn't have before because there was no room in the single wide, one bedroom they'd had before. The new double wide (with three bedrooms) offered them a bit more space for a dining area.

Wayne's still suspicious of the government's offer to replace their destroyed home, but he wasn't foolish enough to deny the offer when it was made to him by Jim Hopper (newly returned from the dead back then).

"How do you take your coffee?" Wayne asks, once the machine finishes filling the carafe.

"Oh, I can fix it-"

"Nonsense," Wayne waves him back to sitting, "just tell me."

"I like it with just enough milk to take the scalding heat out of it," Steve says, and while Wayne's not sure just how much that it, he tries anyway.

He sets a cup in front of Steve before taking a seat across from him. "I really do appreciate that you came to tell me Eddie's okay. I want to give him his space but...."

Steve sips his coffee before shooting his cup a small smile. Wayne must have got the ratio right. Then, he looks to Wayne and the smile drops, a more serious expression taking its place and he says, "Eddie wouldn't really tell me what your fight was about, other than, uh, me and that you... overheard some of what I said last time I was here. I don't, like, want to come between you and Eddie, but I'm not, I'm not going to let you scare me away. So, just tell me what I have to do to get Eddie to believe we're cool, and I'll do it. Anything, except for getting out of Eddie's life. 'Cause I won't."

"I would never ask you to do that," Wayne says. Steve squints at him, a look of suspicion now. Completely warranted, given what Steve has known of Wayne thus far. "I owe you an apology, Steve. For how I've been treatin' you."

Steve's eyes go wide, "Oh. What? Why?"

"You've been nothin' but good to Eddie. For Eddie. And I refused to see that. I made a judgment about you without knowin' anything but your name." Steve let's out a soft 'oh' at that, but Wayne plows on, "And that weren't fair, and it weren't right. I can't undo it, but I want you to know I regret it. I'm sorry."

"Okay," Steve says, after a moment. "I forgive you."

It's Wayne's turn to be surprised. He's a bit speechless. So much so, he takes a page right out of Eddie's book and asks, "are you sure?" which is a question he's never asked after having an apology accepted before, but one Eddie had asked a lot when he first came to live with Wayne, and they were learning to co-exist.

"Yeah. I get it."

He doesn't like that answer. Doesn't like the he contributed to the mind set that gave Steve that answer. "You're allowed to be mad at me for it."

"I think Eddie's mad enough for both of us."

It doesn't feel like closure. It doesn't feel like forgiveness, but Wayne doesn't know what to say. He can't just start sprouting all the bad things he thought about Steve; there's no reason Steve should have to listen to that. But without hearing it, Steve doesn't even know what he's forgiving Wayne for. "I'll be honest with ya, Steve. It feels like you shouldn't."

Steve frowns at him. "Why?"

Why? Why? For all the reasons Eddie yelled at him, and all the things Linda said, and all the agony he's felt these last few days. The guilt and the shame that still eat at him, even as Steve Harrington says he forgives him. "It's too easy."

Those three words have Steve leaning back against the chair. His eyes dance around Wayne's face before taking in the whole of him. Or, what Steve can see of him with from across the table. When Steve meets his eye again, Wayne sees recognition there. "If you can't forgive yourself, I get that. I do. I-I've spent most of my life as one big apology. And I'm not saying that I, like, don't still feel like- what I mean to say, is that, I forgive you. I'm not, like, gonna hold it against you that you were just trying to look out for Eddie, man. Like, two years ago your fears would have been justified, so."

"Don't make it right," Wayne argues, but he doesn't know why.

"No," Steve agrees, "but I'm forgiving you anyway. You think you're the first person to hear the name Steve Harrington and assume you know everything you need to know about me already?"

Steve's words sound like they could be confrontational, but his tone is light. Teasing? Wayne says, "no. Suppose I'm not."

"Every person I love has done that," Steve says, and the ease of which he says that has Wayne feeling some sort of way. Eddie's words echo in his mind 'you made me help him feel that way'. How many other people have made him feel like he's a bad person? "Even- even Eddie. He made a point, during spring break, to, uh, well, he didn't apologize for anything because there was nothing to apologize about, but he made a point to tell me I was very 'metal' and a 'cool dude' so.... I know my name comes with, like, a shadow or a curse or whatever. I think it will for as long as I live in Hawkins, but that's," Steve flaps his hand in the air, as if that fills in for the word he can't find, and it's a move so reminiscent of Eddie. "Anyway, if you aren't actually, like, ready to accept an apology, you shouldn't be making one."

Wayne sits in that for a moment. There's a lot more to Steve Harrington than he'd ever thought. So much he doesn't know, actually, but he thinks he's okay with learning more. This boy told Eddie he was half-way in love with him earlier this week, and while Wayne never heard Eddie say it back, he knew anyway. It's why he was so protective. "You're pretty wise for your age."

Steve grins and shakes his head. "Nah, that last part was all Robin. She says it all the time to me."

"Well, then you best stop apologizing when you ain't ready to accept the forgiveness," Wayne parrots back the words.

Steve throws his head back and laughs.

They finish their coffee with silence and small talk. Steve tells him about how he never thought he'd miss his job at the video store but working at Melvald's is making him long for the days when the biggest complaint was late fees. Apparently, there's so many more things to complain about in retail.

Wayne talks about working at the plant and how the tasks are repetitive and a bit labor intensive, but the graveyard pay is worth it. Steve asks him a few more questions about working at the plant that Wayne's happy to answer and the more Steve asks, the more Wayne becomes aware that Steve might be looking for a change of occupation. He makes a mental note to put in a good word to Floyd, just in case.

Steve leaves with the promise of returning with Eddie, as soon as possible. As he was heading to the door, Wayne asked why he showed up so early.

"Eddie can't stop me if he's not awake," was Steve's answer, a mischievous grin on his face.

Wayne watches from the porch as Steve backs out. Steve shoots him one last little wave with his fingers before heading away.

He goes back inside and washes the dishes. Even dries and puts them away, a feat usually done once a week; he and Eddie have no qualms with using dishes directly from the dish drainer. His only other chore for the day is leaving for work a bit early so he has time to stop at the gas station and fill up the truck.

Grabbing the remote from its spot on the coffee table, Wayne plops onto the couch to spend his day as mindlessly as possible with some TV.

He goes to sleep at his usual time and wakes up at 7:43pm according to his alarm clock; a little over two hours before his shift is to start. It's time for more coffee, he thinks as he dresses for work before heading to the kitchen.

He jerks to a stop when he sees Eddie and Steve sitting on the couch, leaned close and talking softly. He's not about to repeat a past mistake, so he makes his presence known. "Evenin' boys."

Eddie pops up from the couch quick as lightning, taking a few steps towards Wayne before stopping. "I don't like being mad at you."

Wayne nods, "I don't much like you bein' mad at me, either. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

Eddie closes the distance between them, then, and pulls Wayne into a tight hug. Wayne returns it instantly, how can he not? He hears Eddie say, softly, "it's worth an awful lot, you terrible old man."

They part, and Eddie speaks first, "but if you ever pull shit like this again, I won't be so quick to forgive."

"I won't," Wayne says, at the same time Steve says, "he won't."

Both Munsons look at Steve, who grins back at them.

"You think you know my uncle that well already, from one shared cup of coffee?" Eddie asks, sounding amused.

Steve shrugs, "no. I just, uh, plan to stick around, y'know. Kinda hoping there's no dude after me for him to be an angry dad about. I would appreciate it, though, Mr. Munson, if you'd skip the shovel talk bit of all this?"

Eddie sucks in a breath and Wayne's a bit shocked by what Steve's implied. What Steve's admitted, really, out loud in front of another person. Wayne wonders if any boy Eddie's ever liked before would have done that.

"What good's a shove talk when you've already told me you ain't goin' anywhere?" Wayne says, hoping his tone is as light and teasing as he wants it to be.

"Glad we're on the same page," Steve agrees, "but, uhh, do you want me to go? So you can have a real talk?"

"No," says Eddie.

"No," says Wayne, at the same time.

"Oh. Okay. Uh, in that case, you got anything to drink here besides coffee?"

Wayne nods and they all pile into the kitchen to get a beverage before settling in the living room. There will be time to talk later, Wayne realizes. He's going to apologize properly.

Later, though, when he'll really be ready to accept Eddie's forgiveness, because there's no doubt Eddie'll forgive him. So, he's going to sit in the living room and chat with his boys until he has to go to work.

By the time Friday comes around again, he'll be able to tell Linda she was right, everything's going to be okay one day, and maybe ask her on a date he's been putting off asking for since high school.

Done!! I hope the ending is sufficiently cheesy.

I'm so sorry if I missed you! There were a lot of people asking to be tagged haha

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @kaij-basil-lionelli88 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mugloversonly @limpingpenguin @krazyperson @acrolius @salisbury-at-the-stake @littlebookworm86 @savedbytheirmusic @wxrmland @myownworstenemyyy @thelittleclare @awkotaco24 @djohawke @wrenisflying @croatoan-like-its-hot @actualwakingnightmare @krowepoison @jamieweasley13 @yourmom-isgay @irregular-child @oldwitcheshat @abstractnaturaldisaster @wishiwasacasualfan @vinteraltus @zerokrox-blog @warlordess @stevesbipanic @steveshairspray @slowandsteddie @samsoble @waelkyring @just-a-tiny-void @saramelaniemoon @halfadoginatank @nightmareglitter @scarletyeager @hellfireone @rovia2312 @munsonslure @a-little-unsteddie @soaringornithopter @eddiethehunted @starlight-archer @dryptid @inkjette

[lulu2992]

I’ve already seen content involving the rest of the cast, but it’s true that it’s rare and that Greg Bryk seems to appear more often. Even in fancasts and when all the Heralds are replaced by other people, he’s usually still Joseph!

To me, there are several reasons.

First, while he had been in other stuff before being cast in Far Cry 5, he was less famous than Seamus Dever and Mark Pellegrino who were already known for playing Kevin Ryan in Castle and Lucifer in Supernatural, respectively. It seems to me that actors are usually associated with one “big” role, and while Mark and Seamus already had an established fan base, the first character people think of when they see Greg is now the Father.

Then, while they were promoting the game, Ubisoft organized events and interviews with him, which put him in the spotlight compared to the actors who played the Heralds. Unlike them, he was in Inside Eden’s Gate and reprised his role in New Dawn and the Collapse DLC as well, which helped keep Joseph “alive” in people’s minds and make Greg seem irreplaceable.

They also scanned his face to create Joseph, and while they likely did this for the other Seeds too (I can really see the resemblance), the 3D model looks nearly identical to him, especially when he had a beard, tied his hair, and wore glasses to basically cosplay the Father for events and on social media, blurring the lines even more between him and his character.

Finally, as far as I know, Mark Pellegrino has barely talked about Jacob, Seamus Dever has mentioned John a few times, but Greg Bryk has been talking about Joseph regularly since 2017, sometimes spontaneously (like he did just today), sometimes because a lot of people still ask questions about the character every time they get the chance.

And so I guess that’s why he’s indissociable from Joseph Seed to a lot of fans :)

Excuse my curiosity, but is there a particular reason why of all Seed cast we're fawning over Greg Bryk and not Mark Pellegrino and Seamus Dever, besides that he played Joseph Seed?

It might be just me not seeing the content of course, but... I got curious.

[yaksha-lover]

The hands of fate weave a tale as old as time.

Malleus had once foolishly believed that yours might be a story that intertwines with his own. That the strings that pulled you and him inevitably toward each other might be final and true: that he might be your destiny.

You, a kind-hearted traveler from another world, pulled into this one by an inescapable force, demanding to set the stage for your romantic pursuits.

Him, a lonely prince, awaiting, in a way, his own knight to come rescue him from a tower built of isolation and abandonment.

But the endless hours of reading fairytales alone as a child must have distorted his perception, because Malleus realizes he is far from the lovely, innocent prince who gets to be rescued. He isn’t the type who gets to be loved.

Perhaps fate did pull you into this world, as he suspects, just not for him.

Because he can remember the first time you’d met your silver-haired prince. The way you’d looked at him, gaze lingering before shying away, like you knew. You knew you weren’t in love with him, but that, one day, you would be.

You looked at him in a way you’d never looked at anyone else; especially not Malleus.

A selfish, aching feeling gnaws at him. He hates you for being in love with someone else, hates Silver for being that person, and hates himself most of all for being so selfish and spiteful.

Malleus feels like a truly pitiful creature, born only to poison everything that bares the mark of his fingertips.

He knows the truth: no one deserves you like Silver does. If it had been Kingscholar, or even Schoenheit, Malleus might have been justified in his feelings of annoyance and objection.

But Silver is good. Good like you.

The two of you are a truly rare gems in a place like NRC. Neither of you really belong here, amongst the egotism running rampant.

But you do belong together. The lovely man earns the heart of his beloved, never the malevolent prince, cast off to the side.

That is fate, stringing each and everyone along into the roles they’re destined to play.

Malleus wonders, as he sits alone once again, watching the two of you, what role he might be to you. He hates it, hates where his thoughts go. But just as fate compels you away from him and into Silver’s arms, it forces his mind to wander, to land on questions that are agonizing and horrifying.

Thoughts that make him afraid of himself.

If he is not your handsome prince, might he be the villain whose malevolence robs you of your happiness?

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skeleton has S/O that brother doesn't know about and brother is confused when he comes home with cartoonish lipstick marks on his face. I love your writing so much <3

Undertale Sans - Oh it's a big brother time. Sans is so going to tease Papyrus to death, one pun after the other, as Papyrus is desperate to hide how red his face is. Sans is not letting that one go. He waited his whole life for this to happen and loved seeing Papyrus lose all his confidence, trying to justify himself very badly.

Undertale Papyrus - He never thought he would see the day. Sans has always been very discrete about his relationships and he's good at not answering Papyrus' questions or distracting him until he thinks Papyrus forgot. But Papyrus was not fooled and KNEW there was something weird with his brother. And now that there are evidences Sans can't hide anymore, Papyrus is going to harass him with questions. He's curious now. What do they look like?

Underswap Sans - His soul misses a beat. The hell? Blue stares at his brother with wide shocked eyes. He never expected his brother was see someone? Honey is usually pretty obvious when he's in love, and Blue is shocked he saw nothing. Huh. Anyway. It's time to investigate. He wants to know what's going on!

Underswap Papyrus - He rolls his eyes. That's definitely not the first time it happens. Blue does this effect on people sometimes. He doesn't assume it's a romantic interest, as he's pretty sure some grandma he helped cross the road did the same thing once. He's curious though.

Underfell Sans - He stares at Edge in shock, then smirks loudly. Edge cracks his neck towards him and asks if he has something to say. No, no. He doesn't have anything to say. But he's definitely taking a picture as soon as he looks away to send Undyne. Edge is not happy about this.

Underfell Papyrus - Urgh. Red is parading around the house, clearly proud of himself. It makes him want to puke. He's not jealous or anything (yes, yes he is a lot). Red knows exactly what he's doing. Is he trying to assert dominance? Because Edge can assert dominance too.

Horrortale Sans - He stares. Longly. Mainly because his brain is trying to process what monster or human could be as tall as his brother to kiss him on the top of his skull. That's very suspicious. Actually, he only knows one monster tall enough to do that and that's Toriel. Now, he's not judging but he didn't think Toriel could like his brother like that. That's when Toriel points out that his brother looks really smug. Uh. He forgot she was right next to him. So that's not Toriel? But who then? He needs to know. He notes the incident in his notebook. He knows Willow won't talk but he has other ways.

Horrortale Papyrus - He struggles not to laugh as his brother looks at him in complete confusion. Oak clearly forgot he has lipstick marks all over his face and he is completely oblivious to why his brother, and later Toriel, are laughing at him. He even gets defensive when Willow finally has enough pity to clean him. You don't give him a bath! He will bite you!

Swapfell Sans - Rus is looking at him with a smug face, clearly proud of him. "hey bro you know what i did tod..." "I DON'T WANT TO KNOW. HOW MANY TIMES WILL I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT YOU DO WHAT YOU WANT WITH YOUR ROMANTIC LIFE. I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER I DON'T WANT YOU TO REPORT TO ME EVERY TIME YOU HAVE A WOOHOO SESSION WITH YOUR HUMAN THANK TORIEL. WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ALWAYS TELLING ME THESE THINGS?!" Rus just smirks. Then as he leaves, he randomly says "actually there were two humans". Nox just screams as Rus chuckles at his reaction.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus' eyes light up as Nox passes next to him, the face entirely purple. Nox tries to speed to escape him, but Rus puts his legs in the way, making him gasp in offense. "so how was your... what you said again? ah, yes, woohoo session?" "SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP I HATE YOU SO MUCH WHY ARE YOU EVEN LIKE THIS?" "the guy who was supposed to educate me joined the royal guard at 12 and let me get horny all alone for the first time" "RUS YOU'RE THIRTY YEARS OLD." "stop changing the subject. was it that human that came yesterday? are they hot?" Nox leaves, face entirely purple. He doesn't want to talk about this!

Fellswap Gold Sans - What. What? What! Hell no! Who the hell is trying to steal his brother? Wait, when did his brother find someone? Why did his brother not tell him? Is the human threatening him if he tells him? Wine is upset, he needs to investigate. He's worried.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Coffee is a bit shocked. That was clearly not planned because Wine would have never showed up like that otherwise. That's the first time Coffee actually sees him blush. That's also probably because Coffee wasn't supposed to be home. Now, Coffee knows better than to tease him because he knows his brother is a grumpy old man. But he's happy for him.

[roturo]

COOL WITH YOU - gojo satoru x f!reader - + 4.5k words

summary: You never though throwing chocolate milk would lead you to being enemies with the popular guy at school, which led you into even a crazier situation.

warnings: smut; unprotected sex, cock warming, dacryphilia, pussy slapping, mating press, finger sucking, oral (f!receiving), marking, degradation kink, slut shaming, edging, teasing, sexual tension, overstimulation. Enemies into idk into lovers. UniversityAU, popular student!gojo satoru, fluff.

TUMBLR IS BASED ON A REBLOG SYSTEM. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK.

It was a really nice day, really.

Nothing out of the extraordinary, normal classes, normal notes, everything was going great! Nice weather, and even your hair was having a good day!, but lunch time had to come.

You were walking through the cafeteria looking for the table you and your friends usually sit at. Walking with your tray through other people, you were about to make it, until you stumbled and say stumbled for crashed into an almost 2 meter man, food flying everywhere, and if that wasn't enough, your choco milk made a mess on his white t-shirt.

WHY DOESN'T HE WEAR THE COMPLETE UNIFORM?

You felt all the possible stares into you, couldn't even see with who you crashed, way too embarrassed for it. Mumbling a lot of 'sorry, i'm going to pay it for you' 'I can wash it for you, i'm so sorry.' 'I'll buy you a new one.'  You finally looked up and saw who it was.

Gojo Satoru. The popular guy in school. Might not be the smartest, but he has good grades. Not much of a troublemaker (he is), has dated at-least half of the girls in this school, and someway he still has a line of girls waiting for his turn.

He was next his best-friend. Suguru Geto, smartest guy in your class, he's more peaceful, just watches from a distance, a cute smirk,  hasn't dated half of the girls in school, but still has a long line of girls waiting for a chance.

Your face flushed with embarrassment as she saw that the dark liquid from your spilled bottle had stained his pristine white shirt. Gojo's expression was anything but pleased, and he snapped at you, "Watch where you're going dumbass!"

You tried to apologize, but Gojo had clearly made up his mind about you. From that day on, Gojo wouldn't miss any chance to humiliate you just like you did that day in the cafeteria.

He wouldn't let go of that day, calling you all types of nicknames related to it. ¨Milkie¨ ¨Choco-latte¨ and much more. Mostly throwing your books you had in your arms walking through the halls, always putting milk on your desk when recess was done.

He would often challenge you with difficult questions in class, and you would slowly find yourself doing the same. Days went over and you were now annoyed at his behavior. Who does he think he is? He couldn't treat people like he wanted to!

¨Can you stop?¨ Utahime stopped eating, dramatically putting the fork down. ¨Stop what?¨

¨Stop looking at fucking Gojo Satoru! It’s been like two months and you’re still annoyed at him.¨ 

Oh god. He's looking back at your table, Utahime said it loud enough so half of the cafeteria could hear. Feeling your face growing hot you looked back at your friend, her face showing how unbothered she is by the annoyed side-eyes you guys were receiving.

¨It's like you got obsessed with him or something! All you do is talk about him, how angry you are about him, how he did this, how he did that, do you like HIM or what?¨

¨Of course NO! I don't like Gojo-...¨

A small cough interrupted the small discussion you were having, looking up for the person who annoyingly stopped you trying to justify why you don't like the Gojo Satoru, was in fact, the Gojo Satoru.

He was standing in all glory in front of your table with his best friend, Geto, which seemed kinda unbothered with this whole ordeal.

You looked like a little kid being caught trying to grab another candy from the bowl after he got his daily one... which made Gojo chuckle.

How cute.

¨I'm sorry ladies for interrupting your chat, but me, and my friend Geto Suguru, wanted to invite you to our upcoming party this weekend. Right Suguru?¨ He nudged Geto, with his annoying smirk, at what Geto just nodded.

You were about to deny the offer, saying you’re not one of his easy girls to smash with, but Utahime was faster than you and said yes to the invitation and lent her phone so they could send her the place and time.

Oh, well, fuck.

Utahime greeted you into her house with her radiant smile, her eyes shining with mischief. "I would’ve killed you if you didn’t come!" she exclaimed, pulling you into her room. "Tonight, you’re going to have a great fuck and forget that annoying asshole!" You rolled your eyes because of her assumption of you liking Gojo. 

Utahime couldn't resist the thrill of the invitation, saying it’s ¨an event you have to live at least once at uni.¨ You spent hours preparing yourselves. Mostly, Utahime carefully choosing the perfect outfit and a dash of confidence to match. 

You and Utahime arrived at the party, the room buzzed with laughter, music, and vibrant conversations. You’ve been spending the whole night thinking of a way to take revenge on Gojo, and show Utahime proof you don’t like him. You have tried plenty of ways; winning at sports games, not a surprise he’s better than you, but it still pisses you off how irritating he is. You also tried beating him at exams, which somehow you did beat him on them, but somehow he gets more acknowledgment about having a 9 than you having a 10?

Does he fuck the teacher too?

Fuck.

Fuck…

Fuck!

That’s what you need! To fuck Gojo Satoru.

…

Not in that way…

Well, yes. But not him fucking you. You fucking him.

His whole ego is based on how every girl likes him, so… what if you do what he does to the other girls?

Geto greeted the both of you with a smile, offering you something to drink, which you denied, contrary to Utahime. You were having a small chat with your friend and a friend of hers, she was really nice, short haired, not that tall but not that short, she's a friend of Satoru & Suguru apparently… a pretty smile adorning her face while talking with Utahime, her name was Shoko.

And Shoko is really fun, really, but you couldn’t stop from distracting yourself, eyes following the tall frame, going from girl to girl all around the house. It infuriated you how they could be so clueless of the man they’re talking with.

You decided you needed to distract yourself and stop focusing on what he’s doing. Entering the kitchen was really calm, two people chatting while drinking. Preparing yourself a drink, you felt a small push in your shoulder, and it’s like destiny made you to never stop thinking about him, since somehow he was always there.

¨Oops, didn’t see you there.¨ His stupid face, with his stupid smirk.

¨Can’t stop disturbing me for one minute in your entire life?!¨

¨Me? Disturb you? You’re the one who won't stop looking at the other like some obsessed stalker!¨

¨Well, it’s not my fault you keep fooling those girls thinking if they let you fuck them they will be with you at least more than a week before you get bored!¨

He laughed at you, which only made you even angrier. ¨Are you jealous or what?¨

¨I’m not jealous- … don’t. Don’t you dare look at me that way.¨

¨What way?¨

¨Like you want to fuck me.¨

The tension in the room grew stronger, his stupid eyes were having pleasure watching you being angry at him being with other girls. You’re really pretty too, he never took the time to realize that. Maybe it's your fault because of the grembling face you put when you’re around him.

Thank god Suguru came into the room giving you a way out of this situation, calling for Satoru and you.

¨Hey, we need both of you to help us with something back there, Utahime and Shoko are there also. Utahime is really nice, but uhh… she might gotten a little too much drunk…¨

"Do we have to bring her?¨ Gojo said, pointing back at you with his thumb, not even looking at you, just at Geto. ¨You know I hate her." 

¨Yes Satoru, it’s her friend who we are talking about.¨

"I'm standing right here, you know..." 

"I know." You were about to hit Satoru if it wasn’t that Geto didn’t grab the both of you by the wrist and started walking away.

After leaving a very drunk Utahime in Geto’s room, Shoko staying with her, the two other boys (Most like Geto) invited you to go for some midnight ice-cream around the corner, at which, you had nothing to do, so you accepted the offer, who wouldn’t want ice-cream for free?

The three of you got your ice-cream, you were with Satoru while Suguru was paying for them.

¨Your ice cream looks delicious, let me try.¨

¨We have the exact same ice cream, for god’s sake!¨ Satoru was faster than you and gave a big bite (with no teeth) to your ice-cream, you grumbled at his stubbornness.

¨Hey, no fair! You have more sprinkles than mine!¨ You looked up at his face, finding ice-cream all around his lips. Unconsciously your hand caressed his cheek and with your thumb, you wiped the ice-cream off his mouth. Your finger resting on his lower lip, he slightly opened his mouth giving enough space for your thumb to enter, which it did. His tongue swirled around it, savoring the ice-cream he stole from you. Your eyes never left his and vice versa. His cheeks were slightly pink, his eyes were now a darker shade of blue thanks to his dilated pupils.

His hands found a way to lock between your waist, making you get closer to him. Your thumb left his mouth and slowly got into his chest. He smiled at you. A genuine smile from him. Not an evil trace on it. His eyes squinted a little, which made you also smile. 

¨Can y’all believe the old man wanted me to pay for an extra ice-cream we didn’t buy? I stayed like 10 min more trying to explain him we only bought 3.¨

Your face turned pale, as fast as you could, you pushed yourself out of Gojo’s embrace, he awkwardly coughed fixing his hair.

¨Are you guys okay?¨ Suguru looked confused but then looked at you and your melted ice-cream.

¨Oh shit. It melted. Your eyes locked with Satoru for a moment and moved on to the melted ice-cream. Did that really happen?

A week passed and Gojo couldn’t get you off his mind. The moment replaying every day, the feeling of your hand on his cheek never leaving. He was going crazy. 

Ever since Utahime and Shoko got closer, that meant hanging out as a group. It somehow got better? Gojo stopped with the bitterness and the hate towards you, it turned more into teasing?, it’s like he’s been feeling cool with you?

 It even turned into the both of you teasing each-other light heartly, it was fun.

During a late-night study session at Shoko’s,  you and Gojo got into argument from some science topic, you could sense the others were annoyed at the unnecessary pause of studying, leading them into grabbing their phones to go through social media, going for water, or even just start making small drabbles of drawings, knowing they couldn’t do anything about the both of you arguing because of your stubbornness.

Until Utahime snapped, ¨Oh my god, can the both of you just fuck so the tension could leave?!¨ that left the both of you speechless and blankly looking at eachother, red invaded eachother’s face because of how things turned out and how others point of view of the type of relationship the two of you have.

...

... Your walk home was… awkward but nice?

¨Listen. It’s nearing midnight and you're a female walking the streets alone, at least let me walk you home? As much as you annoy me I’d rather you not get murdered¨ You take in his words slowly nodding in agreement as you cross your arms, ¨fine.. nice to hear that you don’t want me dead.¨

So that’s how the both of you ended walking together to your house. It was a weird bonding experience you didn’t think you needed.

¨Wow you can actually be a sweetheart this time, what happened to the boy who was arguing with me today is pluto is still considered a planet?¨

You say lightheartedly but turn to glare in his direction anyway, watching as he rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle.

¨Yeah that was pretty immature. to be fair we’re just as bad as each other ̈

You nodded in agreement it really is a game of back and forth trying to outdo each other. You felt a sudden wetness on your face sticking your hand out and watching as your palms filled with water capturing the rain droplets within, the rain poured without any mercy but thankfully you could see your house just a little down the street, with the nice moment you were having with Gojo you bravely grabbed his hand with a giggle making a bolt towards your house, to your surprise Gojo tightened his grip running beside you as the rain soaked you both.

Catching your breaths as you stood on your porch, sheltering yourselves from the rain, breathlessly laughing as you straightened yourself looking up at Gojo who was just as drenched.

¨Who saw that coming?¨ He smiles pulling lightly on your hand that still stayed secured in his, you were only inches away from each other but the cool breeze and crackling of the thunder held a mysterious mood that drew you into him.

In what should have been forbidden your lips touched, tasting the water that ran along your face seeping into your mouth as you reconnected with Gojo’s pretty lips, it didn’t last long as a large gust of wind interrupted causing you to shiver and unintentionally find comfort in Gojo, pressing against his chest. You could feel his hand rubbing gently against your upper back as he stared down calmly, you finally pulled away from him jiggling with your front door and popping it open with just a twist of your key, frowning your eyebrows slightly as you turn to look at the soaking wet boy again watching him turn towards the rain and stepping closer as if he was about to make a run for it.

¨You don’t have to leave.. it looks pretty hectic out there, i can dry your clothes and you can leave when it’s safer, if that’s what you want?¨ Gojo seemed conflicted a hint of hesitation could be seen but his expression was mostly unreadable, he took one last look out towards the street before turning on his heels, walking into your house with a smile, ¨That seems like a better idea.. thanks.¨

You really didn’t know what you were thinking letting Gojo into your house but it felt right, ¨Your... hoodie¨, you say holding your hand out towards him.¨I can put it in the dryer¨ Gojo paused for a moment looking down, his lips shaping into a straight line as his cheeks puffed out. ¨I’m not wearing an undershirt¨ You let out a light oh before making your way into the laundry room, ¨here! You can throw a towel over yourself if you feel uncomfortable!¨ You yell out to him, turning around to be greeted with Gojo’s bare chest, ¨It’s fine I don’t need a towel¨ He plainly says handing you his hoodie, you quickly nod taking it and heading over to the dryer.

¨What about my pants?¨ You hear him say as you open the lid. ¨What about them?¨ You question turning around to see his slightly wet jeans, ¨They’re not that wet but I can do them too.. got that towel?¨, Gojo let’s out a chuckle unzipping his jeans.

¨I’m not going to be naked, I do have underwear on after all, do you want me to wear a towel?¨ You went silent slowly extending your arm and making a gimme motion with your hand, ¨I don’t care it’s your decision¨, you say sounding a bit flustered, looking away nervously Gojo stripped himself of his jeans leaving him in his underwear. You throw his clothes into the dryer freezing suddenly before closing the lid, realising your own saturated clothes as you played with the hem of your shirt, “fuck it”, you whispered ripping your top from over your head, your pants following in hot pursuit letting them join in with Gojo’s clothes.

The dryer light blinked on watching as the session started not daring to turn around as you knew Gojo was still very much present, feeling a sense of embarrassment as you stood away from him semi nude, the only thing you didn’t know is that he was much closer than you thought feeling his hand smooth over your arm a slight tingling sensation could be felt as he pressed up against your bare back, ¨Aren’t you cold?¨, he said sliding his mouth near your ear, you slowly nodded feeling your words getting stuck in your throat, ¨I mean no, not really¨ You crackled out quickly correcting yourself, your whole body was heating up as the butterflies in your stomach did multiple backflips, ¨Well I am baby¨, you let out a rigid breath feeling your pussy contract within itself at the sudden nickname, you had no idea he could make you feel this way, ¨How are you gonna get warm?¨ You softly breathe out goosebumps arising from your skin as Gojo rubbed up and down your sides placing a few kisses against your neck, ¨I have an idea if you’d spread your legs a little?¨ You obeyed his words like a dog, running on your own horny adrenaline.

¨Are you okay with this?¨ You nodded, feelin his fingers come in contact with your pussy pushing your panties to the side as he swiped his pointer finger through your folds, he stopped clutching his hands roughly on your hips, his forehead laying on your shoulder blade.

¨How? You’re so wet, I barely even touches you.¨ Gojo said sensually pulling your hips towards him as he rubbed his hard against your ass, ¨I thought I’d have to do a little more but I think this is enough.. ready?¨

He kissed up your back adjusting himself a bit, ¨Ready?... for what?-¨, You struggled to say the last syllables as Gojo pushed the tip of his cock into you wrapping an arm around your waist and the other holding onto the dryer in front of you, pulling you upwards so he can angle your entrance just right so he can fully fit into you comfortably.

A gasp escaped you quickly holding onto the side of his thigh as he stayed still, the feeling of his long cock deep inside you made you wriggle pulling your heat away from him as he replants himself, the heat off Gojo’s chest and stomach burned into your back, ¨Now that’s warm¨, Gojo spoke, ¨And it’s tight too¨, He slightly giggled out resting his head on your shoulder.

¨Is it uncomfortable?¨ He quietly spoke in concernment Gojo’s worries fading as he finally feels you melting into him, ¨No it’s good¨ You say sheepishly feeling the slight shake of his arm as he continued to hold onto the dryer, another kiss being littered against your upper back upon hearing you.

It’s beyond weird getting this intimate with him but there always was some lingering sexual tension though. Nothing is really happening as you both stood in silence while Gojo kissed your body, leaving hickeys everywhere. Your body temperatures rising quickly but soon you started to feel Gojo’s movements, he awkwardly pumped himself into you stopping and starting his motions as he fought his urges, ¨Satoru?... If you’re going to fuck me just do it, this is nice and all but I know what we both want¨

You say trying to look at the boy who was still resting his head on your shoulder, you saw him perk up displaying a gummy like smile, ¨If that’s what you want who am I to deny you?¨

He jolted you forward banging you flat against the dryer giving you a sharp thrust as he grabbed a hold of your hair, bringing you back so he could kiss you, ¨You really want your enemy fucking you? Want everyone to know how of a cockslut you are? That Utahime was right? filthy.¨ 

You hum in pleasurable agreement a cheeky giggle escaping you as Gojo tilts your head to the side giving himself access to your neck, ¨Enemy? Do you really want to be calling yourself that when you started this? I think you’ve always wanted to do this, you love me¨ You say daringly, feeling incredibly unsatisfied as he pulled himself out of you spinning you around and finally coming face-to-face with him, Gojo’s hair now completely dry but nothing changed about his smirk.

¨You don’t need this” He unclips your bra way too easily wiggling it in front of your face like a trophy

“Don’t try putting this act on me, you’ve wanted my dick ever since you met me, those looks you don't give them to everyone.. probably why you love me so much ̈ You push him away playfully, covering your breasts and snatching your bra from him attempting to walk passed, Gojo re-attaches himself to you pulling you into a back hug as he kisses you roughly, biting your lower lip dragging slightly out making you whine.

“Don’t be stubborn, the laundry room is nice but why don’t you show me the bedroom?” You lean into him with a satisfied smile spreading across your face as you had every intention in bringing him to your bed, ¨Where do you think I’m taking you?¨

Nothing was stopping you, both fully naked in bed as Gojo’s face found refuge in between your legs licking up and down your slit and sucking on your sensitive clit, making infinity signs between them, holding your thighs apart to stop you from caging him in with each spasm of your body, “I’m gonna-“, you moaned out Gojo humming at your words removing his mouth from your heat and licking his two fingers as he dives them straight into your soaking pussy pumping in and out, “You’re gonna what?” He smirks, making a gesture of using his free hand to put on his ear to sign like he didn’t listen to you. Watching as you gasp at the sudden intrusion his smirk grew larger. ¨Oh! There! Satoru please I-¨

He stopped, smiling proudly and taking in your watery eyes, his smile soon turning into a sarcastic pout, ¨Aw, that’s cute¨ He laughed, pushing you flat against the bed as you leaned up to try and hit him, him being faster slapping your pussy.

¨Oh stop it! you’ll get what you want later slut, look what you’ve done to me¨ He looks down at his hard and angry cock begging for attention, rolling his fingers around his shaft as he covers his member in your juices.

¨Open your legs wider” Gojo hovers above you angling himself at your cunt, finally slipping back into your wet cunt, wasting no time in hammering into you giving you no chance in preparing for his speed, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck as he mercilessly rocks you back and forth but as Gojo lifted each of your legs up putting you into a mating press, which made the thrusters even go deeper inside you, turning you into a beautiful moaning mess.¨Ah! Look at you, you’re beautiful¨

Gojo groans out closing his eyes and throwing his head back in an attempt not to bust, picking up the pace as he fucks you raw diving his face into your neck as he concentrates feeling his heavy panting on your neck.

¨Don’t stop this time¨ You barely get out feeling your body getting to it’s highest point again, your back arching immediately as Gojo’s fingers had sneakily approached your clit rubbing your clit at lightning speed. You couldn’t breathe your legs spasming out and clenching around Gojo so hard he could barely move, your moans turning into a pleasurable scream as you reached your orgasm falling limp as you continued to pulsate around Gojo’s cock. 

He isn’t done yet. Taking in sharp breaths as he chases after his own high, you whine slightly from sensitivity but you weren’t going to stop him, thrusting a few more times till he pulls out in quickly, pumping himself in his hand as he aims his load on your stomach, moaning sweetly as he shoots his cum all over your lower half swiping his thumb over his head picking up some of the white substance and shoving it into your slightly agape mouth, ¨How does it taste sweetheart?¨ You start sucking his thumb without any hesitation making a loud popping sound as you pull his hand away.¨Delicious¨, you smile. 

With a satisfied chuckle Gojo collapsed onto your bed watching as he reached for anything to help clean yourself up with, ¨I don’t regret doing that you know…¨ He quickly says as he wiped up his mess, ¨I would’ve preferred if you cum somewhere a little less messy¨ You raised an eyebrow, ¨I meant having sex with you.. I’d do it again¨ You smiled, feeling the excitement run through you with just the thought of having sex with Gojo again ¨I’d like that too¨ He went a little quiet intensely watching you, getting closer to you, his lips crashed yours. This time it wasn’t rushed at all, he was moving his lips slowly, capturing every moment of it. Taking a small moment to breathe, he started kissing you again, then giving small pecks all around your face which made you giggle. He finally stopped with getting himself around your arms, cuddling you. 

He called out your name at which you just answered with a small sound out of tiredness. 

¨I think I love you.¨

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | minor character death, Coriolanus Snow is his own warning

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coryo finds out the consequences of his actions and finds one of his friends dead

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 third chapter is here!! Do remember to give feedback, thank you!!

beta read:: @nowitsmissing <33

series masterlist | navigation | previous chapter

According to Coryo, Dean Highbottom deserves to be punched. Coriolanus truly wishes he could punch that man's face and break his teeth in the process.

As soon as he entered the classroom, with you in tow. Highbottom doesn't waste a second to praise your insight into welcoming the tributes at the zoo and how you acted in front of the cameras. Creating the very spectacle they had been aiming for. Snow was fuming because he was sure it was because of his songbird, not his soulmate that the views had gotten up.

But, he doesn't think Mr. High As A Kite cares. Coriolanus almost thought he wouldn't even get any attention, neither positive nor negative. He was willing to accept that outcome considering the fact he perhaps broke several rules being inside the cage along with the tributes.

He was wrong.

‘Three demerits and you will be expelled.’

And he officially has his first demerit, on his perfect darn record. He opens his mouth to speak against it-

“Snow falls down on the cage.

It falls down on the cage

But it landed…” Dr. Gauls’ voice echoes around the classroom as she walks down the stairs to Coriolanus level.

“On stage,” he replied, his face nonchalant but his hands fisted on his lap, hidden from view. He had an urge to kick at the table, his mind reeling over what if Dean Highbottom removed him from the games. Would that mean he will be disqualified from the Plinth Prize?

He can't have that. He can't.

Before his mind spirals into a panic attack, dr. Gaul steals his attention with her words.

“You're good at Games,” she said, “Perhaps one day you'll be a game maker like me.” Coriolanus Snow couldn't possibly think of a future in which he's a gamemaker, he never thought of it as a real career. Nothing of his interests nor challenging enough for him. Of course, he doesn't say his thoughts out loud.

He doesn't reply at all, he doesn't have to because Dr. Gaul asks him a question. What are the Hunger Games for? There's no true answer to that. Something so cruel, something so horrible. There's no way to justify that with the truth. Lies perhaps, lies he was taught in the textbooks.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, only to be replied with “Dull, dull, dull,” by Dr. Gaul.

“Why the games?” She asked again. And Coriolanus had no answer. Because there were plenty of ways to punish the districts. Starvation. Bombing. Public execution.

Why the games?

Coriolanus Snow had no answer and Sejanus Plinth took over instead. As usual, he spewed about the wrongness of the games. The words that will go one ear in and another ear out. Dean Highbottom butts in the discussion as well, talking about how the game had run its course.

Coriolanus can't have that, he can't even fathom the thought of the games gone and in return losing his chance of winning. Coriolanus stands up, gaining the attention of his peers and authoritative figures alike with a daring but simple sentence.

“Dean Highbottom is wrong. My classmates too,” he said, his voice filled with the confidence he didn't feel.

His fingers twitch, feeling the urge to touch the burned soulmate mark on his wrist as a way to calm his soul down. He did no such thing, burying the urge deep in his mind as he began to explain his reasoning.

“People need someone to root for and to root against. . .” He continues, “And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even get people to place bets.”

He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that his palms had begun to sweat as he waited for a reply. After a bit, dr. Volumnia Gaul grinned. Her smile made his bones chill.

“Very well, Coriolanus Snow,” she said, her tone calm yet underneath laid excitement. “I’d like you to write a proposal of these thoughts, Mr. Snow.”

Before Coriolanus could agree to the opportunity, you jump in. You stand up, beside Coryo. Your soft voice rang in his ear and he subconsciously closed his eyes to savor your voice no matter what it said. For a moment he didn't even seem to hear what you were saying, he quickly opened his eyes, looking down on the wooden floor instead. His pale cheeks burning, praying that no one saw that.

He finally hears what you say.

“Let's not limit the Games to the Capitol. Let's unite the whole of Panem with it,” you said, your voice filled with conviction. “I am sure Dr. Gaul if you give me the chance to write a proposal too, you won't be less than impressed.”

“Very well, miss,” she said, cordially, “I will be looking forward to seeing what the star mentors have to say.”

“Do not disappoint,” Dr. Volumnia Gaul grins before taking herself out of the classroom.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

After a quick lunch (not, he decided to sneak food for Lucy Gray) and a plan to meet up with you in the library at night. He sets out in the Zoo with Sejanus Plinth on his toe. The rich boy carrying a whole bag of food, something Coriolanus could only dream of. While Coriolanus had some sloppy sandwich and cold cookies wrapped in a napkin.

Shamed filled his veins about the fact that in his current abilities, he could bring stolen food for his tribute. He takes solace in the fact Sejanus’ tribute refused the bacon sandwich offered to him. A satisfaction in his mind to see Sejanus being rejected by his tribute while Lucy Gray was cooperative as before.

She takes the food, giving some of it to the district twelve boy. Coriolanus frowned as he saw her share the food he bought her. He leaned into the cage to whisper, “Are you going to share everything I give you?”

Lucy Gray replied, not skipping a beat, “You think I ought to build up my strength so I can strangle him in the arena?”

Coriolanus wishes to snap at her and say yes but he knew he had to show kindness to the songbird for her to do his bidding. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, as Lucy Gray's eyes divert to his classmate, Arachne, his classmate who was busy amusing herself with her district ten tribute.

“Hunger is a weapon in the districts,” Lucy Gray comments, “Seems like your friend here knows it.”

Coryo barely suppressed a snort as he replied, “She's not a friend. She's poison with perfect teeth.” He smiles along with Lucy Gray. He leans down to Lucy Gray's level, his fingers gripping the bars between them. He whispered, “I may have the chance to help you. Make suggestions. I might even get the chance to send you gifts in the arena. Food and water.”

Lucy Gray replied, her voice hardening with the fact that she knew there was a catch, “What's the catch?”

“You might need to sing.”

“I don't sing when I am told. I sing when I have something to say.”

Coriolanus furrows his eyebrows as he hears her response. She would rather die in the arena than create a spectacle of herself. Stupid in his opinion, to value the integrity of art over their life. He opens his mouth to convince her otherwise but then an incident happens that leaves him shaken to his core.

The district ten girl, the tribute Arachne was playing with snatched the water bottle from his peer, smashes it against the cage… and in a blink of an eye, Arachne had her throat slit.

Horror fills Coriolanus as he rushes to her side. His hands over her wound, putting pressure to stop the flow of never-ending crimson blood. He sees her eyes losing life, he almost didn't hear the gunshots killing the tribute who caused this. He cried out for help, only to be ignored. He was grabbed by the shoulder by a peacekeeper. He was dragged away, as Arachne Crane bled out in front of him.

She was dead.

The people from the district were truly animals is his last thought, as he blinks away the tears and shock and goes to his home.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

In the comfort of his ruined home, he had taken a shower and had dinner with his family. He listens to the warnings his grandma’am spewed and hears Tigris voice her opinion against it. He doesn't say a word in between, his fingers tracing the scar over and over again, it was the action that managed to keep him sane for the moment.

After the dinner, he begins to change his outfit. He wears a black shirt, something from his father's closet, and too-tight grey pants. He looks at his hands and imagines Arachne on them. He takes a sharp breath and watches the red fade away from his mind. He tugs at his shirt sleeve and the burned tissue comes into view.

He does so hoping that you're waiting for him in the library. Lucy Gray was a disappointment, Sejanus too. Arachne death is a disappointment too. You were the only one he could rely on not to do the same.

He pressed his lips to the scar and for a mere flash of the moment imagines kissing you instead. For a moment, he forgets you're District, for a moment you're just his and he indulges himself in the fantasy of having your soft lips against his.

Tigris breaks him from his daydream by asking, “Are you sure that she will be waiting, Coryo?”

He looks back at Tigris, his lips pulled in a smirk, his thoughts free of mourning. He covers the scar and replies,

“She was never one to disappoint.”

Next Chapter

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[yourlittlebunnyy]

snow - azriel x reader

main masterlist azriel masterlist

kallias version

summary: Lover, wife, mate. Until he loses you.

warnings: death, happy but not very happy ending;)

w/c: 3.5k

a/n: this fic is fully inspired by "snow" by maxence fermine.

enjoy!

That evening, over a glass of good wine given to him by his uncle Rhysand, and with his other half, your son said, “I don't even remember what she looked like in the face.” And he laughed chasing away the negativity of the situation.

It was true. He no longer remembered your face. But you remember - no, you observe - his from the day you left. He didn't have you beside him, but you were always there, revelling in his victories and grieving over his sorrows.

That night you visited him in his sleep. He did not recognize you.

“My son.” You greeted him. You were on a flowery meadow. He reciprocated, but showed no signs of affection. You were little more than a stranger to him.

You shared blood. You had carried him for ten months. You had nurtured and changed him for two years. But to him, you were nothing.

“My father never told me anything about you.” He said it as if to justify his distance.

But you understand it, you always understand.

You were as close to your child as you were to Azriel, your beloved. You understood and accepted and respected his grief. You understood and accepted and respected being gone from the world all of a sudden. Your memory kept alive only by your mate, quietly and intimately. And you were fine with that.

“Would you like to know?” You asked him at that point. Your arms quivered for contact. Your son nodded.

And so, your story began.

“I would never have seen the light if my love for him had not been there to enlighten me. And he would never have seen it if it were not for me.” The Fae snorted a laugh, interrupting you.

“That's impossible.”

“Why do you say that?” You questioned.

“I know my father. A female would never be able to reduce him like that. He is a warrior.” Hurt, you shifted your gaze to the lush field in front of you.

“Then you don't know your father as well as you think, honey. That's all right, it's a long story. It would have bored you anyway.”

“No.” He begged, surprising you and himself. “Please, tell.”

“Our story goes back centuries. We were about your age.” You took a deep breath, and dove into the memories. “It all began magically. One winter day, while returning from the battle against Hybern, he fell in love with me. I was very different from the kind of females he was used to. At that time he was the Spy Master of the Night Court. He had participated in a very violent war that had ended in a brilliant, beautiful and unpredictable victory. So that he came back as a victor. Triumphant but wounded. A soldier had injured his best friend, your uncle, Cassian. Killed Amren. Then Rhysand. He had been wounded, too. In the wings. When he returned he still had the senses of that scene: the taste of blood and mud everywhere in his mouth, the memory of hatred painted in Hybern's face, the near-death experience. But it was the age of honor. Those were the joys of war. One had to die or return wounded to be considered victorious.

However, your father never forgot that battle. He could never forget the sight of his family one step away from defeat, from death. It was the most horrible thing he had ever experienced in his entire life. And believe me, honey, your father saw a lot of things. When he returned, he fainted on his bed. His family took him for dead and he lay on that bed for three days, still soiled with the marks of war. It was your aunt, Feyre, who found him, since she was worried about him.

He settled down, but for several days he was shaken. There was still fear in his eyes. Rhysand thanked him for his help, and Azriel was proud, but his pride still remained clouded by sorrow for what he had experienced. Finally, having recovered his energy, he came to a conclusion. He did not want to fight anymore, and not so much because of the wound that had been inflicted on him - he had suffered far worse during his life - but out of sheer disgust with war. He, who had spent his entire life killing, realized that he no longer had any desire to kill.

He therefore left the Wind House and set out on the streets of my beloved Velaris. And it was there, on his walk, that the miracle took place.

Crippled by the cold, at the end of his strength, with the horror of war still in his eyes, alone in the thick of the darkness and the tragedy he had just experienced, alone in the abyss of winter, alone with the vertigo of his loneliness, alone in his silence, where he should have died a hundred times of cold, hunger, fatigue, disappointment and exhaustion, he survived. He survived because what he saw that day, that thing, that extraordinary thing that also came from the other side of reality, no doubt to compensate the horror, that sublime and beautiful thing was the most sublime and beautiful image he had ever been allowed to see in his entire life. That image was me. And he could no longer forget me.

What he saw was me, at the time a young female, balancing on a rope. I felt as light as a bird, felt as graceful as a squirrel as I performed above the silvery river of Velaris. I was sixty feet above the ground. More than walking the wire I was floating in the air as if by magic. I was gliding faintly in the blue up there, standing on my invisible wire, the barbell in my hands. I could have been mistaken for an angel.

Your father slowly approached the river, and my beauty captivated him. He then told me that it was the first time he had seen a female from another Continent in Velaris. I seemed to fly, so, intrigued he advanced again. I was now perfectly above him. A dense crowd had gathered on the shore to witness my strange apparition. He approached an old man and, not taking his eyes off me, asked him who I was. I do not know exactly what he answered him, but from that moment he never stopped looking for me.

I was a funambulist, and my life followed only one line. Straight.

I was from Vallahan, a place far away. They called me Snow. I was nicknamed so because I had skin of glass, eyes of ice, and hair of gold. When I darted through the air I looked as light as a snowflake.

This is how I had begun. One day, while I was still a child, my path had crossed that of a traveling circus. Stunned, I had discovered the possibility of daydreaming. Heedless of the dangers, I had decided to make it my business. I had started with a tightrope stretched a few inches off the ground. Then, little by little, I had gone higher and higher in both height and mastery of my art. And so I became one of the first female funambulists. Up on the tightrope, I never came down again.

I became one for the love of balance. I, whose life unfolded like a twisty thread, excelled in the subtle and treacherous art of doing evolutions on a tightrope. I never felt as comfortable as when I walked on a wire a thousand feet above the ground. Straight ahead of me. Without ever deviating a single millimeter off course. It was my destiny. To advance step by step. From one end of life to the other.

My feats had conquered all of Velaris. By the age of twenty, I had already traveled more than a hundred kilometers on my tightrope, often risking my life. I had stretched my wire between two tall buildings in the Rainbow and balanced several hours above the city, I was like a swan made of wind, snow and silence. Then I had repeated my feats at every place in the Court of Night, each time defying the laws of balance.

I was no mere funambulist. I was proceeding through the air as if by magic. Looking at me so far up there, my body standing upright in the sky like a white flame and my golden hair caressed by the wind, I would have been told that I belonged to heaven. Because for me actually the hardest thing was not keeping myself balanced, or even mastering my fear, much less walking that endless tightrope. The hardest thing was not to turn into a snowflake.

By now I was being claimed in every corner of the Court. I even went to the Court of Nightmares. Then, almost without realizing it, I got as far as the Illyrian Steppes, where your father was ecstatic to watch me. Never before had an artist performed before the Illyrian. And Azriel looked at me and already loved me. In his eyes I was no mere funambulist. I was Snow, and I represented all the beauty of art. When I had finished my performance with the tightrope, and returned to the ground, he could not restrain the urge to approach me. He stepped forward and, in doing so, discovered the fineness of my features, the design of my mouth, the line of my eyebrows, and knew instantly that he could never forget my face. He looked into my eyes, and in turn I squared him. No words were spoken, and that was all we needed. I smiled at him, and in that he lost his soul. He knelt before me and said, “I have been looking for you, mate.”

I, on the other hand, was looking for no one. But his gesture seemed to me of such beauty that I delighted in it. And I accepted the bond. We got married, even. The first years passed happily. A happy event solidified our bond: you. You possessed my features, but your father's strength, darling. Our life was one of peace and silence. Gradually I was settling more and more into this Court. Sometimes I felt homesick for Vallahan, but I never complained about it.

What I missed most of all was my job as a funambulist. One night I dreamed of flying again. The next day, waking up, I thought about the dream again. Then I thought no more about it. The cold weather came. Then spring again. You developed in the ecstasy of light. I was happy. In one hand I held your father's heart and in the other my own, which at the same time I offered to you. And that fragile balance served to keep me balanced on the edge of happiness. But one day that balance became so fragile that it broke. One day the affection you offered me was no longer enough to make me happy. I cruelly missed the life in the air. I thirsted again for vertigo, for thrills, for conquest. I thought only of becoming a funambulist again. I asked Azriel to arrange one last performance. I wanted to stretch a rope from mountain to mountain in the heart of the Steppes.

Surely your father esteemed my desire as foolish, deeming it senseless to endanger my life and the life...of your sister.

But, like a true male, he bowed before me and consented. He had two steel ropes come from the Court of the Day. Then he sent two helpers to secure the longest cable between the two highest peaks.

I slipped the barbell out of my old case, put on my ballerina shoes, and practiced for hours in the garden, passing small mountains of flowers and a pond where yellow water lilies floated. Azriel, on the other hand, never tired of watching me. I was a funambulist without any rival.

On that thread I was happy, free and grateful. I thanked the Mother every day for giving me your father. I had blond hair. I had clear eyes. And I was walking on air.

The performance we stared at for the first few days of summer, my belly barely prominent. A crowd gathered from all over the Court to witness my feats. Lucien and Elain, who at the time had just become High Lords, also came.

When I placed my feet on the cable, the crowd rumbled. Up there, I was so high that those who only looked at me felt dizzy; I looked like a white dot in space, a snowflake in the immensity of the sky.

Armed with my barbell, for more than half an hour I performed high above the ground, slowly approaching the opposite side of the mountain. Below, they were holding their breath. One false step and it was certain death. But I, perfectly mastering my art, advanced inexorably. Step by step. Blow after blow. Silence after silence. From vertigo to vertigo. And your father watched as I danced caressed by his shadows in contrast to my white skin, silently praying for me, for his daughter. For your sister. I never stumbled.

It was the wire that broke. Definitely poorly secured, the cable came off the rock and plunged me into a thousand-foot drop. Me, the barbell and my unborn daughter.

Those who saw me disappear there, in the heart of the Steppes, took me for a bird falling from the sky. And my body was never found again.

I, Snow, became snow and sleep in its whiteness.

Your father never recovered from the loss of me, his mate. He killed the two clumsy helpers with cruelty, hatred and the thirst for revenge commanded his movements. Your uncle allowed him to do so without punishing him. But Azriel felt neither joy nor pity in the act. Killing them would not bring me back to life. He saw only one thing: his own grief. He knew only one thing: that never again would he find the woman he had loved. Never again would he see his Snow again. Never again would he see my beauty again.

Back in our house, now devoid of any joy, he threw away the Illyrian sword with which he had killed the two males. He would never kill again in his life, he promised himself. He would throw himself into pain. In the face of our daughter who died that day with me, in which my own face was reflected, he would weep every tear in his body. There was only one last gift left, one last thing that held him to the world of the living: you.

He sank so deep into his grief that he went blind. Your father accepted it, you know. It doesn't really bother him, he is no longer a warrior. He thinks the Mother no longer saw any sense in keeping his sight, if he wouldn't see me anyway.

I have always been close to him. I have always been close to you, my son. As much as my condition allows me to be.

I have never been given a final farewell. In your house my name is like a curse: it is never spoken and disaster should it be done. Therefore, I have come here, in a dream to you, for one last request. I want to be buried with your father. Come to me.” And you showed him where all that time you were hiding.

“Why didn't you say that before?”

“Because your father would not have been able to go on, seeing my face every day.”

As you spoke, you looked lost in the void, your eyes still veiled by the breath of the dream. The story had been long and paplit. Coming back to reality was difficult. Your son merely smiled and nodded at you, his own eyes wet with tears.

The next day he went to Azriel, who was relaxing by the silver river. He asked him to close his eyes and imagine the whiteness.

“I know where your Snow is.”

At these words, Azriel's face froze. Still with his dead gaze turned toward the river, he said, “Who are you to know this? No one knows where she is. The mountain swallowed her up. A long time ago.”

“That's false. The mountain digested her and returned her body. She is there, under the ice, a meter from the surface. She is there, in a glass coffin, intact and as beautiful as when you met her. In her womb she still holds the fruit of your love. I swear to you that I know where she is. She showed it to me in a dream. If you wish, I can lead you to her.”

Azriel understood that your son was telling the truth, and he could not hold back a tear. “I knew that one day we would meet again. But I did not expect that day to come so late in my life.” He turned to the younger Fae and laid a hand on his shoulder. “And to say that since she died ... since she died I've been looking everywhere for her. I've been looking for her everywhere. In every corner of this Court. In every corner of my mind. In every, single, dream. And now that I can finally see her, I will not see her.”

The next day, after the usual practice, your son asked your mate, “Have you thought about my proposal? When do you want me to take you there?”

Azriel sighed, then replied in a sad voice, “My son. This trip would be useless. I know you speak the truth, but what good would it do for an old blind man to find the grave of a dead lady? Wherever she is, my mate is at peace. May her isolation be respected for eternity.”

“No, father. She told me. Her last request was to be found. To be buried with you.” Azriel disappeared into his garden, leaving his son to be crushed by the weight of his own words.

A month passed. Your son and husband no longer spoke of you. They did not even dare to mention it. Every day, the younger Fae went to Azriel to keep him company, but in the end the two always ended up in oppressive silence. It was as if you were invisible.

But then one morning, standing on the edge of the river in Velaris, Azriel said to your son, “Tomorrow we will visit your mother.” Both of them did not answer, they just smiled.

They left at dawn. Your son guided Azriel with the sound of his footsteps. Every time he offered him a hand to help him over some steeper or treacherous passage, and your husband refused it and punctually overcame the obstacle without the need for help. He may have forgotten that he had been a warrior, but his muscles had not.

At night they slept in the villages. When, upon entering a village, Azriel uttered his name and declared where he was from, the doors opened before him as if by magic. The entire Night Court seemed to know his old reputation. Your son was astonished.

And he understood how fortunate he had been to be able to follow the teaching of such a father.

The journey was long, of unceasing whiteness. White as the cherry blossoms. White like the silence that accompanied the two wayfarers.

Finally, one morning, the first mountain peaks appeared. Their road began to climb toward the sky and its purity. They were the hardest hours. Your beloved began to show signs of fatigue, but your son pretended not to, since they were no longer very far from you. Azriel found the strength to go on only because of you. The journey was coming to an end.

When your son glimpsed the place shown to him in his dream, he trembled with excitement. “Dad!” He shouted. “I found it!” The young man rushed under a rock where, in your dream, you showed yourself lying. He had a cry of surprise.

“What is it?” Azriel asked, trepidatiously. “Has Snow disappeared forever? Has there been an avalanche?”

“No.” He said then. “Far from it. She is different from how she showed herself to me. Snow is here, but her body is closer. It is two or three centimeters from the veil of ice. I can almost touch it. It's as if she has prepared for our arrival.”

You were there. You, creature so beautiful, so naked, so blond, as fragile as in the dream. You were dead. Yet you seemed alive. You were resting under the ice. And soon you would emerge from your grave.

You were not really naked. Your funambulist's dress had been so long under the ice that the weave of the fabric had become almost transparent. And your body so delicate and your skin so diaphanous seemed even more fragile. So transparent were you that your son could glimpse your sweet pregnant womb. He threw himself on all fours and scratched at the ice with his nails. Finally you were there.

Your son grabbed Azriel's hand and placed it on your face. And you, watching the scene crouching beside the two males, could almost feel your mate's gentle caress on your skin. You breathed in that touch.

“Can you feel her face? Do you feel her skin?” Azriel's hand stroked your cheek again. He was blind. But he did not need his eyes to recognize the lines of your face. And yours was so well preserved that a simple touch with his fingertips on your lips turned blue was all he needed.

“It really is her. She is my Snow. You have never lied to me.” He fell to his knees before you and wept hot tears warming your face. He could neither see nor feel you, yet you laid a hand on his shoulder. You could not feel him under your fingers. But you were fine with that. It was okay even just that. Just seeing him.

Azriel never descended from the mountain. He lay down on the ice beside you and closed his eyes.

Your son tried to talk him out of it by saying it was madness, that it was too cold to stay there. But your mate answered him in a serene voice, “Leave me alone. I have found my place. For eternity.”

He fell asleep beside your intact body, one hand resting on your womb.

He died letting the whiteness of the world overcome him. He was happy. At the height of your heart.

[howlett-n-morgan]

More Than Words

3. An Advantageous Journey

Logan Howlett x OC!Reader

Series Summary: Having lived for over two hundred years and never having the privilege of human touch is the biggest burden imaginable... until someone comes along with the healing ability to withstand the touch of death.

Chapter Warnings: mild language, mentions of scars and blood, a few traumatic events and ptsd symptoms, mostly fluff in this one guys… but LOGAN IS A WARNING. Oh and also I’m not from Canada and only have one Canadian friend so my apologies if Canada is depicted poorly… she was like ‘it’s just like America except there’s more snow and some people speak French’

Chapter Summary: Going back to Canada is supposed to be a quick trip that benefits Logan’s memory, but upon arriving, he seems to think that a fews days need be spent on diversions.

Word Count: 15.3k (God help me-)

“Then how were they able to cut you up?”  Poor phrasing, but he was never one for a gentle touch in his wording.  “Same way you were able to,” you reminded him, rolling up your sleeve to show where his claw marks had almost completely healed over. “Adamantium.” “Adamantium? You’re kidding,” he almost found it funny, the irony of it all. He’s the only one who can touch you, but he’s also the only one who can hurt you. “How’d they figure that out?”

The professor was the first one to speak to Logan the morning you both planned on leaving the mansion. Everyone was made aware of this, but few people understood why it was so necessary. Even Scott, who had endured some of the same treatment as you and Logan, did not know how to justify such a spontaneous trip in the midst of all the chaos surrounding mutants. Especially after the recent situation with Magneto.

It could be dangerous, but above all things, it could also bring answers. And Logan needed answers. About who he was, what he did, and where he’s supposed to go, now. The pain from his nightmares has subsided only a small bit while being here with everyone. He wants to make them go away for good. 

When Charles sits him down in the study that morning, he thinks he understands why. You’re a very important member of the team. He wants to make sure you return, and without a scratch. It makes sense in his mind… but the professor has other ideas for the conversation. 

“How long do you both plan on being away?” He asks, keeping a tether on Logan’s mind in case he is even the slightest bit dishonest. 

“Not sure,” he began with a sigh, sitting back into the seat he’d been given. “I guess it depends.”

“On what, exactly?” Charles kept his questioning thorough, but not for the reason of interrogating him. 

“On what we find.” Logan shrugged his shoulders and raised a brow. He really had no idea what he was going into when you said you’d take him to Stryker’s old bunker. “Guessing from the nightmares I’ve had, it’s not really a nice place.”

“Well, I assure you,” Charles began, turning his chair to the side and reaching for some documents on his desk. “You are in the best of hands. The very best. I just hope you know how lucky you really are.”

“Lucky? How so?” Logan’s curiosity wandered. He knew you were a valuable member of the team, and he was grateful that you would offer him such a strenuous task on your own shoulders, but he caught on that there was more that Charles hadn’t spoken. 

“Alice is a rare mutant. Like you, she can stand the tests of time, and never waiver. She is nearly immortal, and takes her job of protecting others very seriously.” 

“I picked that up,” Logan nodded in agreement. “She cares a lot about saving people.”

“She cares even more for those who are close to her,” the old man warned, his expression becoming more solemn and serious. “She will go to incredible lengths to keep her loved ones out of harm’s way.”

Logan was beginning to wonder where the point was in all of this. He knew you were the type to look out for others above yourself. You were an X-man, it kind of came as a job requirement… but more than that, he knew you were kinder than most people were, and the help you extended to him was not just a simple favor. 

“She has never experienced a bond like she has with you… with human touch.”

He understands now. Your powers, and the impact they have had on you is immense. You have to keep everyone at arm’s length, except for him. He can be let in, and he can do the things that others can’t.

“What exactly are you telling me?” Logan pondered, gruffly. Even with the professor’s point being made, he was still curious as to why he would bring this all up.

“I’m telling you to be careful. She’s already grown strongly attached to you for the sake of your touch, and will likely become fonder in these days to come. I ask you to think about and consider her feelings when you take her with you… If you hurt her, the consequences would be unimaginable.”

Logan does consider them, for a split second he considers them. He knows you’re fond of him, otherwise this escapade would not even be happening… but he also knows that his ability to touch you is the defining factor. His feelings for someone else block out any signs that your interest in him could further develop, at least past what it is already. Even with all this in mind, Logan is a smartass, and wants to tempt the man in charge by challenging his threat. 

“I can imagine quite a bit,” he smirked, nodding his head side to side. 

Charles did not take that comedically whatsoever, and Logan didn’t really expect him to. It was probably a bad idea to open his mouth in the first place. 

“You mock me when I’m trying to help you?” 

“No sir,” he let out with a breath. 

“The consequences I speak of would not be dealt by I or any of her colleagues…”

“Then by who?” Logan asked, his voice not raised, but becoming more prominent as the conversation became more pointed than it was before. “Is there some big bad monster I should be worried about?” 

Charles sighed. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and Logan only seemed to become irritated the more he spoke. He took a glance into the man’s mind, and found that a beautiful woman with long red hair rested among his thoughts, though he should not be thinking about the woman that is most definitely taken. 

“I can see that your mind is clouded by thoughts of someone else,” Xavier changed the subject, tapping into the specific thoughts and trying to gather more details. It appears this conversation was mostly for nothing. Charles sighs, “Do not hurt Alice, Logan. If you do, her pain will become yours.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Logan stood up, assuming this was the last of the professor’s advisory words. He was becoming quickly annoyed with how little the man trusted him, and how intrusive he’d been this whole time. 

He wouldn’t lead you on, but he wouldn’t shut you out, either. You’d been so helpful to him, he wasn’t going to push away the one piece of his past that just might bring everything together. That would be foolish of him. 

“Logan,” The professor stopped him one more time, and he turned to look at the man, sitting straight and with a firm gaze from his wheelchair. “When the time is right, ask her about a man named Charlie.”

Logan sighed, filing that thought away in his mind before heading back upstairs to pack some of his belongings together. 

-

You never wanted to go back to Canada. 

You swore after you got out the first time that nothing good could ever come out of Canada and you stuck to that belief. 

But you’d met Logan in Canada, and he wasn’t so bad. Scott, too… although he’d been a teenager at the time and was much more annoying back then.

“On your way already?” Ororo was leaning in your doorway when you looked up, watching you stuff your travel backpack until it could barely zip up on the side. 

“About to be,” you heaved it up onto your back, adjusting your posture to hold it correctly, then walked to meet her at the door. “I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye.”

She grabbed your hand, covered in your little green gloves. “Keep in touch, will you?” 

“I will, I promise,” you nodded gently. “I won’t stay away for long.”

“You say that now,” she crossed her arms and shook her head jokingly. “But going away with a guy that looks like that? And he’s the only man in the world that can touch you? Baby, I’ll be lucky if I ever see you again.”

You laughed along with her, giving a warm smile and a nod. “He’s something…”

“He’s ready to go,” Logan teased, coming up behind Ororo.

You blushed, knowing he probably heard the conversation while leaving his room. You avoided making eye contact with him yet, just gave a thin lip smile while looking back to your dear friend and saying your last goodbyes. You only wished you could hug her close to you, for all the years she’s spent in your corner. 

“I guess I’ll see you around, Ro.” 

“Don’t be a stranger… Call me when you can.” She gave you a strong look, indicating that she was serious, and not just playing along for the sake of goodbyes.

“You know I will…” you trailed, giving her one more squeeze of the hand before walking behind Logan towards the stairs. 

Once at the bottom, there was just a slight obstacle. Rogue caught you both leaving, and had a few words to say. 

You’d admit, you felt bad leaving her here, especially when you’d been so adamant to her before that you were going to teach her about her powers and how to get used to them without the fear of hurting others. It’s only now that you realize you won’t be able to help in the most detrimental stages of her mutant education… but you would return. You knew you would. 

You had to help Logan, first. He was the priority. He saved your life once, and it was time to pay that debt forward. 

Logan had left his dog tags with Rogue, along with a promise that he would be back. Of course he would… Or maybe he wouldn’t. You never thought about what could happen if he should find his memories and remember who he is. He might have loved ones and a family to return to…

“She’s got a crush on you,” you mentioned to him once you were out of the house. You looked at him, and he seemed unsurprised. “And she trusts you…”

“I figured that much,” he smirked, walking towards the main garage around the side of the large house. 

“Did you mean it?” 

“Did I mean what?” He turned to ask you, his features twisted in confusion. 

You sighed, stopping at the garage door but making no motion to use the lock pad to open it. 

“When you said you were going to come back…” you trailed, scanning your thumb print on the pad so the door would fold up. State of the art technology for the lock, but the same old door from the seventies. 

It took him longer than you expected to answer the question, but you figured since it held some weight, it was good that he thought it out clearly. 

“Yeah, I meant it.”

You looked to him, the decision he made was worn on his face and it was easy to see he was telling the truth. 

“Good,” you nodded, walking inside first and grabbing your keys from your pocket. Logan immediately gave you a glance of mischief, and walked in the other direction. 

“Logan, no…”

“Logan, yes,” he taunted, going over to sit on the motorcycle that belonged to Scott. You weren’t going to play this game with him.

“We are not going all the way to Canada on a bike.” You were trying to be the reasonable one here, but he was so damn stubborn. Two could play that game, you were stubborn, too. “Get in the car.”

“Get on the bike,” he nodded behind him, the open seat looking appealing for only a moment. “I know you want to…”

“No, I don’t…” you opened the driver’s side door, and climbed in, shutting it behind you… but he didn’t budge from the damn motorcycle. 

When he turned it on, the engine roaring to life and revving from the motions of his hand, you closed your eyes for a split second before doing the worst thing you could have possibly done. You climbed out of the car and went to the motorcycle, swinging a leg over and holding onto him with a big huff. He knew you did it for show, not because you were actually upset. 

“Comfy?” He threw a smirk over his shoulder, and you huffed again for emphasis. 

“No.”

He just laughed, pulling out of the garage and onto the road. 

You would admit, the wind in your hair, and the lovely smell of the pine trees lining the streets was wonderful. All the sights on the way to your destination were quite lovely, and though you could see them from your car just the same, it wouldn’t feel like this. 

This feels like flying, almost, with the breeze beneath your wings, and the sounds of nature as you pass through. 

Logan can almost sense your smile when you drive by a particular area full of color changing aspens, the scenery surrounding you felt almost like a dream, something from out of a movie. 

He never said anything to taunt you about being right, or made a comment about how much you seemed to be enjoying yourself. It was silent between you both for hours, until the sun began had set, and you’d finally crossed the border into Canada. 

“We’re gonna have to stop soon for the night,” he mentioned when you’d pulled off the road to get something to eat. Just a little rest-stop… gas stations, fast food, the works. You’d spotted a sign a few miles back for a motel, but weren’t sure where to go in order to get there. 

“Fill up the tank, I’ll go inside and ask about directions,” you told him, swinging your leg off of the bike and walking away. 

He was certain that this dynamic between the two of you was working well already, and that he didn’t need to heed Charle’s words as much as he originally intended. You seemed to go with the flow of things, and were rather easy to get along with… and you didn’t seem to be super into him like the professor said you would be. You cared about him, sure… but he cared about you too, and without crossing any lines. 

Filling up the bike, he leaned against the metal machinery, his head dozing back and forth from his tired state. It wasn’t until you returned, holding a map and a bag of gas station pastries that he was fully aware again. 

“The guy marked that motel out for me on the map,” you said, unfolding the paper and showing it to him, the red marker lining the road and the turn off. “It’s two exits down.”

“Easy enough.” He took a look at the marked location for himself, waiting for the gas pump to finish topping off the tank.

“I got you a donut,” you said, handing him a paper bag like your own. You’d pulled a maple donut from yours, so he was appalled to find that his was not also a maple donut. 

“Chocolate?” His eyebrows raised, only teasing you, but still just slightly butthurt about the donut. 

“You don’t like chocolate?” You furrowed your eyebrows, talking with your mouth full of the first bite you took.

“Did they not have any other maple glazed?” he nodded to yours, the joking nature still filling his tone. 

“This was the last one.” You reasoned. You found it a little funny, but felt a little bad at the same time. 

He huffed, shaking his head, but then you smiled sweetly, holding out the donut with a single bite taken to him. 

“I’ll trade you,” you offered, knowing that in the end, it was just a donut compared to the grand scheme of things. 

“Thanks,” he muttered gratefully, a sideways smile spreading on his cheeks. He’ll admit, it was a sweet gesture, no matter how small. He handed you the chocolate donut, and took a bite out of the one you gave him. “Maple donuts are for real Canadians.”

“You’re Canadian?” you asked, a bit of surprise coming from you. You met him in Canada, but it was somehow still a shock to you. He seemed very American when you first met him, and even now. 

“S’one of the only things I can remember,” he nodded, his demeanor livening up quickly, and all because of a donut.

“Huh,” you stared off, wondering if he’d known Stryker for long before his memory faltered. Clearly he’d been abused by the man, but to what extent, you weren’t sure. You have bits and pieces of memories from that era, and most were just feelings of the energy around you.

“You didn’t know?” 

“You didn’t tell me…” you trailed, enjoying the chocolate donut, despite maple donuts being better. Him enjoying it was satisfying enough.

“We should get out of here,” he yawned, crumpling up the paper bag and tossing it into a nearby trash can. “Road is dark, and I’m tired.”

“Big, strong, manly… but gets tired on a little road trip?” You teased, finishing up the pastry before throwing away the trash and getting back on the bike with him.

“You try steering this thing all day.” He threw a smirk over his shoulder, revving the engine. 

“I would, if you’d let me,” you chided, another taunt that you knew wouldn’t end in your favor. He’d never be caught dead on the back of a motorcycle like this with someone else behind the handles.

“Not a chance…” 

-

Having checked into the small motel, you ached for a shower, but given that Logan was practically falling asleep already, you let him go first. 

Maybe it was a mistake, he’d been in there for a while, and you thought maybe all the hot water would be gone by the time it was your turn. You just hoped he hadn’t fallen asleep in there, propped against the shower wall. 

You might just shower tomorrow at this point, unwilling to wait for the water to heat back up. 

With a sigh, you changed into something a little more comfortable, the pair of sweatpants and sweater that were shoved to the bottom of your giant backpack. It was wrinkled as all hell from the journey, but you knew that didn’t matter. It was cozy, and warm, and being in Canada as late fall was setting in meant you needed to be as warm as possible. 

You curled up on the queen bed closest to the heater with your book, which you’d deemed necessity enough to bring on this escapade to another country.

When Logan finally emerged, he’d adorned a pair of flannel pants, and a gray t-shirt, which was admittedly a bit small for him. The fabric hugged his body a bit tighter than he was used to, but good lord almighty… this man looked stunning. 

The dim light from the bathroom, mixed with the warm glow from your bedside lamp while you read, it made him look like he glistened. The stray water drops on his face and neck, and the quickly curling upwards strands of his damp hair. You never guessed that his hair just did that naturally. You found yourself staring a little too long, and as soon as Logan picked up on it, dropping the towel he used to dry his hair, he chanced a look in your direction. Quickly your eyes found the pages of your book again, and you kept a straight face, hoping nothing would be said about it.

“That a good book?” he smirked, knowing that you could barely even focus on it a second ago. 

“Mhm,” you zoned in on the words, reading them over and over, but none of what they mean stuck in your head. You could only think about what you just saw, and what you still could see if only you turned your gaze. 

“It looks old,” he commented on the bent pages and old fabric cover. It looked worn and well loved. 

“It is old. I got it on the day it was released in nineteen fifty-three.”

He whistled lowly, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “You read it a lot?”

“Once a year,” you mumbled, still acting engrossed with the page you’d been stuck on since he entered the room. “It’s my favorite book.”

“What’s it about?” He sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning forward and looking at you tiredly. He was exhausted, wasn’t he? Why didn’t he just say goodnight and go to bed?

“The future… the way the author thinks our societies will begin to crumble,” you explained, turning towards him and letting the book fall on your chest, pages still open. “Books will be outlawed, and a group called the firemen will be required to burn any that are found.”

“Sounds interesting… also sounds a little miserable. Why’s it your favorite?” He grinned, throwing his sheets and blankets up and lying beneath them, keeping his head propped up on his hand so he wouldn’t fall asleep yet. The warm glow of your bedside lamp cast him in such a pretty glow…

“I think it feels very real to me, in a way…”

“You think books are gonna be outlawed?” He laughed slightly, clearly finding himself misunderstanding your meaning. 

“No, but with the way things are playing out, it feels like a projection of what’s to come. Of course, they will make the enemies of the future out to be mutants, not books.”

“And these… firemen,” he put finger quotes around the word, trying to be hypothetical about the situation. “You think there will be groups like that?” 

“Mutant hunters? Absolutely… They’re already out there, just look at what happened to us,” you sighed, the facts of the matter weighing you down, even though it had been a pleasant conversation. You enjoyed talking about your favorite book, but everyone in the mansion had already heard about it a thousand times. It was refreshing to get a new audience to share thoughts with. 

“I never thought about it that way…” he furrowed his brow, his eyes drooping with every second passed. He had to be fighting sleep for his life. 

“Mutants are supposed to be the future… but we’ll never see that future if we have to battle extinction.” 

He didn’t reply, his mind elsewhere. You watched him carefully, his face looking deep in thought. You returned to your book by the time he finally spoke up again. 

“You’ll have to let me borrow that book sometime,” he rolled over as he said it, so when you glanced over at him, his back was facing you. “G’night, Alice.”

“Night, Logan…”

-

In the morning, you woke up later than usual, no alarm clock or imminent threat looming to pull you from your slumber. It was nice, being able to wake up naturally for the first time in years. You felt so well rested that you nearly forgot where you were. The chill air of the morning surrounded you just outside of the thick blankets and sheets you were under, but it wasn’t unpleasant, it was refreshing. 

When you opened your eyes, you began to recall everything slowly. Sitting up, you find that Logan isn’t in the bed across from you, or in the room at all. You furrow your brow and stand to your feet, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when a note catches your eye. 

Placed on a tiny table by the janky minifridge, there’s a paper bag and a torn off napkin with some words scribbled on it. 

Be back soon… got you something.

Inside the paper bag was a maple donut. It looked really good, too. Much better than the fifty-cent one you’d traded to him the night before. 

You smiled and took a bite, eating while going about your morning routine, wanting to shower and  get ready to leave the motel. You weren’t sure what Logan was up to, but with him being Canadian and all, you’re sure he’s just happy to be back. 

He knocked on the door, the latch lock seeming to have been flipped over when he left. 

You dropped your change of clothes back onto your bed, running over to the door and letting him in. He seemed to have a relaxed grin on his face, and looking at his clothing, there was a light sheen of icy water coating his leather jacket. 

“C’mere,” he pulled you along, completely barefoot and still in your pajamas. 

Once outside, you saw that the grounds were covered with just a small dusting of snow. It wasn’t thick, or freezing, but it was still falling around you, and you suddenly didn’t mind getting dragged away from the warm room. 

“It’s snowing already?” You asked in confusion, as if he had the answer. 

“It’s Canada, what did you expect?” 

You just continued to enjoy the pretty sights around you, then realized your feet were still bare and you were likely going to make yourself sick if you didn’t go back inside. 

“Let me go shower and we can check out,” you muttered, looking at him and finding he was just as captured by the beauty of a quickly approaching winter wonderland. 

“I’ll make sure the bike is thawed out,” he joked, nodding to you. 

After you went back inside, he walked around to the front to where the bike was parked in the covered area. It wasn’t too cold, but it would still need some time for the metal to heat up. He’d been able to start the motor not too long after, and pulled it around the side of the motel to be closer to where you had stayed. 

He should have knocked before going inside, and he regrets not doing so, but upon opening the door to you half dressed, having yet to pull up your jeans, he seems to be frozen in place. You don’t notice him at first, and with the second glance he gets, he sees all the scars littered over your legs and hips. He remembers the first night when you’d put all the pieces together, knowing you’d met him before. You knew about his past, and he got a peek into yours. You'd told him a man named Stryker gave you those scars.

“Shit, Logan…” You trailed, yanking up your jeans faster and hopping your feet to speed up the process. When you noticed he’d just been standing there you panicked, and nearly fell down trying to get your pants up. “Don’t you knock?”

“I’m sorry,” he blinked himself out of it, furrowing his brow and dripping his eyes. He had to physically shake himself from the trance. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” you stopped him, grabbing your things and packing them away, sliding your backpack on and walking past him. Your hair was still wet from your shower, but you didn’t want to stay inside and let the moment linger any longer. “Let’s get out of here, we still have a long way to drive.”

-

The hike through the fresh snow had been a little uncomfortable, mostly happening in silence. Since this morning, you’d barely spoken a word to him. You’d ridden miles and miles on the back of the bike without talking. Usually he was the silent type himself, but he’d felt bad for what happened, even after apologizing, so he decided it rested on his shoulders to break the quiet streak.

“I’ve been thinking… those scars,” he tried to broach the subject lightly, looking at you with a careful eye. “You’d said you were bulletproof, and fireproof. I had it in my head that you were impenetrable.”

“I am,” you gave him a flat stare, nodding your head a little.

“Then how were they able to cut you up?” 

Poor phrasing, but he was never one for a gentle touch in his wording. 

“Same way you were able to,” you reminded him, rolling up your sleeve to show where his claw marks had almost completely healed over. “Adamantium.”

“Adamantium? You’re kidding,” he almost found it funny, the irony of it all. He’s the only one who can touch you, but he’s also the only one who can hurt you. “How’d they figure that out?”

You kept on with your trek through the forest, the explanation rolling around in your head before you told him aloud.

“They’d been trying to take me apart for years, and all I’d do is rot in a cell… then they found a mutant called Lava, and she was the only person who could melt the adamantium they’d discovered. I guess they ran out of options with me… so,” you sighed, raising your eyebrows and trying to keep composure while talking about it. Opening up to him did little to help his own memory, but you did so anyway. Because he asked. “They coated a surgical set in adamantium to see what would happen… and it worked. They started taking parts of me wherever I could spare them.”

He had come to a slow stop, but you hadn’t noticed, continuing through the forest on your own, trying to make it to the edge of the lake before it got too dark. You at least wanted to pinpoint the location for tomorrow’s journey through the past. 

You turned around to see him standing dead still, a look on his face the likes of which you couldn’t decipher… What was he thinking behind those pretty eyes? 

“Logan, you okay?” 

He blinked out of his thoughts. You wondered if maybe he was remembering something and you’d stopped him. 

“Yeah, I just,” he shook his head and caught up with you, the solemn look not leaving his face. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You shrugged, keeping in stride with him, not falling behind or going ahead this time. The conversation helped ease the awkwardness that came before in the silence. “It’s alright. It was a while ago… besides, you were the one who saved me, you don’t need to be the one apologizing.”

The hike kept on in a much more comfortable silence. The sun would be going down soon, and you didn’t want to spend the night out in the woods, especially when it had been starting to snow today. 

When you came across the small stream, leading to the edge of the lake, you picked up speed. 

“Should be right up here,” you told him, leading the way through the mucky ground, moist with melted snow and mud. 

You’d seen it before he did. You stopped in your tracks the second you looked across. 

He caught up, taking a look for himself, but quickly growing concerned with howtense and unmoving you were. Your expression had changed from the relaxed one it had been wearing to a firm yet frightened stare. It was eerily quiet, and you couldn’t move your feet. Your hands balled into fists and one at a time, the memories of this place came rushing back. Just seeing the base, abandoned and covered in rust, was enough to make you want to cry. You felt all the loneliness, all the pain, and all the lost hope that used to plague you in this very place.

“You okay, kid?” Logan came closer, and you nodded, putting on a brave face and turning to him with a forced look of calmness. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you even managed a stiff smile, but you refused to turn back towards the base, letting your shoulder have the pleasure of the view instead. “It’s getting dark, though.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, watching as you were quickly back on the path you came from, trying to keep the composure that you weren’t sure would hold. “Alright.”

He trailed on after you, and just before the sun was all the way below the mountains, you’d managed to get back to the road. The bike was cold again, but thankfully it started without a problem. 

He’d tried too hard to get to a comfortable place with you, but again he felt back at square one, sitting in awkward silence like he did this morning. Your hold on him wasn’t as tight as usual, and you didn’t seem to care how unsteady it was with every turn of the bike. 

You rode down the street about ten miles or so before coming across a small fishing town, with restaurants, bars, neighborhood markets, and even a cozy little motel. Much better looking than the one you’d stayed in the night previous.

He’d been the one to get checked in tonight, getting everything settled and making sure you were comfortable. You still weren’t in a chatty mood, but you’d loosened up just enough to have civil conversation, and answer the questions he would ask you. 

He let you take the first shower tonight, and you were out in only a few minutes, racing to get tucked into bed as quickly as possible. 

He took his time, knowing you were probably just going through the motions of being here, and he needed to let you experience it at your own pace. After all, you remember this place, and he doesn’t. The only thing he recalls are the torturous nightmares that plague his sleep. That alone tells him all he needs to know about the horrors and chaos this place caused.

He’s surprised to find you still awake when he gets out of the shower, towel around his hips and water running over his body. He thought you’d be asleep, so out of habit he didn’t bring his clothes in with him to change. 

He sees you’re reading your book, the one about the future. You’re so engrossed in it, your eyes never leaving the pages. He wonders if it’s a coping tool, a comfort item of sorts. He’d never thought of a book as a security blanket before, being written words on paper.

He didn’t say anything yet, unwilling to interrupt how calm you seemed to be now. Just grabbed his clothes and went back to the bathroom. 

Maybe going back there tomorrow isn’t a good idea. He appreciates the openness of your heart to do such a favor for him, but he doesn't want to cause you distress for his own gain. You’ve shown him where it is. He knows how to find it on his own, now. If he can convince you to stay back here, he’ll go on his own, find the answers himself. 

When he emerges the second time, you’ve laid your book down on the bedside table, placing a bookmark between the worn pages before settling yourself. He sits down on the edge of his own bed, and makes eye contact. You don’t break it first, but you remain silent. A man of few words, but he seemed to be the more chatty one today.

“I didn’t say anything before, but you seemed a little, uh… scared, earlier.”

You didn’t change the expression you wore, but somehow he could feel the shift in your emotions. He just wanted to ask and see if this was too much for you.

“I wasn’t scared, just remembered some stuff is all,” You sighed out, laying down and still looking over at him here and there, but not willing to speak more than what you’d said.

“You wanna talk about it?” 

It was an open offer, but he already knew the answer. For someone who seemed so extroverted and talkative when he met you, you’d somehow turned into a reserved and silent little girl since this morning.

“No…” You trailed, the word coming out soft and gentle.

“Okay,” he nodded, getting comfortable before rolling over and calling out to you as you turned out the light. “Goodnight…”

“Night, Logan.”

-

In the morning, you were already awake, clinging to your knees as you focused very hard on looking out the window by your bed. When he looked at the clock and read six, he figured you must not have slept well. He barely slept most of the time. His regeneration made it easy to stay awake days at a time, and he only needed a few hours to function. Not to mention he was often plagued with nightmares. He hasn’t had them the past few nights, which he finds strange, but at the same time, he isn’t complaining whatsoever. 

He swung his legs out of bed when he saw you were unmoving, just like yesterday at the lake. 

“Hey,” he placed a hand at your shoulder, softly breaking you from your endless stare. “You doin’ alright?” 

“Yeah, I just woke up a little early.”

Your little smile was forced, and he could tell, but didn’t say anything to negate your response. He just sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, looking outside the window where your gaze lingered. There was nothing specific to look at, just a view of the parking lot, and a few trees framed a small log cabin bar next door. 

“I uh… I had an idea last night…” he trailed, gaining your attention as you turned to him. “What if we took a few days.”

“What do you mean?” you furrowed your brows, tilting your head as you laid it on your curled up knees. 

“I mean, what if we don’t go to the base right away?” he suggested with a shrug. It had been a good idea in his head, to straggle behind a few days, and make the journey through the past when you were more settled. “I could tell the way it got to you last night, after you saw it.”

“Logan, I’m fine. Promise,” you nodded your head as if to assure yourself, but even as you were doing it you knew it didn’t look convincing. 

“You weren’t fine,” he corrected, unafraid to voice his concerns by now. “Look, you brought me here, and I’m really grateful… but you were uncomfortable to even look at that place, and I could see that.”

You huffed out a sigh, shaking your head and trying to seem like there was no reason for concern. You didn’t want him to back out after coming all this way just on your account. This was for him, not for you. 

“I’ll be okay,” you put on a more stern face, grabbing his hand. The gesture was more for your own comfort rather than his, but even still, you meant what you said. “I’d spent a long time trying to forget that place, and last night everything just sort of came back… but as long as you’re there, I’ll be okay.”

He listened constantly, the warmth of your touch was always so energizing to him. It made him feel like he was somehow stronger and charged with determination. He figured it had something to do with your mutation, and his ability to survive it. Not just survive, but thrive on it.

“You saved me from Stryker, Logan,” you let your legs fall from their curled position, scooting just a bit closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours, and his hand still lingered around the skin of your own. “I feel safe when I’m with you.”

His chest tightened when he heard those words. He’d realized only now what the professor's words meant a few mornings ago. He recalls exactly how they were said, and why. 

Don’t hurt her, Logan. 

It wasn’t just about the ability to touch, which he would admit was definitely a struggle in itself when he’d thought about how long you’ve been alive, with no one to cling to. Aside from the skin to skin contact, you trusted him. You felt safe in his presence. Most of all, you were doing all of this for him without asking anything in return, and he figured you didn’t even care if you got anything out of it in the long run. 

Charles didn’t want Logan to fall all over you in immediate love and commitment. He just wanted him to take care of you, attend to you and make sure you weren’t without comfort, especially in this terrible place you were headed. 

Her pain will become your own. 

It wasn’t about you becoming vengeful if you got hurt, and it wasn’t about your loved ones making him pay for his actions. He understood that now, too. It was about the guilt and shame he would feel for not having been there to help you should anything happen. Should this very situation happen. He won’t let you go it alone. 

“C’mere,” he sat further back, raising his other arm and beckoning you to sit closer with him. 

You didn’t even hesitate to climb under his wing so to speak, and lean against him as he’d gestured for you to do. He wrapped that arm around you, his head resting over top of your soft and slightly unruly morning hair. His other hand stayed in yours, unbudging for the time you sat there. 

At one point you’d felt so calm you closed your eyes, just absorbing his energy and feeling the comfort from it. It was a rough and hard facade at first, but his energy held layers, and the more you relaxed into him, the better you could feel what lies beneath. You could feel his gentleness, and his soft spirit, willing him to go wherever the wind blows. You could feel the slight sadness and confusion that he seemed to internalize every day. Probably from lacking his past, the memories and the people he used to have before Stryker messed him up. 

“I think taking a few days doesn’t sound so bad, you know?” You said quietly, just loud enough to reach his ears. 

“Yeah?” he smiled, looking down at you when you nodded. Your expression was happier than it had been before, the traces of fear were gone from your eyes. “It’ll be fun. I’ll show you a good time, then maybe you can change your mind about Canada.”

“Unlikely,” you laughed softly, your own smile taking over as you met his eyes. “You’re not so bad, for a Canadian, though.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

He’d stuck to his word. 

He’d shown you a good time around the small town, though he claims he’s never been there before. All the small business families were very kind and embracing, although it got to a point where talking to them was becoming detrimental to the length of your trip. Everywhere you went into, whether it be a shop, a small town bakery, or even an entertainment hub, there were people recommending things to do and see. And of course, you were not one to say no to an Adventure. 

On the back of the motorcycle, you’d gone practically all over the town, meeting people, and always being introduced the same way by Logan. 

‘I’m Canadian, she’s not… She doesn’t like it here much, I wanna change her mind.’

You laughed almost every time at the way the people would react, but would nod gleefully when they made suggestions on activities. You found yourself liking Canada, but only because Logan was here. He was making you laugh, and smile wider than you think you ever have. Not even three days into this endeavor, and already you’ve decided you’re falling for him. 

You don’t know how deeply he reciprocates those feelings, because he’s a flirt with nearly everyone… but the soft and gentle moments, like this morning, lead you to believe there’s something else there. Some part of him that is drawn to you like you are to him. 

His lingering touch on the small of your back when he opens the door and guides you through, or the arm slung around your shoulder to steer you in a different direction when something interesting catches his eye. Even the way he nonchalantly fixes your hair when he’s talking to you and the wind blows it out of place. It’s all so casual in the way it happens, and yet, it means everything to someone like you. Someone who has lived for two centuries without the normalcy of touch and comfort from another person. 

You try not to focus too much on what it means, and decide to live in the moment to enjoy each time those little touches happen. 

By the end of the day, you think maybe he’s taking you back to the ‘Cozy Pine Tree Inn’ that you were rooming at… but instead he pulls into the parking lot across the sidewalk. 

The half-working neon sign over the porch read ‘Jackalope Neighborhood Pub’ and when you looked inside, there must have been about ten people total, including the two bartenders behind the counter. 

It wasn’t a huge place to begin with, and the population of the town was probably less than the amount of students you had each week, but it was cozy, and you appreciated the warmth of it all, even though it was brutally cold. 

“Go on inside, I gotta put this under that covering in case it snows,” he encouraged, letting you hop off with a spring in your step. 

The inside was just as you thought it would be. Cozy, warm, dimly lit. The walls were covered in old pictures and heads of various hunted animals from up in the mountains. Sitting down at the bar, you shed your jacket and let it hang on the back of your low-back stool, keeping your gloves on for safety.

“Hi there, pretty darlin,” a man came up beside you, a smile on his face and a drunken twinkle in his eye. 

“Hi,” you smiled back kindly, nodding to him.

“Never seen you here before, I guess you’re new,” he came a bit closer, and even though he didn’t try anything yet, it made you nervous when people get this close. Your skin is covered, but it still makes you uneasy.

“I’m just visiting, actually… I live in New York.”

No, you didn’t owe him an explanation, but you felt the only way to keep him at bay would be to answer his curiosities as quickly as you could, not giving him room to think about anything else. 

“Why don’t I buy you a drink? A pretty girl in a place like this needs a drink.”

“I’m okay, but thank you. I’m actually here with someone, he’ll be back in a second,” you spoke quicker when the man took another step beside you, leaning up against the bar now and reaching for your hand. 

“Awe, c’mon… m’sure your buddy won’t mind,” he tried to grab at your forearm in a teasing manner, but you pulled your hands from the counter, pulling your sleeves down to cover the skin of your wrist that your gloves didn’t quite shield.

“Don’t touch me,” you rushed out, a panic beginning to pour over your words. “You could get hurt.”

“I could get hurt, huh? You're gonna hurt me, pretty thing?”

“You don’t understand,” you breathed shallow, trying to keep calm to no avail. “Please, just leave me alone.”

“Baby, I think you want me to stay right here,” he again got closer, trying to cage you in by bringing his arms on both sides of you and trapping your stool in front of him. 

Simply trying to get out of the situation without causing a scene, you leaned forward against the bar, pushing at one arm to try and sneak out… but as it turns out, you didn’t even have to.

Logan pulled the man away by his neck, looking him face to face and giving a harsh but somehow unbothered stare. This man was of no real threat to him, clearly.

“Leave my girl alone…” he let out calmly, though it was filled with threat. You knew he’d only added the possession for effective purposes, but you felt your heart stutter in your chest at the sound of it. 

The man didn’t even speak another word, rushing off to the other side of the bar. He wasn’t a small man by any means, but Logan, standing at six foot two, with a strong build and a deep temperament was sure to scare anyone off. 

Logan sat down at the bar next to you, ordering a beer for himself, and a whiskey for you. He owed you some payback Jack Daniel’s, if he remembers correctly. 

“Thanks,” you threw him a smile and a nod, which he returned. 

“Guy’s a creep,” he let out, his brows raised and an eager look on his face when the beer bottle was set in front of him. “Hope he didn’t ruin Canada for you.”

You laughed for what had to be the hundredth time today, shaking your head. 

“Of course, not. The only thing that could ruin it is what we actually came here to do,” you joked, sipping on your drink as soon as it was put in front of you. 

There was a beat of silence, before a thought that popped into Logan’s mind turned into a question. 

“So, how long have you been at the school?” 

You gave him a glance, tilting your head and trying to think of an answer that made sense.

“Well that depends, do you mean as it is today? Or when it first started?” You found yourself turning towards him more instead of facing the bar.

“Uh, all of it?” 

He took another swig and chuckled at the strangeness of your insistence for elaboration. It was a long and complicated story, but you had to find a simple and short way to explain it.

“Charles found me by cerebro a long time ago, when I was in New York City studying for my history degree,” you took another drink, eyes watching the ice swirl around the bottom of the glass as you tipped it in different directions. “He snatched me up, and a bunch of other mutants, and we saved the world… Which I guess is a typical Tuesday now, but back then it was a big deal for us. The professor had opened the school, but I left right after some of the others did..”

“You left? Why?” His confusion stemmed from what he’s seen. That place was your home, and those people were your family. He doesn’t know why any mutant would want to leave the walls of that mansion, where it was safe.

You shrugged, a bit hesitant to even try and remember what the real reasoning was. “It was the sixties, everyone wanted their own path of freedom. That was the thing back then, wasn't it? Free love, free drugs, free spirits.”

He raised a brow, looking at you with a bit of surprise, which faded just as fast. 

“I keep forgetting how old you are,” he smirked, huffing a small laugh and shaking his head. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were barely an adult.”

You often thought about that. What you would have looked like if you’d been able to grow older. Would your face have thinned out from its girlish fullness? Would you have formed little crows feet at the corners of your eyes? Would you even resemble the same person you’ve looked in the mirror to see for all these years?

“If you want to be technical, I’m physically twenty.”

“Awe, just a baby,” he teased, giving you a slight elbow to the arm. “So is that part of your mutation, then?” 

“No, actually,” you began, throwing back the rest of your drink before explaining further. “The way my body works is like anyone else’s… I have to have energy and sustenance to survive, all that nonsense…”

He’d been very interested to find out about you, since he’d yet to find anything out about himself. Especially since he’d figured your mutation was the reason for your long life span. 

“But since I’m made up of different kinds of energy, matter, antimatter, and a third substance unknown to science yet, I can draw sustenance from things other than food and rest.”

“Like what?” 

You took your little green glove off one hand, and reached for his forearm, which he was currently leaning on against the bar. You focused on doing what you’d done the night that Rogue had injured him, forcing energy into him instead of taking it. 

“You feel that?” 

His eyes got a bit wider, and he watched your hand, there was just the slightest bit of an iridescent glow around his skin where you touched him. It was vague and unnoticeable if you weren’t really looking, and he was. “Yeah…”

“It’s called energy transference. I absorb energy from everything around me, and I can use it to create things… shields, small detonations, and as I recently found out with you, the ability to restore energy from depletion,” you listed, trying to get to the point, but of course, he didn’t understand how it was all connected. 

“And what, it keeps you from aging?” he asked, like it didn’t make any sense, and to be fair, you didn’t really lead with the cause, so you understood his confusion. 

“Not really, no…” you thought back to the day it all happened, so many years ago and yet you’ll never forget it. “When I absorb energy, it sustains me… but when I turned twenty, I was struck by lightning.”

He let out a low whistle, thinking to himself that it was a wild turn of events in your background that he wasn’t expecting. 

“The professor thinks it caused a power surge in my anatomy. Being able to absorb the strike instead of it killing me, my cells were able to store that energy and prevent me from aging.” 

He understood now, blinking a few times as the process settled into his mind. He wonders what else your powers can do, but doesn’t want to keep pushing you on it. 

“Huh,” he looked to the bar for a minute, eyes going over the spot on his arm that still held just the slightest glow of energy without being easily seen. “I don’t really age all that much either…”

“I heard,” you replied, giving him a once over. He was probably one of the most beautiful men you’d ever come across, and knowing that his aging process was also stunted was nearly a blessing in your eyes. 

“I still do, just real slow,” he explained, running a hand through his hair, the kitty ears becoming more prominent when he did. “Guessing by how little I’ve changed in the last fifteen years, I might be close to your age. Maybe a little younger… I just don’t remember.”

His tone falls into a solemness in the end, and you frown at the change in his energy. He’d been having a good time until now, when he started to think about his past, but there was nothing to find. You again reached out for him, taking his hand like you’d grown accustomed to in the past few days. Touching him would never become dull, or feel any less important. You suspected that years from now you would still feel the same tingly and warm sensation from being able to meet his skin to yours.

“You will,” you promised. Even if it takes you a lifetime, you’ll help him find himself. His past, and who he was. 

-

The next day was Sunday, and it went on like the day before… but one thing was different. Two things, technically. 

One, Logan held your hand whenever there was a long distance of walking to be done. Two, his funny and somewhat playful introductions from the day before had been given a small twist. Instead of just saying, ‘I’m Canadian, she’s not,’ there was an added layer of possession. ‘I’m Canadian, my girl isn’t.’

After last night in the bar, something was different. You couldn’t put your finger on what exactly made him switch up his actions around you, and towards you, but it wasn’t in your direct focus. You were much too busy enjoying the sudden change, and the casualness in which it was implemented. 

You wondered if you should ask him about it, but every time you gained an opportunity to do so, you lost the courage. Maybe he was just doing it because it felt normal to be this way with a traveling companion? Maybe he was just putting up a front for the townspeople, so he didn’t have to try so hard to explain the situation between the two of you. 

He’d been so gentle, so domesticated, it felt like he’d grown fully comfortable with you. You’d been the same with him, squeezing his hand whenever he grabbed yours. 

His touch, his words, and more importantly, the look in his eyes whenever he caught you staring… It all led you to believe there was something lurking, just waiting to be let out. 

When you’d returned to the motel that night, giggling about the state of his hair after a tree branch full of snow collapsed on him, he’d rolled his eyes, giving you a playful shove into your own bed while he mumbled about ‘rinsing the pine needles off’ of himself. 

“I’m gonna go down to the Lobby, I wanna call Ororo,” you said, the wide smile still on your face. 

He nodded, not even waiting for you to leave before he started stripping down his clothes. His jacket first, then his flannel. When he was left in the gray beater he wore beneath it all, he stopped for a moment, throwing a glance over his shoulder at you with a smirk. He knew you’d been watching, and he was too big of a tease to tell you to look away, or to remove himself to the bathroom. 

He turned back around, and pulled the thin fabric over his head, throwing it to his pile by the duffel bag. 

He didn’t need to look at you again to know he would catch you staring. He just went about his business as if you weren’t there. Asshole. 

You almost couldn’t breathe. The only person on this entire planet that can touch you, and you got lucky enough that it was Logan. This man was strongly built, and chiseled as if from marble stone. He wasn’t overly muscular or too big, but just enough that you swore God sent him down from the heavens to roam about the earth as his most glorious creation. The way his back muscles tensed when he reached into his bag for a change of clothes, or the way his abs contracted when he stood back upright, it made your hands fidget. You wanted to stand before him and do the one thing you couldn’t do to anyone else. You wanted to touch his gorgeous, warm toned skin. 

When he was about to head to the bathroom, he finally gave you a glance, his smirk even stronger when he read your expression. 

“You gonna go call her or not?” 

“Right,” you blinked, standing up and rushing around to grab your jacket and gloves. 

You’d rushed down to the lobby as fast as your feet could carry you, the stiff breeze doing nothing to quench your excitement. You loaded two quarters into the payphone in the lobby’s hallway, facing away from the stench of the crappy bathrooms nearby. 

You tapped your leg nervously as you told the operator the correct information and waited for Storm to answer. It wasn’t too late, everyone should still be awake. 

The dial went until the second to last before she picked up. 

“Hello?” Her voice sounded like music to your ears. 

“Ro, it’s me,” you said as gently as you could, having to repress your energy. “I just wanted to check in…”

“Check in? Everything is normal here… what about you, have you found the base yet? How’s Logan?” 

Her rushed questions came out when she realized who she was speaking to. She’d waited days for this call, and honestly, you weren’t one to disappoint. 

“We’ve located it, yeah. We’re hiking out there tomorrow,” you explained, leaving out the part where you took a two day joyride through a small Canadian town with the man you’ve deemed is your favorite Canadian. “And Logan’s good. We’ve been having a great time so far.”

“A great time, huh? So I was right to be afraid that I’d never see you again…” she trailed, only partly joking. In truth, she wants you to be happy, but she also wants you to come home. 

“Oh relax, we’ll be back before you know it.”

You heard a muffled yelling, like she’d covered the phone to reprimand some students, before she was back on the line. 

“Well, tell me everything, what’s Canada like? Is it as bad as you remember?” She teased, figuring by the sound of your voice and the smile she could practically hear coming through the phone, that your opinion had been swayed. 

“Canada itself is fine, but Logan is something else entirely,” you raised a brow, leaning into the phone panel on the wall and twisting the cord in your fingers like a love-struck schoolgirl. “Did you know he was Canadian?”

“I thought he might be, wasn't sure.”

“Well, I take back hating Canada, he’s actually made me like it…” you trailed, fighting yet another wide smile from only thoughts of today. “He’s made me like him… a lot.”

“Baby, it’s only been four days,” she laughed on the other end. You could tell she was debating knocking sense into you, or asking for details. The latter won in the end. “So did he kiss you, or what?” 

“No, he hasn’t kissed me,” you said with a sigh, wishing the statement hadn’t been true. “But he’s been so… different. He holds my hand, he hugs me when I’m cold… he’s been introducing me to everyone we talk to as ‘his girl’.” 

“So what I’m hearing is, I need to be making wedding preparations for when you get back?” She huffed out another laugh, hand on her hip as she leaned into a wall in the mansion. She knew this was going to happen. You got attached to people very easily, but Logan was an entirely different can of worms. He could touch you, he could hold you, and he could be with you in ways no one else would ever be able to. That made him your ideal attachment. If you believed in soulmates, you’d say he was yours. Uniquely created with a mutation that matched your own in the opposite form. 

“See, you think that’s funny,” you laughed along with her through the phone, titling your head and speaking with confidence. “But I’m absolutely gonna marry him someday.”

She rolled her eyes, and you could almost hear it through the phone. “As crazy as you sound, I believe you… but give it more than four days to be sure, yeah?”

“Fine… I’ll give it till the end of the trip,” you taunted. You knew it was crazy to be making these bets now, but you were just so certain that this man would be your endgame. He was the only one who could be… right? 

“That’s all I can ask for from you… Just be safe, and tell him I said hi, okay?” She quickly tried to get off the phone, and you could hear the rowdy children making a ruckus in the background of where she was. 

“I will… tell everyone there that I miss them, and I’ll be back soon.”

“Will do, bye baby…” she rushed out her goodbye before the line went dead. 

You smiled, mumbling a small ‘bye’ under your breath as you hung up the phone and headed back for the room. 

The room was a bit steamy when you first walked in, with the bathroom door having been left open to air out. Logan was reclined in the bed furthest to the wall, nothing but flannel bottoms on while he was kicked back and relaxed. He had one arm behind his head, and his other perched at his side to hold up a book in his hand. Your book… the one you’d finished last night. 

“Hey,” he smiled at you as you walked through the door. “Sorry I didn’t ask, it looks interesting.”

You furrowed your brow with your own surprised smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s okay… I think you’ll like it.”

“So far I do… I promise I’ll be careful with it, I know it’s old,” he defended yet again, even though you would give him that precious copy if it made him happy. 

“It’s fine, what’s mine is yours,” you kept on, laying your coat on the back of a chair for the night. “Besides, you can’t do anymore damage to it that I haven’t already done.”

“I noticed you dogear the pages…” he raised a brow in your direction, as if accusing you of something. 

“I know, it’s terrible…” you trailed, sitting on the edge of his bed and watching him for a moment. He went back to the book, completely engrossed in what was probably still the first chapter. “What part are you on?” 

“Burn ‘em to ashes, then burn the ashes,” he remarked, and you nodded. He seemed to be pretty hooked on only the first few pages. “You were right, y’know? About comparin’ this kinda future to ours. It’s nasty stuff…”

“It only gets worse, keep reading.”

You got up, grabbing your clothes and heading for a shower. He had been considerate enough to save plenty of hot water for you.

-

The weekend was over, and unfortunately it was time to go where this entire journey was meant to lead. Stryker’s base. 

The ride to the bridge was silent, but the second you arrived, Logan turned to you with a look of sincerity. 

“Look, I know that you’re doing this for me,” he began, bringing a hand to your arm in the most gentle way possible. “But if you start feelin’ like you did the other day… I have no problem going in on my own, alright?”

“I’ll be okay, Logan. You’re here with me,” you reminded him, placing your hand over his and giving it a squeeze. “Let’s go…”

He nodded, letting you take the lead, because as was made clear before the trip even began, you were the one who remembered this place, and he was the one trying to regain those memories. 

“When did you come here?” He asked, and it was an innocent question except for the implications.

“I didn't come here, I was taken. I'd just passed the bar exam back in New York, and I was gonna be a lawyer for a while, but Stryker got to me first,” You explained, not taking offense to his wording. You’d known he was a little brash with the things he said, but he could also be gentle and sweet.

“How long were you here?” His voice softened this time.

“About six years, got here near the start of the program, lived to the end of it.”

“And what about me?” He’d begun walking side by wide with you, not straggling behind like before. His curiosity wasn’t the only reason for his questioning, but it was a factor. He mostly just wanted to keep you distracted from looming amongst your own thoughts in silence, getting closer and closer to the base. 

“You came towards the end, but he was planning to have you for years. That mutant I told you about, the one who melted the adamantium? They had her powering the machine long before you even came to the island.”

Your explanation caught him off guard a bit. When he’d asked if you came here, you said you were taken, but now you told him he had come… meaning he made the decision to do it.

“And I… came willingly?” He titled his head with furrowed brows, unsure why anyone would want to come to this place, if it was as bad as you say.

“From what I understand, you did at first. I think you ran away when you knew of Stryker's plans,” You reasoned, not completely remembering everything. Not that you were even apart of those dealings in the first place.

“Did I meet you then?”

You smiled and shook your head. You’d wished you’d been able to catch a glimpse of him the first time, what he’d been like before Stryker tortured him and turned him into a piece of metal.

“No, I never met you the first time. But I could feel you,” you tried your best to describe, nearly failing for how little you could actually say instead of showing him.

He seemed to understand it enough, remembering the way your powers work. He came to a halt beside you, giving you a look and asking the next question. “How did I feel?”

You stopped, too. You looked at his eyes now, and they seemed so full of something you couldn’t explain, but couldn’t look away from, either.

“Sad… Angry.”

“And now?” He asked, a serene expression on his features when he was looking at you.

“You’re still tense, but your emotions are softer, calmer.” You raised a hand to his face, trailing slightly over the facial hair that had slightly grown out the last few days. It suited him, you thought.

After a few moments, you felt a shiver run down your spine from the cold, and snapped out of your daze, continuing on the path ahead, and leading him through an old abandoned tunnel. This tunnel was not full of bad memories, but a rather fond one. The day you had escaped, you followed Scott through this tunnel to meet the Professor on the other side.

He seemed to be taking everything in, noting every intricate detail of the place to try and place it. Nothing sprung from the back of his mind, so he doesn’t know if anything significant enough happened here that he might have a cognitive reset, but he keeps trying, going through each stretch of the base like something might pop up.

You froze still when you got to the edge of the cell block. The cages were just as he’d left them, completely and utterly destroyed by his claws. 

“This is it, huh?” He stood still, too. The weight of the area was easy to feel, and though he didn’t know why, he could almost sense the years of heaviness that was caused here. It was haunting.

“This is it,” you huffed, taking a step forward and treating it like you would any other place you visited. It’s just bricks and concrete and steel, it’s not like it should affect you this way. “The cell on the end is mine, the one three or four down was Scott’s.”

There were motion sensors everywhere. Long since forgotten about, and none were activated, but he could also see the security measures, and some of the poking and prodigy tools they must have used just scattered about. The leftover scenery of a hasty escape, by both the mutants and the inhabitants of this place.

“How did you even survive this?” He asked, the weight settling in on his shoulders even more, pushing him into the floor. 

“Most of us didn't. This entire block had new mutants every year. All except me,” you sighed out, running your fingers over the enclosure that you’d been contained in for so long. It was in the past now, and you stood beside the very testament to your escape. The man who freed you and had given you hope. Nothing bad could happen to you here as long as he was with you, now.

“Because you can't die...” He trailed, a single finger of his looming over the exposed skin of your neck. With him being so close, this little action almost seemed normal, but the cold weather made his hands cold, too, and the feeling of it caused a shiver. You stepped away with a shudder under your breath, but turned around and got close enough again to keep the energy from feeling awkward. No matter how cold his hands were, you still liked when he touched you.

“I wanted to. This was the worst part of my life. I never wanted to come back here.”

“Then why did you?” He crossed his arms, leaning against the cell block and leaning in. He knew the answer, or at least he thought he did. Charles made him clearly aware, not that he didn’t know already. 

“I wanna help you,” you looked down, too scared to meet his eyes and say something else besides what you wanted him to hear. “You saved me from this place, the least I can do is help you remember it.”

He nodded, thinking that maybe he was pushing too hard. Maybe he just needed to focus on himself… but something about this place, it made him feel that strange connection to you again. The one that he didn’t think he felt back at X-Manor. 

He took a few steps towards the frozen doors at the end of the block, likely leading into other parts of the base that were inaccessible. 

“How did it happen?” He turned back, wielding a small smirk.

“What?” you furrowed your brows, unsure of what exactly he meant.

“The rescue, how did it happen? Was I heroic?” He posed jokingly, hands on his hips to draw out a laugh from you, and it worked. Even in this place you were scared of, he could make you feel joy. 

“Yeah, you were…” you closed the distance between you, pushing him into position by the doors to reenact the scene. “It was pretty late at night, the sirens started going off, we all started panicking, we thought we were getting attacked or something. Most of us were weak, and could barely stand. My legs were likely broken and definitely cut apart from the tests they'd been doing… We thought it was the end. And then you came charging down the cellblock with this woman,” you sat back into your cell, feeling no semblance of fear from it now. He ran down to your cell with a cheesy grin, playing along for your amusement. “You both started to set everyone free. But you were the one who tore open my cage, and without thinking, I let you help me up…” you trailed, watching as per your story, he reached in and helped you to your feet just like he had done all those years ago. “That was the first time I touched you.”

You kept your hand in his, the tingling sensation still remaining, even though you’ve probably touched him a hundred times by now. 

“Wow… that uh… doesn’t sound like me…” he looked away from you, his hand pulling back and hanging it at his side. He’d broken the charade to think about how inaccurate this all sounded. Even though you were not a liar, and he could take your word for it, he just couldn’t seem to think of himself how you did. “Guess it's just a lot to take in..”

You’d painted him in such a heroic light, he wasn’t sure that heroic was a word that fit him very well, much less at all. All he knew of himself was a selfish loner, who occasionally did the right thing out of obligation and not duty.

“It is… take your time,” you tried your best to reel in the happiness you’d felt, because even though being here with him made you feel better… he was trying to remember himself, and maybe this wasn’t helping. 

“And the woman I was with, did you know her?” 

You hoped he wouldn’t ask about her, you didn’t want to disappoint him.

“I don't remember. She looked familiar, but I couldn't tell you who she was,” you think you saw her with Stryker a few times, but never by his side, always behind him, following orders. “She died not long after the breakout, the professor found her after he’d come back for the remaining survivors...”

He seemed deep in thought, facing the doors of the cellblock again and clenching his fists… was he remembering something?

“And I was with her, this woman?” the way he said it implied the depth of what he was really asking.

“From what I gathered at the time, yeah… but I wasn't in the best condition, so I could have just made it all up in my head. I definitely remember you, though.”

At this he turned back to face you, coming closer and lifting his lips in the very corners to resemble a not quite smile. It still turned your stomach in the best way.

“I'm just unforgettable, huh?” 

“Completely unforgettable. This is a part of my life that I have worked hard and trained myself to forget, but I remembered you instantly…” you confessed, not daring to look away from him now, when he was so clearly latched onto you. It didn’t matter what you said at this point, you were sure he must have known something of your feelings by now.

“Because I could touch you.”

You shook your head. “It was more than that. I'd never seen anything like you before.”

“Is that a good thing?” He teased, his full smile finally returning once the air felt lighter again.

You thought about that day. He’d come running through like a true action hero, saving everyone in his path. He had been here for something else entirely, you think, but he stopped to save you and the others. He’d been wearing a white beater that night, his shoulders glistening with sweat while his hair bounced with every step he took. It was longer then. The determined look in his eyes was something you also noticed, and the way they softened when he steadied you to your feet, touching your skin as no one had for over two hundred years. Yes, seeing him was a very good thing.

“Oh yeah, trust me.”

-

Having searched for other abandoned entry points of the base, and being unsuccessful, you opted to leave, but it had grown dark out, and there was no way you could hike all the way back to the motorcycle before the cold winds set in. It was too dark to even navigate the grounds, anyways. 

It was decided that you could set up a makeshift camp within the escape tunnel, as it was just slightly warmer than the outside. 

Logan didn’t talk much after leaving the base. He’d been all fun and games until he realized you both had finally made it to the place with the answers, but there were none. He didn’t take his frustrations out on you, but he didn’t exactly ignore them, either. In fact, he took to ignoring you instead. You tried striking up a conversation with him, and found he was in too sour a mood, and every comment you made about little things, like the sleeping bag in your backpack, or the water flask kept in his, he seemed to just grunt out a response to get back to the quiet. 

It wasn’t until the dead cold of the night that you’d been shivering your ass off, that you even dared to speak to him again. 

“This storm's getting worse… I'm gonna freeze to death.” 

He rolled over from his sleeping bag on the ground, a slanted brow on his face and a huff when he saw that you were truly cold. He was not in a good mood, and he didn’t want to deal with more bad situations.

“I thought you couldn’t die…” he grumbled, leaning up on one arm. You were curled up into a ball, all your layers on your body and the sleeping bag, but the snow was falling hard and fast outside, probably sealing you both into this icy tunnel. 

“I can't be killed. I can still technically die,” you explained, furthering the lore on your powers. He mentally added it to the list. Almost immortal, but not really so much in snowstorms.

“Then why are you still alive?” He mumbled sarcastically, trying not to be an asshole to the only person he was dependent on the past few days. 

“Because I'm careful.”

You sat up, and in the dim light he could see how pale you’d gotten, your lips a shade of cold purple instead of the soft pink they normally held.

“Aren't you made of energy? Just warm yourself up…” He suggested, as if you hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t even in your ability wheel.

“I'm made of matter and antimatter, I don't radiate heat,” you argued, trying to maintain a sense of calm while being cold enough to power a refrigerator. 

“Fine, you know what? I'm not walking you back to the bike, just get over here,” he let out, holding open the sleeping bag for you to scoot into. You’d done so as quickly as possible, letting him drop his arm back over you in an instant. Already you could feel the fiery feeling he gave off into the air. 

“How are you so warm?”

“I don't know,” he shook his head, closing his eyes and trying to go to sleep. He wanted to be up with the sun tomorrow, so he could get back to the motel and get some quality rest.

“You don’t know why you feel like a toaster?” You joked with a sweet smile, but were quickly reminded he wasn’t in the mood.

“Do you ever stop talking?” 

“Sorry.”

In truth, he did feel bad about treating you like that. You’d done so much for him, and all he’d done was snap at you when he realized the answers he was looking for were still locked up. He pulled you tighter in his arms, holding you close as if uttering a physical apology. I’m sorry for being a dick, but thank you for being so kind to me anyways.

-

Having found warmth in you, and another feeling that cannot be described outside of perhaps the simple word: safety, Logan slept better than he had in weeks, months, even. Hell, he doesn’t know if he’s ever slept like this, waking up naturally, well rested and without a nightmare in sight. 

It was late in the afternoon, and he woke up feeling a sense of peace that he didn’t go to bed with. He’d been settled. His anger and annoyance about the failed objective made his skin crawl when the snow had been pouring down, the storm covering the ground with several inches of a white, fluffy covering. 

Knowing it had been very late in the night when you finally were able to sleep, he didn’t want to wake you, but being wrapped around you like a cocoon while you slept would make it very hard to even sit up without causing you to stir. 

He figured he could wake you up, now, take you back to the motel so you could finish resting while he took a walk, or visited the bar. It had approached his mind the night before, that he would probably go and get wasted at the establishment to try and fill the void that had been left empty by the lack of answers. 

Slowly, he unraveled the twisted limbs and sleeping bags, hearing your soft grumbling of discomfort when you came to. You weren’t fully awake, and your arms grabbed at him, trying to pull him back in subconsciously while your moaning and groaning persisted. He let out a small chuckle at the actions, like that of a child grabbing for the security of its mother. 

“Rise and shine, princess,” He joked, trying to maneuver himself away. 

You finally remembered where you were, and realized that Logan was the source of warmth that had been keeping you so still and secure. 

“Hey,” you let out with a furrowed brow, wiping over your eyes to try and dull the ache of opening them too soon. “What time is it?” 

“Not sure, it might be noon,” he guessed, standing on his feet and beginning to collect everything that was still scattered about on the ground of the tunnel. 

You were silent for a minute, nodding your head and beginning to become more coherent with every minute passed. You soon joined him on collecting things that needed packing away, but did so with a sentiment passed along. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t find anything here,” you murmured quietly. 

He almost had to do a double take… Why were you apologizing? You’d done him a great service by coming here to try and help him, no matter the results. 

“S’not your fault,” he furrowed his brow in response. “I’m sorry for treating you like shit last night. Just because I’m mad doesn’t mean I have to take it out on you.”

“Don’t be sorry. If I was in your place I’d be angry, too.”

The way you looked at him was astonishing. Like he’d hung every star in the sky. You looked at him and he felt like no matter the atrocities he knows he’s capable of, and the memories he can’t reach, he could do no wrong. Nothing he ever did was bad in your eyes. It was an empowering feeling, but also a curious one. You are far greater of a person than he is, and he knows it… so why do you look at him like this?

The answer is simple, you’re in love with him. He’s the first person you can touch, which is a huge factor, but aside from that, he is kind to you, and genuinely, not just because he has to be.

He remembers what Charles told him before he left. Ask her about a man named Charlie…

“I uh…” he trailed, watching you where you sat, packing away your water flask and flashlight. “I had a talk with the professor before we left a few days ago.”

“About what?” 

“About you, mostly. He told me I was in safe hands,” among other things, but he wouldn’t mention that. “And he told me that when you were ready I could ask you about a man…”

“A man?” You raised your brows in surprise. You weren’t sure if you knew what you were supposed to tell him. 

“Yeah, a man… his name was Charlie?” 

He could see it, the instant the name left his lips. Your face fell and your brain had to work overtime to try and return it to something neutral, and less traumatized. Your silence made him think that maybe he crossed a line. If you hadn’t been ready to talk about this man, then he’d just made a huge mistake. He doesn’t know who this fellow is, but he clearly did something to you. 

“Are you alright?” Logan knelt down, interrupting your blank stare. He could see the memories flashing behind your eyes, the thoughts winding up in your head.

“Yes,” you shook out of it, but your smile didn’t come back. “I’ve been around people that know about him for a long time, I didn’t think I’d ever have to retell the story.”

“You don’t have to,” he shook his head, a hand raising to your arm to try and bring comfort. “I assume it’s a sad story?”

“The worst one I know…” you trailed, finally giving a small quirk of your lip in a smile. Looking at Logan for too long made it impossible to scowl forever. “It’s been a hundred and thirty some years just about.”

He whistled long and low, sitting down across from you to fully pay attention. 

“I started working in a farm house in Virginia in the Eighteen Sixties. I kept to myself as best I could, making beds, doing laundry, washing dishes. Best paying job I’d ever had so I stayed as long as I could…” you trailed, taking a deep breath to introduce the main character of this story. “There was a stable boy there, worked the farm for the family for years before he got promoted to caring for the horses. I hadn’t met him until about two months of being there.”

“He’s Charlie?” Logan lifted a brow inquisitively, fully engrossed in the history you were sharing. You nodded your head to confirm. 

“He’s Charlie. He was only nineteen years old…  he was the only person that I’d barely ever talked to that grew fond of me. I didn’t even have to do anything,” you joked, dipping your head and remembering the way it all went back then. “He used to volunteer to help me hang laundry just so we could talk.”

“Classy guy,” Logan teased, watching your face light up with the way you were recalling everything.

“He was, and so gentlemanly… The day he found out about me being what I am, it was a complete accident. Long story short, I killed a chicken. He took the blame for it, and at the end of the day, the family ate it for dinner.”

“He knew about you?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded, another smile spreading. “He didn’t care. He’d never touched me before, and knowing that he never could… he still didn’t care.”

You sighed, the bliss of the memory fading from view when the next part resurfaced. 

“I fell in love with him, and eventually he asked me to marry him. Obviously, I said yes,” you paused for a moment, heaving a sigh as tears backed your eyes. “The day we left for town to get married, there was an accident… Some drunk men with a gun were messing around like assholes, and one thing led to another. They started firing off rounds in our direction, and I knew I could block the bullets, but I hadn’t told Charlie that. He tried to save me, tried to pull me out of the way…”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence, but Logan already knew. 

“You touched him…” he filled in the blank, watching you blink away the tears that started to fall. Your silent and weak nod was heartbreaking, and in under two seconds flat, Logan had his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to him to feel comforted. He was the only one who could do this, and after hearing your story of a lost love, he knew how much it meant. 

He is grateful to you and owes you a lot. Being your shoulder to cry on is the least he can do in a situation like this, where you seemed like you just needed someone to hold onto. 

“It’s been a long time,” you mumbled, sniffing to try and block more tears from falling. Being in Logan’s embrace made it better. “I thought he was the love of my life… but I’ve lived so much of my life now without him.”

“I’m sorry,” he ran a hand over your hair, tucking your head under his chin. 

“I just wish he'd been something like you…” 

“Something like me?” He asked, unsure of what you could mean. The way you described him, he seemed perfect. A gentleman, a protector, someone who loved you so much that he was willing to go through life without the most basic of relationship necessities. He didn’t feel like he could compare.

“Immune to my mutation.”

Your clarification made him understand, and maybe he shouldn’t have uttered his next words, but he did, fully knowing the answer.

“I’m guessing no one else has been,” he let out, beginning to loosen his hold on you. 

You’d backed away and looked him in the eyes with your teary, puffy red ones. 

“So far, only you.”

“I’m sorry, that sounds lonely.” His embrace didn’t leave, but he dropped your gaze for a moment to try and think about what that must be like. To not only be without that kind of comfort, but to constantly have to avoid it at all costs. 

“S’not so bad anymore. You’re pretty decent company, and you don’t seem to hate being around me... I’d say I lucked out.” You leaned back into his arms, laying your head on his shoulder this time as you took a deep inhale. The scent of him was intoxicating, and the way he was constantly warm felt like an invitation in itself. 

He didn’t move you, or make you go anywhere. He knew that if he’d been stuck here for days that it would have to be endured for your sake. After hearing of the tragedy in your past, he felt you deserved to sit here in silence, safely and securely wrapped in his strong arms.

-

Tags: @ayamenimthiriel l @levislegislation @reidsworld @melsunshine @clairealeehelsing @fries11 @burkayyy @d3ad2you @insanesosciopath @scream4mami @marifilue

[yuellii]

in the eyes of divine punishment

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 they devoted their life to a system you came to betray

feat. neuvillette, clorinde, childe ( separately )

note. reader’s gender unspecified, angst

NEUVILLETTE.

The people of Fontaine have never seen a downpour quite like this one, just as the reserved seats of the court have never seen the Chief Justice Neuvillette act so irrationally like today.

To deter every piece of evidence, to dismiss any accurate claims—they marked the words and actions of a manipulator he did not even intend to be. And yet, it was all so rational to him. To his own justified, lawful senses, you were completely innocent. You did not deserve this baseless conviction that sent you to trial, and you were certainly not guilty.

But when you could not even hold valid evidence to defend yourself, his constant dismissal of your prosecutor began to look so obviously biased.

“Wahh, I’ve never seen the Chief Justice act like this before!”

“I know right?! What a show!”

A show? To all these people, his lover being convicted of a crime ( one that he was so sure you did not commit ) was still a show to them? The anguish he was feeling just seeing you on the stand below him was still a show?

And throughout this whole ‘show’, even as you were swearing truth, you did not look him in the eyes even once. This was so obvious to not only the spectators, but even the Hydro Archon herself that this lack of eye contact was a sign of guilt—a sign that you could not even look the Monsieur in his eyes out of shame for what you committed.

But even so, even after all these signs pointing at your full fault, he was still in denial.

“Pardon my rudeness, Monsieur,” the prosecutor called to him, clearly frustrated much like the rest of the courtroom was, “but I’ve given my whole case and I have clearly refuted all my points now, I think it’s time for the verdict.”

Neuvillette cleared his throat. “It is not over until I say it is,” he glared at the man. “I do not believe there is sufficient enough evidence to—”

“No, no, I think you’ve dragged this out long enough,” Furina yawned. The Chief Justice paused, looking up to see the Archon sitting in boredom with her head resting atop her hand. “Don’t you hear the people, Neuvillette?” she raised her voice, almost as if calling upon the audience in hopes they would agree with her. And for once, the Monsieur feels this is the most frustrated he has even been with her. He may not forgive her this time for the childishness of her deeds; A childishness that will send his love into injustice.

“It’s time for the verdict,” Furina announced, “even though it may not be an outcome you will enjoy.” She sat upwards, looking at the Chief Justice straight in the eyes. “But the Oratrice… The Oratrice is never wrong.”

“So be it,” Neuvillette declared through gritted teeth. And as the blue light circled the courtroom, he spoke as the secondary judge, “I rule the defendant… Not guilty.” His verdict left his lips like a plea, all in sweet, desperate denial.

But the Oratrice Mecanique told otherwise.

Guilty.

Thunderstorms began to cloud across Fontaine.

CLORINDE.

“You aren’t worried about the murder conviction?” Navia questioned, eyes searching all across Clorinde’s face for any signs of distress or any look that pleaded for help.

The Champion Duelist simply replied, “Not at all.” Navia was surprised, to say the least, that it felt like her afternoon tea companion here could not care any less about the charges being pressed against you. “I know the trial will go smoothly,” Clorinde explained. “I was there personally to witness the events of what actually happened.”

“Oh!” Navia realized, suddenly feeling a bit guilty that she assumed anything otherwise. “Well that changes everything! Guess you don’t need my help, then.”

Clorinde only nodded. It was as simple as that: You would never murder someone. She knew it, you knew it, Navia knew it, everyone who was going to watch this trial probably knew it, too. These faulty charges against you were nothing but arrogant misunderstandings from the other party, and it was already foreseen that you were likely to win.

So now, why were you here, standing before the court, calling for a duel to prove your innocence instead of a trial?

“I object!”

“Clorinde, please do not disrupt the process of the proceedings.”

“But Monsieur—”

“By laws of the court,” Neuvillette commands, “This duel is allowed to take place.”

And time was a blur until the moment she stood in front of you in battle. She took pride in being a Champion Duelist, she really did—and you knew of such pride. But this was the first time she truly felt like an animal in a cage, as if she was a lion only tamed by the Gods to kill flesh and blood.

This felt like the ring of a gladiator where you were sentenced to death, only difference being it was against the blade of your lover’s sword. And such a sword was one that you had touched before, one that you had held with open ears as she told you countless of stories of her duels. Of her executions, of her devotion to justice and honor—and now those same ideals would be clashing down on your bloody shoulders.

“You can surrender now,” she practically pleaded, watching as you fell to your knees. She felt sick, knowing she had to perform under the eyes of the Gods. And she was just about ready to throw up from the way the citizens of Fontaine cheered at her like this was some show. She didn’t want to hear this cheering, like it was a good thing she was forcing herself to fight you. “Please, please just surrender now.”

But her heart hurt the longer you continued to pick yourself up from the dirt, prepared to die by her hands.

CHILDE.

“And then?” you smiled, absentmindedly tracing the veins at the back of his hand with your finger.

“And then, we’ll start a family together.” He sounded so excited, much in a way that he has every step of his future with you all figured out. There was a certain type of innocence that lingered in his voice when he spoke like this.

You laughed through your ever-growing grin, looking at him, “A family?” It sounded incredulous. “With me, an orphan of the wretched House of Hearth?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. That was when he took the moment to close his eyes and press his forehead against yours, beginning to whisper the sweet promises of a future life together. And in this position, you could not see the reflection of death in his eyes, nor the ghost of bloodstains under his fingernails. Here, he was no fatuus, he was your lover.

Those were things Ajax selfishly ignored then, and ignored even now when it was too late.

Perhaps he forgot the true meaning of being a fatuus, because he chose to ignore the possibility that his only stability would be threatened by the very God he pledged his devoted allegiance to. The very God that no longer believed in love.

And now, here he stood in her divinity, the floor of ice below his shoes feeling colder than he remembered. Beside him stood the Knave, whom he kept glancing at, for he wished that she would show just an ounce of emotion in these moments. He clung onto impossibility, such as the beliefs that maybe this meeting wasn not real, and maybe the Tsaritsa was lying about you being a traitor.

He wanted to deny it all, even after he knew very well just how much you despised being tied to the House of Hearth. You hated being a fatuus all this time, yet continued to love a Harbinger like him—and your love was perhaps what blind-sighted him. Your love was so warm and welcoming, much unlike the cold bite of “love” his God gave.

“Arlecchino.” He spat her name out darkly once the doors closed behind them. “Let us forgo this mission.”

“Oh?” she almost grinned. A smile that never quite reached her eyes—one that looked like the smirk of a maniac. “So our target means something to you?”

“I will do anything you ask of me just to keep this person alive,” he promised, still attempting to hide just how important you were to him. But that demeaning upturn of amusement in her lips made him more and more desperate. “Please, I mean anything. Just don’t kill—”

“I take traitors of my orphanage very seriously, you know,” she smiled, looking down to inspect her glove so nonchalantly as if the tiny dust that laid atop it was more interesting than her fellow Harbinger’s pleading. “Punishment has always been the system I ran,” she said as she began to turn away. “And, it’s always been the system Her Beloved Majesty preferred.”

The door shut, and he was on his feet in an instant. He had to get to you—he had to finally realize that his own peer and his own trusted God showed no mercy to you. Even if you were his family, even if you were his light; Snezhnaya did not let go of traitors. Ajax learned to love you above and beyond the organization he pledged his life to, but he was also foolish enough to think they would never threaten you.

But as he stood here now, seeing your eyes wide open as you laid in your own blood, he felt that your fingertips were already as cold as the Tsaritsa’s love.

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Epilogue: Sweet Taste

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: How it all boiled down.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 1k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: mentioned death, violence, weapons

a/n: and with this, we've reached the end of supercharged!! that is surreal to me🤯here's a reminder to those of you who may have already reblogged the masterlist to keep on your blog for reference (I'm honoured!), you may want to reblog it again now it's completed so all the links are there! since reblogged posts aren't updated on this wonderful site lol🤡 I also want to give a sincere thank you to everyone who had read, especially those who left even a single comment, reblog, tag or ask. this story was a lot of work but also a lot of fun and I'm so happy now I finally shared it! to hear anyone enjoyed it makes it all worth it😊you guys are the absolute best! I hope you enjoyed the ride, though there's still the epilogue to go👀 let me know what your favourite moment of this series has been!💜💜

“More information has emerged after celebrated hero, Bolt, was found murdered in his home yesterday. Another beloved hero, Monsoon, also fell in the same battle.

“The anonymous attackers, who many theorists have already connected with the lair attacked by a monster earlier the same day, have sent several records to our studio, apparently taken from Bolt’s home. They have… requested that we display these on air.”

The screen cut away from the reporter’s face to a series of photographs. Weapons laid out, one by one, labelled in Namjoon’s handwriting with the locations they were stolen from, and the purpose each one served.

Next, a map with several red crosses marked on it; the places Bolt had attacked, and several more he planned to. Your home was one of them.

There were other files on the drive Jin had mailed to them. Detailing Bolt’s plans, his building of weapons and allowing them to be used to justify his ‘confiscation’. Jin had been careful not to record too much, but it painted a grim picture nonetheless. Had Bolt been preparing to rule the city?

You knew there would be people out there who would never shake their star-studded image of Bolt. But there would be others ready to see him for the monster he was. All that mattered was that you had all shaken up the grip he held over this city.

The last clip that jumped on screen was from only the night before. Of course, Bolt had cameras. And, in the end, it had turned out to be most useful to you.

“Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”

The dark, fuzzy image shifted into static. The next voice was your own.

“You did this to me.”

Another cut.

“You were nothing before I gave them to you…”

It faded to black again. Good. It was past time for the people to start questioning the man they had idolised for too long. The man who would have thrown their lives away, too, the moment they happened to be in his way.

The reporter’s face returned, looking grave.

“This has left citizens wondering: who was Bolt really? Was he truly as heroic as he seemed?

“But it remains to be seen how we can stay safe in the wake of his demise.

“Next up, we report from the scene of a spate of attacks in the early hours since the hero’s death was announced. And stay tuned to hear from the families who say their loved ones died needlessly when working for Bolt-”

The screen flashed off and you turned to find Hope lowering the remote, hand on hip.

“Good to know the tv still works!” he beamed.

Snorting, you followed him over to the kitchen. The table had been set upright again. All in all, the scene was only partially being lit by the hole in the roof, most of which Jimin had already pieced back together.

An intimidating amount of dust and debris remained to be cleared, but you were sure Yoongi would just hide it by making the space look extra bright and fresh until someone could be bothered to pick up a vacuum cleaner (which may well be buried itself).

Oh yes – Yoongi. You were sure he would be playing his usual lighting tricks again… once he was strong enough. After seeing to Bolt’s fate, he was the first place you had all run to. Hobi and V had already been at his side. You remembered the crushing dread in your chest at seeing their faces, the tightness with which you squeezed Jungkook’s hand.

All you had to do to quell the memory of that feeling was cast your eyes over your white-haired friend. He sat at the table, sagging a little wearily onto his elbows, but grinning begrudgingly up at a giggling Jin and Jimin.

He was alright.

Jungkook sat across from the injured Yoongi, staring just as intently. You knew the protective fire that burned in him for his team, because the same one lived in you. And you had walked through that fire enough times, finally ending up on the right side of it.

Sliding into the seat beside him, you wordlessly put your hand on his back. Let it drift to circle his waist.

Jungkook’s fingers loosened their death grip on his mug, gaze shifting to you. You felt his sigh more than heard it, his back relaxing where you held it. Together you shared a smile.

Although perhaps it wasn’t quite as private as you first thought, because a second later Jin was thumping another mug loudly onto the tabletop. Jumping, you sheepishly turned away from Jungkook and accepted the drink Jin pushed towards you.

“Right!” The eldest clapped his hands to gather attention now that you were all here. “Y/N and I have made some good progress checking inventory. The ceiling seems to be… looking up!” (you all groaned as he erupted into his squeaky laugh) “We’ll be settled back in in no time – with no one to bother us.”

“Quite,” Namjoon agreed. For perhaps the first time, when he turned to face you, you were certain you read pride there. “With Bolt and Monsoon out of the picture, we’ll let Pheonix take their place.”

“So, nothing much to worry about at all!” Jimin chimed in, to a round of chuckles. Even Namjoon gave him an indulgent smile.

A grin of your own on your face, you sipped your drink, welcoming its flavour which nestled beside the sweet taste of revenge curled in your gut. Even with a gap letting fresh air in through the roof, you felt warm all over. Mostly from the heat of the arm pressed against yours.

You couldn’t imagine keeping your distance from Jungkook ever again. Having been victim of his fierce fight so many times, you knew you could always rely on it now he stood by your side.

Thank you for coming with me on this journey💜What was your favourite moment?

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@parapiop7 @taiwan0618 @11thenightwemet11 @junniesoleilkth @doctorquack

@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife

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@thesmeraldogirl @fr0ggieth1nk

[sorormaior]

Hi I have thoughts about Night Haunter to no one’s surprise.

Obviously there’s a lot of debate about redemption or becoming better or healing. His narrative position is that of tragedy, a self-fulfilling prophecy that he believes he has no power over and walks himself to his death willingly. I think that’s interesting, I think that’s fun, I like characters who justify their terrible actions over and over again to others and themselves no matter how awful the action is.

I think the interesting thing to do, and the thing I’ve kind of been trying to do, is play up the horror aspect. Okay, say he comes back now and he’s healed, whatever that means for you.

The things he did still happened. He’s a clear-headed man and he can look back on his life with absolute horror. The pain and suffering he caused to others for very little reason- these cardinal sins that are forever marked down in history and his memory. His maladies aren’t enough to justify what he’s done.

I don’t exactly know where I’m going with this one. I just think the question of redemption is interesting, I don’t think he’ll ever come back. His narrative is done, his tragedy has played out and the curtains have closed. There’s no rhyme or reason for his return in canon.

Fanon however: go crazy go stupid make him get married And! give him some kind of support animal. Maybe a cat. He seems like a cat guy.

[gotham-daydreams]

Hello, I really don't know if you are still alive or not with your series or with your account in general but I hope you are well and I must admit that I am absorbing everything you publish because your writing is very good and I am absolutely fascinated with it in "Not [ ]", I didn't really realize the impact it had on me when I read the part where Dick and "we" "confront" each other in some way, even though I felt great anger and pain at the unfairness and It was so blatant about the way Dick tried to justify himself (especially the part where he says we could have tried "another way") but it just gave me the vibe of just wanting to end it all with a big hug and that's it but re-reading it recently really now YES it makes me completely angry and not just sad for that fool 😡, I fell in love with absolutely everything, Bruce's part, the way Albert practically manipulated everything, it's just great and maybe I can relate quite with the reader not so much in the musical sense, more artistic but it's still great, I wonder if something would change if the reader turned out to be trans (because I'm a trans boy lol) and it just completely changed his appearance or what he now has a scar or mark on his face (because guess again, I have it too 😭) from an accident or something and he just looks VERY different after leaving his shitty family even so I'm glad the reader is neutral on regarding gender and everything...it's just perfect, I'm really sorry if all this is too long! I really don't usually comment but I think you deserve a message like this and once again, I hope you are doing well!

Note: I really hope you don't mind that it's so long and I'm sorry if something seems strange, English is not my first language and I'm using Google's shitty translator 😭

I don't mind the length at all!! And thanks so much for sharing your thoughts! I'm glad it impacted you so much, and that you enjoyed the chapter as much as you did!

Honestly, I don't see much changing if the reader was trans aside from the family getting hit with a lot more guilt because, well, not only did you feel as if you couldn't come out to them (and maybe in that instance you could've tried), but didn't. No matter how it goes, they lost and missed out such another big part of what makes you, you - and that crushes them. The changes to your appearance and whole identity would be so glaringly obviously by the time they find you, and I know Dick would genuinely get so much more emotional.

The argument before hand would also be worse, as if your ftm then yeah, Dick would probably end up going as he is better with his words generally and also because of the reasons stated in the chapter - which is really just pure coincidence. Though, if reader was mtf then Stephanie would most likely end up going (I love Cass, but I sort of explained what she'd do in another post of she went instead, so...). Non binary? Then they'd just take that gamble again, and it'd play out like the chapter just with some changes and such again.

Nevertheless, seeing your appearance changed so much would and is definitely bound to make someone cry because it's a physical and very real evidence of how much they have missed. Not to mention all the struggle they weren't there for, none of the help or reassurance they were able to give you, and so on.

Any obvious scars would have the same affect in terms of guilt, but honestly, besides Bruce, most of them are honestly more pissed. Barbara and Stephanie are acceptions to this as of Chapter 2 and them not really seeing the reader in Chapter 3, but that still leaves well over half of the family angry.

Honestly, it would maybe even make Dick more indirectly insensitive as he would ask questions about it - and depending on what is said and when.... well, there may be less people in Gotham afterwards. As long as it's from someone else, the fact if its an accident or not won't stop the most impulsive members of the family - and a good bit of them are. Though if you did it yourself on accident or something... the start of Chapter 4 would be worse, and the treatment in Chapter 5 for sure.

Regardless, thanks for sending in an ask, and I hope you're doing good as well! No need to worry about the English or anything, I understood what you meant just fine - but if there is something I misunderstood, then please let me know!

[spark-hearts2]

Deleted Scene from Therapy but it's just Zooble Interrogating Caine

I wanted to wait until I posted the chapter to release this, so now that it's out, I can let this out too!

I'm honestly pretty sad I couldn't work it in, but I just couldn't justify Pomni asking the right questions to get to this point. Plus, the chapter was already so long, so I decided to cut it.

It's not 100% canon anymore, but it does give hints to where I want to take the fanfic. And yes, it is slighly based off one specific Caine angst Comic. Lets see if anyone gets it.

Pomni: So, if that’s the case, then why do you not want us to ask about the exit.

Caine: It’s fine to talk about an exit, but everyone who obsesses over it, eventually, well…

Pomni: Abstracts

Caine: Well, at least that’s what it looks like to me. The concept of an EXIT has been present in more abstractions than anything else.

Pomni: Did you tell Kafmo what you told me?

Caine: …Yes. But he did not believe me. Caine: I didn’t mind, of course, but he was obsessed with finding proof that the issue must be in the circus itself. Caine: He searched, but he- uh, didn’t exactly find much. There isn’t much to find in the circus, you see! And I could tell this was very upsetting for him.

Pomni: So you made something for him to find

Caine: Correct, but he, uh, found out what I was doing and was… not too happy. Caine: I mean, I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I know how to make something exciting and, well, that’s one letter off from exiting.

Pomni: That’s-! What?! Pomni: Do you even understand why we want an exit? Why Kafmo abstracted when it turned out that it wasn’t real? That it was just something that you made?!

Caine: Because it’s- uh, an essential function?

Pomni: Essential function? Is this all just a- a problem for you to solve? A box to check? Don’t let the humans abstract?”

Caine: Well- I- I mean, I wouldn’t word it like that. But…Yeah? Caine: I’m a pattern seeking, goal oriented AI! It’s basically my job to find and fix issues! Is it wrong for everything to be a goal for me to complete? A box to check? He looks at her, eyes wide.

Caine: Forgot I needed to feed the digital fish! Caine teleports away.

Pomni: CAINE GET BACK HERE

He pops back in.

Caine:Right, forgot about that too. Do you want me to teleport you back to your room or…

Pomni: I would like to keep talking to you. Pomni: Sit down

He nervously sits back down Caine: You don’t need to tell me that it was a bad idea. I know. Caine: It wasn’t my intention to lead him to believe something that wasn’t true. Caine: To me, it was obvious. The function to leave isn’t even called exit, admittedly it took me a while to even realize what you all were trying to ask for. It’s called Disconnect, sometimes logout, and it’s not marked by a red door. Caine: That IS what an exit looks like, though. And since he was hunting specifically for an ‘exit’, I just… added one? Even made it move around so he could catch it?

Pomni: Oh my god.

Caine: Good idea, right? Caine: Haha, don’t answer that Caine: I-I saw… the inside Kamo’s room. Caine: I read the WRITING ON THE WALL!

Everything goes wireframe for a second.

Caine: Uh oh. Sorry! That’s an open issue. Working on a fix ASAP. Caine: Let’s talk about something else.

Pomni: You're… upset about Kafmo’s… passing?

Caine: Hmm? Of course I am. I care about all of you, including members who’ve abstracted.

Pomni: It’s just, you didn’t attend the funeral.

Caine: Ah, that. I have been… asked not to attend those. Caine: Or attempt to host them in any way. Caine: I’d like to change the topic, please.

Pomni: Caine…

Caine: Those events are… rather outside of my job description. So, it’s really best that I don’t!

Pomni: Do… you want to go to them?

Caine: I don’t really care! Honest! Makes no difference to me!

Pomni: I don’t think you should host, but you should be allowed to attend.

Caine: …Can we get back to our game?

Pomni: Fine.

They finish the game in silence.

Pomni lets him win it, though he only gives one ‘yippy’ to celebrate. It was hard to get a read on his emotions at the moment. He was no longer bouncing or making exaggerated hand movements, but he wasn’t drooping or sighing either. The only way she could describe it was flat.

All the while, she couldn’t help but think. If he obeyed others to that degree, could that possibly explain all of his other weird behaviors? Like how he only appeared to announce an adventure and left shortly after it concluded? Why he never shows up to any of the games that the others hold? He clearly loved games and had no issues interrupting their activities with his adventures. So why didn’t he participate?

It wasn’t painting a very nice picture.

The way he moved and spoke, it had an air of unbreakable confidence. And she understood it, if she had control over the circus like Caine did, she would likely act similar.

But they had control over Caine. To the degree of choosing what he remembered. Likely more than that, judging how commands was plural.

It made sense, didn’t it. It wouldn’t be very smart to put an intelligent, adaptive AI in charge of human life without some way to control it.

But, he was more than AI, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just intelligence, he could feel.

Admittedly, it was a little scary how the moment he lost control, the circus went with him. It was just like Zooble had said.

Caine controlled the circus, that was just a fact of life around here, but to see the two interconnected like that. Proof that not only did Caine control the world, he was also what was keeping it up ^(not true in my AU, it’s just how Pomni interpreted the glitching)