#Noun Scribblings.
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“Slip Ups” 2020 ver & 2023 touch-up.
I revamped some of my favourite Kray doodles from 2020. I didn’t want to alter them too much, but I did want to re-do the Promare colours to match the colours of Kray’s fire specifically, since it’s entirely unique to every other Burnish in the film.
GG Kray.
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3/7
[read here]
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#gale x tav#gale of waterdeep#sparrow the bard#i love spells which go [inventor] [adjective] [noun] like leomunds tiny hut or melfs acid arrow#im stealing it.#krem scribbles#krem komics (tm)#kiss com tag
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Another year, another Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day!!!! If you are a writer of fanfic, please know just how appreciated you are!! Fandom would be such a different space without your creativity and labors of love. 💜
Holidays are all about making traditions, and the bookbinding friends with @renegadeguild once again came together to bind copies of fics for their authors as a show of our appreciation. This year I had the absolute joy of binding Emergency Help Wanted by the wonderful @piyo-13 and even got to collaborate with her on some of the design elements! It's a Modern AU Jiang Cheng/Lan Xichen fic that starts with a "help wanted" ad.
EMERGENCY HELP WANTED
I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.
Ok. So. I may have gone a little feral with this one. Online "help wanted" ad spiraled into loading wheel scene dividers, spiraled into fake Google search result headers, spiraled into FULLY committing to those authentic looking text messages. In full color. (There are so many. I typeset in MS Word. It was SO worth it, but god what a struggle at some points.) And don't forget the "recent searches" title page! Or the computer cutout on the cover! (It's bluescreening, just like Lan Xichen through this entire fic!) Also that cover/title page image that I just kept adding details to. (It's supposed to be Lan Xichen's desk, so it simply didn't feel right until it had sticky notes on the computer, #1 dad on the mug, scissors and measuring tape, scribbles on the sticky notes) Did I have a ton of fun designing this one? Perhaps. Couldn't say. Maybe just a tad. (This is a lie I had an ABSOLUTE BLAST!)
Historically, I've waited until I finish at least the typeset before reaching out to the author, but not so with this one! I got the idea for the fake google search results from Piyo's authors notes, teasing the contents of the next chapter. But! Those didn't start until about chapter 4! So I reached out and asked if we could collaborate and I'm forever glad I did! Not only does this have teasers for each chapter, I also got to bounce design ideas off of her, including what shade of blue and purple for the text messages. Because my friends, that is a serious matter and changed SEVERAL times throughout the process.
Also shoutout to all my Renegade friends who gave input and encouragement over the past year while I worked on this (what endpages to use? how to make this shade of green perfectly Nie Huaisang? how do we feel about this text message design? or how about this one?) - I love you all dearly and appreciate you so much for putting up with my nonsense at all times.
Binding details below the cut!
Fandom: The Untamed/Mo Dao Zu Shi
Pairing: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin / Lan Huan | Lan Xichen
Bookcloth: Aqua/Purple Dubletta from Colophon Book Arts
Endpapers: Craft Consortium Ink Drops - Ocean pack
Textblock paper: short grain cream from Church Paper
Titling: We R Memory Keepers foil quill
Endbands: leather cording core, DMC embroidery floss for the bands
Body Font: EB Garamond
Title Font: Berlin Sans FB
Text Messages: Roboto
Additional fonts: Times New Roman, Kunstler Script, Magis Authentic
Title page image from Rawpixel and designed in Canva
Various computer graphics from The Noun Project
Tumblr insists on eating and doubling text in this section at its own whim, so if there's something missing that you're curious about, feel free to DM me an ask!
#purplephloxpress#adventures in bookbinding#renegadelovesfic24#ficbinding#fanbinding#bookbinding#renegade bindery#ffwad#the untamed#mdzs#xicheng#jiang cheng#lan xichen#emergency help wanted#piyo13#fanfiction writers appreciation day#did I stay up until midnight just to post this as soon as possible? yes I did. yes I am aware there is a queue button.
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Somnophobia
Noun: An extreme fear of sleep. Children or adults with this condition may experience hallucinations, voices and in some cases, death.
Ch.4
Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader
Warnings: MDNI, no spoilers ;), mentions of suicide attempt, scarring, nightmarish sequences
Word count: 13.2k
A/N: a reward for all your patience :)
Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside
‘Told ya you looked tired. Get some rest, see you at 11 am. L.’
You’d woken up that morning to a note scribbled on a folded piece of paper, propped up against your alarm clock in such a way that you couldn’t actually see the time. And it had been like that every day for almost a month before that month fell into two. You and Logan fell into a comfortable rhythm, teaching classes together every other day, and on the days you weren’t teaching, he was helping you develop your mutation.
You’d cook together, sometimes for the kids as well, and spend hours talking over dinner before heading into the lounge and cosying up in front of some movie or tv-show. Most of the time Logan noticed just as you were nodding off and would switch off the show before carrying you back up to your room. Sometimes you were still awake, but you didn’t protest. It was all part of the routine.
However, one thing was bothering you slightly. You’d assumed, with Logan’s more animalistic instincts, he’d waste no time pouncing on you and dragging you into bed, though the moment things would get a little heated between the two of you, he’d pull back, breathless and warm, muttering something like “Not here.” You were fine with it, for now at least, but considering the two of you went from strangers to kissing in the kitchen to Nick Cave, it took you off guard a little.
Though you’d settled on the explanation that maybe he wanted to take things a little slower, you were frustrated. Pent up. And it was taking all of your concentration not to pounce on him now as he shrugged off his flannel shirt. Neither of you had class today, which meant it was a training day. Not that your training has been useful. You seemed to have regressed, being unable to pull the shadows out with you as you had that first time. It was a completely different kind of frustration, and it was pissing you off. Majorly.
“I’m starting to think Xavier was wrong and that we all collectively imagined what we saw a month ago,” you lamented, hanging up your hoodie on one of the hooks near the door. You’d occupied a regular training room for this session, opting to leave the danger room for another day. Nothing had been accomplished, though it did serve to prove once again just how well you and Logan worked together.
Logan folded his arms across his chest. In truth, he thought this was going to be a lot easier than it was turning out to be. The progress you’d made in that first session set him up with a false sense of confidence, though he had to remain encouraging, despite the growing concern that you may not be able to pull this off. That was why he’d asked Charles to take over from Scott. He’d lost too many people in his life and was unable to do anything about it. If things were going to go anywhere between you, he needed reassurance that you weren’t about to disintegrate in his arms. Because the thought of ever losing you genuinely terrified the shit out of him. “When was the last time Charles was wrong, hm?”
You huffed, rolling your shoulders, wincing slightly from the cracking of your joints. “First time for everything…” you grumbled, hooking your elbow around your other to stretch out the muscle. Logan swallowed, his eyes drinking in your appearance. A pair of fitted gym leggings that had him gritting his teeth every time you turned around, paired with a front-zip sports bra that his fingers itched to tug down. He could smell your morning shower, the deodorant you used, whatever body spray you decided fit for today. Never one of those gaudy, overly fragrant perfumes. You preferred a softer scent, something that gave the allure of a misty forest, or a rainy lake.
Fuck you smelt divine. Logan’s teeth ground together, wondering if what he had planned for today was a good idea. He’d been holding himself back from you. Fear of hurting you or driving you away had him shoving his instincts and desires to one side, burying them deep, deep beneath the surface. He could smell it on you, though. When he barely had enough strength to control himself, with wandering hands and lingering touches. He could smell how turned on you got and it killed him to step away from you every goddamn time.
It was fucking torture. He was torturing himself. He was torturing you.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all… but it was a little too late now.
“I don’t wanna focus on your mutation today…” he began, and you whipped around to face him.
“What? Why? Isn’t that kinda the whole point?” You challenged, and Logan sighed. You were irritable today, and rightly so. He recognised how the lack of progress must have been making you feel, and he knew you were scared, and he wished he could tell you he was scared too. How he was terrified of failing you. But he couldn’t, not if he wanted you to have someone to lean on.
“You rely on it too much.”
“Says the man who tanks bullets because he knows he can heal.” you shot back, folding your arms defensively. Logan took a breath.
“That’s different, sweets. ‘S not circumstantial. You get surrounded in the sunlight with nothin’ around to duck into, and you’re dead.” However, that would never be the case because Logan couldn’t imagine a situation like that where he wouldn’t be by your side. But the hypothetical worked to make his point.
“Okaaaay, what do you suggest then, Professor?” there was nothing malicious in your tone this time, the curve of your smile doing dangerous things to his head. He pushed it down again, cursing his body’s truly terrible timing, before gesturing to his chest.
“Hit me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You heard. Hit me.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
You took a step back. “I’m not gonna fight you, Lo’.”
“Why?” he took a step forward, smirking wildly. “Afraid you’ll lose?”
“Yes! Extremely!” Logan barked a laugh at your honesty, earning himself a smile of your own. “Look at you! How is this a fair fight?” you grinned broadly at the ridiculous idea of sparring with him. “I pick my battles, Howlett, and I’m not about to pick one where I get my ass handed to me!” you exclaimed through bubbles of laughter. Logan listened to the constant urge to be closer to you, stepping forward to wrap you in his arms, your chin against his chest as you craned your neck to look up at him.
“I’ll go easy on ya, how ‘bout that?” He was provoking you. The sly bastard knew you couldn’t deny a challenge like that, and the way your eyes narrowed told him he’d hit the jackpot.
“You’re incredibly grating, you know that?” you hissed, wriggling to free yourself from his arms, only for him to respond by holding you tighter.
“Yeah? You gonna do anythin’ about it?” he smirked again, and you had an extremely strong urge to wipe it from his stupidly handsome face through any means possible.
“Let me go and find out.”
“Get free.”
You huffed. “Logan I’m serious.”
He raised a brow. “Yeah? So am I. Get free. And don’t use your mutation.” If you weren’t so pissed off, you would have fainted at the way he fucking growled. But instead, you took a calming breath. Annoyingly, he was right. You did rely on your mutation a lot when in combat. You’d been lucky enough on missions so far not to get caught without any shadows around, but from what you could tell from the very few meetings you were permitted to attend, was that the fight was evolving. Technology was evolving, and if an all out war was to break out, the odds between humans and mutants would be falling into humanity’s favour.
And sometimes, a good ol’ fashioned punch to the face was worth more than dragging people into shadow.
Tensing and flexing, you attempted to contort from his arms, resulting in nothing but an infuriating chuckle from your captor. “Strugglin’?” he asked, condescension dripping from his tone, and you spared him a fleeting glance only to see a mocking pout on his face.
“Fucking asshole.” you snarled, managing to free your arms enough to push back against his chest. But Logan was strong. Insanely fucking strong, and you were held fast.
“Now what?” he poked, deriving a sick amount of sadistic joy from watching your growing fury. He wasn’t worried. You were already harbouring a lot of frustration, and this was the best way he knew to help you let it out. Since the other option was off the table for now.
You’d been formulating a plan for the last few minutes, your last few wriggles had been purely for show. Lulling him into a false sense of cocky security. Your hands slipped beneath his arms, grabbing a secure hold on his forearms. Sending him a knife-like smile, you went to push against his arms.
Logan sensed what you were about to do, feeling slight pressure against his elbow, he moved his arms lower, assuming you were about to attempt slipping out underneath.
Bingo.
You barked a triumphant laugh, changing your grip in an instant. Your hands slipped up between his arms and your waist and gripping his shoulders. Logan didn’t have time to do so much as blink before your foot pushed against his hip and you flipped backwards and out of his embrace, landing a sharp blow beneath his jaw with your knee before you rolled back to a steadying stance a few paces away.
He blinked, hand subconsciously braced against his chin. It was a savage blow, but the throbbing faded almost instantly. He stretched his jaw, pride blossoming in his chest. “Good job, honestly didn’t think–” he was cut off instantly as you ran towards him, glaring venom. Something in you had shifted, and he’d be lying to himself if it didn’t make him think twice about pissing you off so much.
He dodged back as you swung a punch, your left hook flying dangerously close to his nose. You moved with a speed he hadn’t seen from you yet, and with precision he’d only expect from highly trained veterans. You swung again from the right, and he dodged left, only to be met with a sharp blow from your leg. How had you shifted your weight so damn quickly? He didn’t have time to contemplate before your foot slammed into the centre of his chest and he stumbled backwards.
Catching his footing, Logan looked back at you, eyes wide in complete surprise. You stood dangerously still, your dark gaze watching him like a hawk. He was right in his observation. Something in you had shifted. Like a switch being flipped, you’d gone from treating this as a simple training exercise to actually engaging in a fight. He held his hands up in an attempt to placate you. “Alright, let’s take a breath, yeah?”
You silently bared your teeth before launching yourself at him again. Your leg sweeping towards his face in a roundhouse kick. He flinched back, pushing your foot to continue its trajectory past him, only to barely escape another attempt to decapitate him from your other leg. He caught it in his palm, his hand gripping your ankle tightly as he called your name. But you didn’t respond, using his grip on your foot to pull yourself closer.
You hooked your leg around his neck, the way you pulled yourself upright was a testament to your sheer core strength as you shifted your weight back, and attempted to bring both of you to the floor. But Logan was a lot sturdier than you’d anticipated, loosening his hold and quickstepping forward, letting you fall to the floor. You were only down for a second before you flipped upright again.
Logan watched as you extended your arm into the shadow behind you, cast by the metal balance bar running along all four walls of the room. Whoever this was, whoever he was fighting, you weren’t there anymore. Was this what happened the night Jade died? He couldn’t contemplate that right now, not as the thin shadow along the floor started to morph and shift, running like water from your fingertips to your elbow. He watched in horrified awe as the darkness solidified into a blade around your forearm, your hand having disappeared completely into a sharp point.
“Holy shit…” he breathed along with a terrifying realisation.
You were trying to kill him.
He called your name again as you lowered into a crouch, waiting for a beat before once again sprinting toward him, leaping with inhumane strength. There was a sharp clang as obsidian met metal, Logan’s claws unsheathing from his knuckles to meet your overhead blow. You wrenched your blade from between his crossed claws, launching into a flurry of swipes, slashes and kicks. With every strike, the shadows shifted to each limb with clinical precision, your movements timed to perfection.
Logan was meeting you blow for blow, though never striking back. He was purely on the defensive, simply trying to stop you from taking off his head or hands. He didn’t know how to get through to you, calling your name having absolutely no effect, and he was getting desperate. “You gotta st–” he flinched backwards to avoid yet another savage swipe. “Stop!” he shouted desperately, ducking below your slash and snatching your other wrist. He managed to make you pause long enough to look into your eyes.
Or, what used to be your eyes? Those captivating irises he’d come to know so well had been replaced by wells of nothingness, and if he hadn’t known any better, he’d say they were just a result of using your mutation to this extent. But he’d seen your eyes that first time you’d dragged shadows with you, they hadn’t been like this. This was something else altogether. You were completely absent. Hollow.
What the fuck?
Logan barked a cry as searing pain shot through his hand, that black blade piercing through his palm and through the back. He yanked back, flexing his fingers as he started to heal immediately, though blood still left his hand slick.
“Logan? What’s–” he whipped around to see Jean in the doorway, her eyes now fixed on you, mouth agape in horror. “Shit! Logan, step back!” she instructed, and he did so immediately. Looking back at you, he saw you didn’t move, though your muscles shook with the effort to do so. Jean was holding you fast, he could see sweat beading on her brow with the strain. “The Professor’s on his way now. Damn, she’s strong. You alright?” she asked, not taking her eyes from your immobilised form, your lips pulled up in a permanent snarl, your empty eyes darting between Logan and Jean.
Logan nodded a little hesitantly. “Yeah, ‘m fine…” whilst it wasn’t exactly a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth either. Physically he’d always be fine, his healing factor always saw to that. But it wasn’t your deadly strikes that alarmed him. Nor the sniper precision of your blows. He would be fine with both of these things if it wasn’t for the unmistakable stench of fear.
Logan knew better than anyone, the more cornered the animal, the louder the snarl, the more viscous the bite. You weren’t acting on logic, you were acting out of fear. You were scared. He could smell the desperation to survive, the necessity to fight your way out. Your strikes had been cold and calculated, but every landed blow had a feeling of panic behind them.
But you’d told him your past. Where the hell could this have come from? Was it simply an inherent part of your mutation?
Answers could wait as he took a cautious step towards you, his hands held out before him. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” he soothed, glancing back to see the strain on Jean lessen slightly. He looked back at you. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt ya, you’re safe,” he continued, ignoring Jean’s call of protest. “It’s me, yeah? It’s Logan. ‘M not gonna hurt ya, firefly. Never gonna hurt ya…” he reached out slowly, his heart breaking as your breathing quickened, wide eyes flickering between his hand and his face. If Jean hadn’t been holding you, he had an awful feeling you would have flinched away. Although, if Jean hadn’t been holding you, he had no doubts he’d be on the ground slowly healing from whatever you’d have done.
His palm gently cupped the side of your face and your breathing stopped altogether, void-like eyes staring endlessly into his, your brow creasing as if you were searching for something. He watched as you stopped struggling against Jean’s hold. “You’re alright, it’s just me. It’s just Logan…” You exhaled a breath, your eyes closing, visibly relaxing into his touch.
“What the fuck happened?!” your eyes flew open again, your head snapping to the doorway where Scott, Xavier and Ororo had just appeared, Scott’s fingers braced against his glasses. You only managed to swing your arm a few inches, Jean catching you before your blade pierced Logan’s gut. He jumped back, though instinctively positioned himself between Scott’s line of sight and your frozen form.
“Damnit Scott, we had her!” he seethed, wanting nothing more than to knock him to the ground. If he wasn’t so trigger-happy with his eyes, Logan would have done. But the hand on his sunglasses had him staying put.
“Charles I can’t hold her for much longer…” Jean strained, her hand shaking ever so slightly. Xavier placed two fingers against his temple, closing his eyes slowly.
“Let her go, Jean…” he instructed, and the woman instantly fell to her knees, Scott crouching by her side, his arm around her shoulders, though his eyes never left you. Logan turned back to where you’d been released, your chest heaving, head twitching slightly as Xavier invaded your thoughts. Your eyes screwed shut, your hands flew to your head, Logan only just managing to catch your bladed wrist before you sliced your ear off. He grit his teeth against the pain of the edge carving through his palm, but he didn’t let go. He’d endure it. He’d endure fucking anything if it meant you’d be safe.
You whimpered as your legs gave out, crumpling into his hold as he gently lowered you to the floor. It was a terrifying display, your body contorting and writhing, your back arching as if you were possessed whilst Charles worked to set you free or bring you back or whatever the fuck he was doing.
“C’mon sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay. I promise you’re safe. ‘M gonna look after you, yeah? You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe…” he kept whispering over and over in the hopes that wherever you were, you could hear him. You could follow his voice. Holding you against his chest, he grazed his lips against your hair as you started to slow, hearing your heartbeat begin to settle. You still twitched slightly here and there, but you’d stopped writhing.
When you fell still completely, Logan had to shakily check your pulse just to make sure you were still alive. Finding the slight but steady beating beneath his fingertips, he raised his eyes to the rest of the team, irises glittering with murderous intent. “What the fuck was that?” he snarled, looking at each mutant individually.
Ororo seemed the only one brave enough to step forward, Charles still occupied with your mind. “It… we saw this happen once before, around three years ago now. It was the night–”
“Jade died…” Logan finished, his features instantly softening as he looked back down at you, palm smoothing your hair from your face. “Why? Why does this happen?”
Charles removed his fingers from his temple, opening his eyes now you’d been placated.
“We don’t know…” Jean exchanged a glance with the Professor as Storm continued. She crossed the room to kneel by your side, now knowing you were unconscious and no longer dangerous. “We think anger might be a trigger.”
“She wasn’t angry,” Logan countered, his eyes not leaving your face. “She was scared. I could smell it. She was fucking terrified like we were…” he trailed off, not wanting to voice what he was thinking. It was like you thought he was trying to hurt you. You fought back out of self-preservation. “I don’t understand… she’s told me about her upbringing. Her childhood, I didn’t-” he cut himself off as he took your hand, eyes widening as he noticed something he hadn’t before. How the fuck had he not noticed this before?
A thin, heavy scar ran down the length of your wrist, a centimetre wide and a few inches long. His breath caught in his throat as he rushed to check your other hand, finding a mirrored mark. Running his thumb down the scar, his eyes flickered to Ororo’s, who looked away.
“Guess she hadn’t got round to telling you that yet…” she said by way of explanation. His heart shattered. It had been a long time since Logan had cried, but he felt hot tears line his eyes. The thought of you being low enough to attempt to take your own life, the possibility of you succeeding and he never got to meet you. To know you. To love you.
He gathered you back into his arms and held you close, tucking your head beneath his chin. He wanted to apologise. To apologise for not being there for you. For not even knowing you. It was illogical and pointless, but he wanted to make up for not always being there for you. For only coming into your life now.
“We should get her to the med bay,” Jean broke the silence, standing from where she was recovering on the floor, Scott’s arm still wrapped around her shoulder, steadying her.
“I can’t be the only one thinking what we should actually do, and what we should have done years ago. She’s unstable, there’s kids here for fuck’s sake!” Cyclops exclaimed, gesturing to the floors above.
Logan felt his anger bubble to the surface. He didn’t need to be telepathic to know what Scott was talking about, and there was no way in hell he was about to stand by and let this motherfucker neutralise you. “Why don’tcha say it out loud, Scott,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “Let everyone know what ya thinkin’.”
“Logan take a breath, nothing’s going to happen to her,” Ororo placed a calming hand on his shoulder, though he was too riled up to care. “Right Scott?” she prompted, and Scott scoffed loudly.
“Yeah, right. Though, not that it shouldn’t.”
Logan snapped. Passing your body to Ororo, he leapt from the ground, claws bursting through his knuckles as he thundered towards Scott, who was taking his arm from around Jean to grip his sunglasses in retaliation.
“That’s enough!” Xavier’s voice cut through both the air and Logan’s mind, and taking a glance to the group, everyone else had heard it in their heads as well. He ground to a halt, eyes glaring bloody murder at Cyclops. “Now is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. Storm, take her to the med bay. Jean, I need you in my office please. And you two,” he looked pointedly between Logan and Scott. “Find somewhere far away from each other.”
“Fine by me.”
“Not a problem,” they spoke in unison before Logan turned back to where Ororo was holding you in her lap. “I got her, just lead the way,” he spoke curtly, stooping to effortlessly pick you up, holding you tight in his arms. Storm nodded as she stood, dusting her knees off before heading for the door. Logan took a minute to look down at you, drinking in your unconscious appearance. He felt a pang of fear for you echoing throughout his chest, brows pinching as his eyes frantically flickered across your face.
“She’ll be okay Logan, just give her time,” Charles said gently, knowing to choose his words carefully.
“We don’t got time.” Was all he said in return, before following Storm out the door and to the med bay.
Time was simply a concept. Nothing mattered. You’d found yourself sinking into your mind, taking a backseat in your own body. Floating in water but breathing wasn’t impossible. It was peaceful, tranquil, the same kind of feeling when you were nestled against Logan’s chest in an evening, or standing by his side and instructing him how to perfect a sear on a steak.
Logan. Your chest surged as you thought of him, colours around you shifting and swirling from obsidian to the dark greens and browns you associated with his scent. Being around him. Content wore a new face, joy had a new feeling. Swirling colours became scenery as your bare feet touched grass. Wind kissed your cheeks as you looked around at the rolling hills surrounding, nothing but blue skies above you. Though you were confused, nothing could dampen your sense of ease. Pinewood and smoke wafted through the breeze and you turned but saw nothing.
“Come back.”
You turned again, laughing as if he’d told a joke. It was his voice, unmistakably. You guessed he was just in a playful mood. Your toes dug into the ground as you spun around, laughter bubbling from your chest.
“Where are you?” you called out, only your echoing voice answering from the hillside. The wind died down, birdsong quieting to nothing as you waited for his voice again.
“Come back to me.”
You whirled again, your smile slowly fading as you once again were met with nothing. “Logan? C’mon, this isn’t funny anymore!” you called out, hoping he would finally stop the games and come out. You could feel panic start to rise as you heard nothing in response. You spun and twisted, only to be met with silence and emptiness, the ease of the countryside now morphing into anxious loneliness. “Logan…?” you called out again weakly, your hand crossing your front to hold your arm in an attempt to bring some kind of comfort.
The next time you turned, your heart stopped and you stepped back. Seven humanoid shadows stood before you, their forms shifting like smoke. In unison, their heads cocked to the side. Like the shifting of emotions, the blue sky faded to grey, then to black. Angry, broiling storm clouds swirled overhead, and once again in unison, the shadows sank into the ground.
Fear gripped your heart as you tried to do the same, but found yourself unable to. You tried again, only to force yourself to your knees, the ground refusing to let you pass despite the darkness overhead. With a frustrated cry, you punched the earth with your fist, as if you were able to beat it into submission.
“Come back.”
This time his voice provided no comfort as you hung your head, tears stinging your eyes and falling into the grass, blades shifting slightly. “I want to…” you responded shakily, despair clawing at your mind, having no idea how. But you had to. It didn’t matter how. You just had to.
Standing back to your feet, you took a deep breath. You could do this. You could find your way back. With newfound determination, you took a step forward.
Only to find, the moment your foot touched the ground, a hand crawled from the shadow, wrapping around your ankle. Once again panic clawed at your chest as you tried to yank yourself free, watching in horror as one of those seven shadows rose from the ground, its humanoid body contorted and backwards, head twitching from side to side.
You tried to pull away. Tried to take a step back, only to find another holding your other foot, rising only far enough for its head and shoulders to reform from the ground. Another hand grabbed at your thigh, then another around your waist. You fought to free yourself, kicking and flailing as you felt the ground beneath you give way and you started to sink. A hand clawed down your back, another wrapped around your neck, silencing your desperate scream as your hand outstretched towards the dark sky above.
Your eyes went dark as those shadows gripped your face, obscuring your vision before all you could feel was nothing. You were nothing. And you were sinking.
Down. Down down you were dragged, those inky black hands weighing you down like a ball and chain through water, only this time you couldn’t breathe. You tried to scream again only to find yourself voiceless, bubbles of emptiness rising from your mouth.
You didn’t know how long you’d been drowning before light burst from above you and you inhaled a guttural breath, closing your eyes against the blinding white. When you managed to adjust to the light, you cracked open your lids, panic still flooding your veins. An operating theatre? No, it was too light. But judging from the instruments to your left, that’s exactly where you were. You tried to lift your head only to find coarse leather strapping you down. Trying to move your arms and legs resulted in the same conclusion.
A whimper escaped from the other side of the room, and you turned your head, eyes widening as you saw your brother, clad in some kind of hospital gown, tears streaming down his face. “Rowan…?” you croaked, your throat raw from what, you didn’t know.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered shakily, before agony flared through your body and you released a blood-curdling scream, fire reining free throughout your nerves, your limbs straining against the bonds holding you down.
‘We remember.’
Your eyes flew open as you sat bolt upright on the table, panic surging adrenaline through your system as you took in your surroundings. You were still there, in that room, just a different version of it. But you weren’t tied down, not this time. No, this time, you followed the wires hooking your body up to a monitor, the dips and valleys in the lines meaning nothing to you, only serving to fuel your fear.
You ripped the stickers from your body, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Whatever, or whoever was holding you clearly didn’t have the sense to leave you unattended. You might still be learning how to control your mutation, but that didn’t mean you weren’t dangerous.
Crossing to the drawers opposite, you tugged the top one open, rifling through the contents in the hopes of finding some kind of weapon. A scalpel, a knife, hell you’d take a staple gun at this moment. Anything that would help you escape this nightmare. You had to find Rowan. Why the fuck was he here? What the hell was going on? You brushed the questions to the side for now.
None of that mattered at the moment. Your sole goal was to find him and get the two of you out of here.
A slight sing sliced through your fingertip as you rifled through the second drawer, pulling out a small scalpel. It wasn’t ideal, but you figured it was better than nothing. Clutching it tightly in your hands, you cursed medical rooms for their bright white lighting, only finding singular shadows beneath the bed and around the desks. Nothing connected, so you couldn’t travel far.
You whirled at the slight whoosh of the doors behind you opening, holding the scalpel in front of you threateningly, attempting to still your trembling hand. Though it took your eyes a moment to register who you were looking at, you knew that voice and the way he softly called your name like the back of your hand.
Logan had only stepped out for a few moments, spending the last three days by your side, vigilant, unmoving. But upon the insistence of Jean, he’d taken seconds for himself to smoke a cigar and calm down. Every twitch of your body, every micromovement he noticed, every small cry of his name set him on edge, fighting the urge to pull the medical tags from your body and keep you safe up in his room, build a home for you there. He’d resisted purely because both Jean and Charles had said it was safer to monitor your brain and heart.
But now here you were, eyes wide, pointing a scalpel at him. He held his hands up, trying to show you he didn’t mean any harm. “It’s me…” he soothed as you looked around wildly as if trying to recognise your surroundings.
How was he here? Why was he here? Had they got him too? But he looked fine, dressed in his usual white singlet, worn jeans and brown flannel. “Logan?”
He breathed a sigh of relief, taking a slow step towards you. “Yeah,” he confirmed, noticing how you were still caught up in confusion and fear.
“Wh– where am I? Where are we?” you asked frantically, still keeping the small blade pointed towards him as he inched closer around the bed.
“We’re in the med bay, underneath the school. ‘S’okay, you’re safe here.” he explained slowly, gingerly reaching for the knife in your hand, his fingers wrapping around the warm metal as he gently took it from your grasp and set it down.
You let him take it from you, your heart settling in your chest as he encircled your wrist. “The school?” you asked, uncertainty lacing your tone. Logan nodded in confirmation, and you let loose a steadying breath. “What happened?” your voice was barely audible, shaking slightly as he guided you into his arms and enveloped you in a sense of security.
“You’re okay…” he breathed, not only to reassure you but to also reassure himself. For three days he’d sat by your bedside, listening to people tell him you were gonna be okay, but it was so fucking hard to believe them when you were lying unconscious on a medical bed, the only sound being the steady beep of the heart monitor you were hooked up to.
Seeing you here, on your feet, awake, set that fear to rest. He set his chin atop your head, closing his eyes as he breathed you in, your scent wrapping around his heart in a comforting embrace. You were safe. You were okay.
You allowed yourself to simply feel him, basking in his presence and the peace he brought you. Your arms slowly wrapped around his body beneath his shirt, clasping tightly at the back of his singlet. “I don’t understand…”
“I know. Neither do we, not fully. But we will, ‘kay? Promise,” he hoped it was enough to reassure you, but it was barely enough to reassure himself. “What d’you remember?” he asked pulling back slightly to cup a hand against your jaw, angling your face to look up at him.
You swallowed, brow furrowing as you tried to think back to the last thing you remember. “Training. We were training. You said we weren’t gonna focus on my mutation, and you challenged me to get out of your grip… that’s it,” you explained quietly, your eyes flickering between his own in search of some kind of answer. “That’s what happened with Jade, isn’t it? It was the same thing…” Logan nodded again, though almost imperceptibly as if he was afraid to confirm your own fears. “What happened?” you asked again, though this time a little firmer.
Logan took a breath, bracing himself for your reaction before he’d even spoken. “You tried to kill me…”
You instantly stepped out of his arms, and as much as he didn’t want to, he let you. Horror flickered across your face as you looked down at your hands as if you could see the blood staining them. You couldn’t do this again. You couldn’t kill someone else you loved because you couldn’t control yourself. “It wasn’t your fault, I pushed you too hard. I didn’t know this w–”
“Don’t.” you stopped him quietly, eyes staring, unblinking, at the white tiles beneath your bare feet. “Please don’t…” you inhaled shakily, balling your hands into fists by your side. “Scott was right.”
Logan froze, knowing exactly what you were referring to. He guessed what he suggested three days ago wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “The fuck he was. You lost control, that doesn’t make you a monster. Y’think half the kids here were monsters before they learnt how to control their mutations?”
“Half the kids here don’t try to kill the people they fucking care about!” you cried, feeling like he just wasn’t listening to you.
“No, they just do it by accident. Remind you of anyone?” He didn’t know how else to get you to see. You were no different from those who just hadn’t learnt to control it yet. “Why is it always so different when it comes to you, hm?” he took your hands in his own, begging you to understand.
“I don’t wanna kill you, Logan. I don’t know what I'd do if I did…” you looked up, tears silently sliding from your eyes. But Logan simply smiled.
“Then ain’t it peachy I can’t die. Hundred ‘n’ thirty still going strong,” he thumbed away the tears from your cheeks as you blinked in realisation. “Forgot that, didn’t ya?”
“Yeah… guess I did.” you tried to smile, but Logan could tell you were still burdened by guilt and grief. Planting a kiss on your forehead, he guided you back to the centre of his chest, wrapping you up again.
“We’ll figure it out, yeah? Whatever this thing is, we’ll figure it out. Charles can help you,” he promised, his hand stroking through the back of your hair. “And fuck Scott, he doesn’t know what he’s fucking talking about.” That earned him a teary chuckle against the crook of his neck.
“Fuck Scott,” You repeated, nestling closer into his embrace. “Thank you, Lo’.”
“Anytime, sweetheart,” he responded, pressing his nose against the top of your head, breathing in your distinct scent. “The good news is, you harnessed your mutation flawlessly.”
You looked up at him with slight awe, your mouth parted slightly. “Seriously?”
Logan nodded. “I almost brought ya back as well, so I’m thinkin’ we should–”
“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted, your chin resting against his chest. “Not a good idea.”
“Might be the only way,” he shrugged, delicately moving a strand of your hair from your face. “Think it over.” He prompted softly, his hand travelling from your jaw to your cheek, eyes lingering on your lips for a beat before he dipped down, capturing you in a soft kiss. Your lids fluttered closed, arms sliding from his back up to his neck, your fingers finding a home in his soft hair.
You groaned softly as his hands left your face to occupy your waist, lingering long enough to squeeze you gently before descending lower to your thighs and hoisting you against him. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed against the dip of his back.
Logan swallowed your gasp as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, and he couldn’t tame his low growl of approval when you opened your mouth for him, your nails scratching lightly through his hair and tugging against the soft strands in a way that had his closed eyes rolling skyward. Carrying you back to the steel table, he set you down, his lips never detaching from yours even as your back touched the steel. Your ankles stayed crossed at his tailbone, and the way you arched your hips into his growing arousal had him groaning your name against your lips.
The sweet scent of your slick drove him fucking wild, and he knew he had to stop himself before he fucked you here and now on this godforsaken table. He drew back from you, jaw falling open as you dug your nails into his shoulders. Fuck you looked so good, a passionate flush dusted your cheeks, your lips slightly reddened from his mouth. He panted against you, attempting to catch his breath. “We can’t, n–”
“Not here, right?” you finished, frustrated irritation lacing your tone. “Then where, Lo’? Because so far, it hasn’t been anywhere.” You finished, sitting up as he pulled away from your legs. “What’re you so afraid of?” It was your turn to gently pry, hoping to gain insight as to why he always stopped just when things were getting good.
He looked away from you, tensing his jaw against your question. “‘M not afraid…”
“That’s a lie.”
His eyes shot back to look at you, recalling the last time he called you out. He’d used that same phrase, that same no-bullshit tone. Logan debated shooting back at you the same way you did back then, but at the same time, he wasn’t that petty. He could be petty, sure, but not that petty.
He ran a hand down the side of his face, taking a deep breath. He heard you shift on the table, your hand gently pulling his palm down. “I’m not made of glass, I won’t shatter.”
But that’s exactly what he was afraid of. “I– I’m good at controlling my instincts most of the time… but when I feel you like that… when I can smell how you react to me, it gets so much more difficult. I’m so afraid of hurting you,” he confessed, and you silently pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
“You’re not gonna hurt me, Logan. Was your plan to just, not have sex this whole relationship?” you asked softly, watching as he processed the wording of your question.
“Well, no but, is that what this is…?” he asked slowly, and you raised a brow.
“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, Lo’, but I guessed we never really discussed it…” you mused, not a single worry on your mind. You were what you were, labels didn’t really matter to you, and you had a feeling they didn’t matter to him either.
“Hate the title of boyfriend,” He wrinkled his nose and you snorted a laugh. “Makes me sound like some inexperienced kid.”
“How would I know how experienced you are, you refuse to have sex with me. Maybe it’s appropriate.” You teased, and Logan shot you a dark look full of even darker promises. “I’m not too bothered either way, to be honest. We don’t have to put a label on things. We’re just…”
“Together.” He finished, his dark glare softening at the words he uttered and how right they felt.
“Exactly. And you’re not the only one who can heal, remember?” You flashed him a grin now it was his turn to blink. “Now look who’s forgetting things.” He returned your smile before pulling you in for another lingering kiss, both his hands braced against the soft skin of your waist. He hadn’t forgotten about the scars on your wrists, nor the way you’d cried for him in your unconscious state, but he’d save those questions for later, for when you weren’t in the med bay still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing three days ago.
Not that he minded. You smelt irresistible.
Footsteps echoed in his ears from behind the door, and he separated from you. He glanced to the door in response to your look of confusion just as the two halves separated and Jean strode through, stopping immediately upon seeing you.
“You’re awake! How’re you feeling?” she asked, setting down her mug of coffee on the desk before crossing to the flatlined heart monitor and switching it off, the screen going dark.
“Physically or mentally?” you asked, a little sarcastically, and Logan had to pretend he was extremely interested in the screens around Jean’s desk, covering his mouth with his palm to hide his smile.
“You were out for three days, it’s only natural for me to ask.” She responded flatly, shooting Logan a pointed look which he chose to ignore.
“I’m fine. Weirded out and I wanna know why this keeps happening, but I’m fine.” You shrugged, wanting nothing more than to head up to your room, shower until you burn off all of your skin, and fall into bed. Preferably with Logan by your side, but you’d take what you could get with that whole situation.
Jean shifted on her feet, busying herself with the monitor, and Logan picked up the distinct scent of discomfort. “The Professor’s working on it, for now, he wants you to rest, maybe take a break from training and teaching, too.”
You scoffed, standing up from the table. “He gonna send me away for another two years, yeah? Keep the big bad wolf away from the children? Just in case I go ape-shit again and commit mass murder. Seems like a sound plan, worked last time, didn’t it? Oh, except it didn’t, because I’ve only been back two months and the same fucking thing happened. Only this time we got lucky because Claws over here can’t fucking die” You spat, annunciating every fucking syllable.
Logan shifted his gaze to you, giving you a look as if to ask why he was being dragged into this. You responded with something he could only interpret as apologetic. Good enough.
“It wasn’t like that–”
“It was and you know it, don’t you?” Logan chimed in, suddenly feeling the need to rush to your defence. You’d already been through enough today, you didn’t need to be gaslit to be added to the pile. “Just like you know more about what’s going on here, right?” He raised a brow, coming to stand by your side, an arm braced against your shoulder.
Whatever Logan had noticed, you trusted his instincts, staying silent as Jean straightened, her gaze steely. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Logan,” she responded plainly, before turning to you. “And since you seem well enough to wander around and rifle through my equipment, I’d say you’re well enough to head out.” It was as rude as Jean was ever going to get without being unprofessional and telling you to get the fuck out.
You raised your head, narrowing your eyes in challenge, before deciding that maybe scrapping so soon after you woke up was a bad idea. So instead you turned on your heel, striding out the door with your dignity and without leaking blood.
Logan fell into step beside you, his palm resting at the small of your back. “Ya know, she could barely contain you when you went all… freaky. You’re strong as shit.” He smirked down at you, and your eyes widened along with your smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You both entered the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. “Fuckin’ A.” You grinned, and if he was being honest with himself, Logan didn’t think he’d ever been more proud of you.
“I’ll be below so if you need anythin’, just shout, I’ll hear ya,” Logan instructed so sincerely your heart skipped a beat. After insisting he made you a rudimentary evening snack of grilled cheese, he’d escorted you up the stairs and into your room and was now looking into your eyes with such seriousness it made you laugh a little.
“Logan, I’m taking a shower, not heading into the Colosseum. Though, you’d know all about that, right? What were the Romans like?” you asked, feigning innocence when he rolled his eyes. “What? I’m curious.”
“Glad ya feelin’ better, freak.” He flicked your forehead and you chuckled, not bothering to swipe his hand away. “If you need anything–”
“Howl at the moon three times and spin in a circle yeah Logan I get it. Now clear off so I can shower, I smell like a dead horse.” You shooed him away, but he caught both your hands in one of his own, his bare arms flexing as he pulled you closer so he could lean into your ear.
“You smell fucking delicious,” he growled and your knees almost buckled. Fuck, how could he do that with one small phrase? “But I’ll let ya go, see you later.” He pecked a kiss to your lips, brows raising in surprise when you leaned into him in a much more passionate display before you pulled away far too quickly for his liking.
“See you in a bit!” you beamed, before heading into your ensuite and shutting the door, leaving him standing breathless in the middle of your room.
You were gonna be the fucking death of him. If he could die, that is.
To say your shower was refreshing was an understatement. Scalding water seared your skin slightly, leaving behind delicious tingles of cleanliness as you scrubbed the last three days of unconsciousness from your skin, using the wild bluebell shower gel Ororo had gifted you for Christmas last year. It was definitely one of your favourite scents –other than pinewood, smoke and whiskey, obviously– but it was the gel you used the least out of fear of running out of it. You lathered your skin, shivering slightly as you remembered the way Logan was holding you earlier. The way his fingers dug into your thighs, the way he squeezed your waist.
You had to shake yourself back to reality before you used all the water in the goddamn mansion. Quickly rinsing yourself, you switched off the shower and snatched the towel hanging from the hook on the back of the door and opened the window to let out some of the steam. Drying yourself off, you vaguely hoped your plants would forgive you for neglecting them for three days, though a delusional part of you said they’d understand.
Maybe you were losing your mind.
You finished up moisturising your face, rubbing in the last bits of cream and securing your towel around your chest before opening the door to your room, steam rolling from the bathroom and onto your sad-looking tropical plants, who you swore instantly perked up.
“Yeah yeah, no need to be so dramatic Herbert, I’m sure you can survive three days without me.” You said to your Herringbone Plant. You found that naming them and giving them all personalities helped with the development and growth… or so you told yourself.
You crossed to your built-in wardrobe, pausing as you saw an incredibly familiar flannel on your window seat. You had a vague recollection of Logan setting it down when he took a seat there, the two of you talking for a minute of thirty before you finally remembered you needed a shower.
Considering how little he seemed to talk to the rest of the teachers here, it served to make you feel pretty damn special the way he would talk for hours with you. You smiled thinking about it, picking up the shirt and feeling the material beneath your fingers. It still smelt like him, and your smile widened further.
There was a quick knock at your door, and you barely had time to welcome whoever it was before it opened. “Sorry, forgot my– fuck.”
Logan stood in your doorway, his eyes shamelessly looking you up and down, from your heat-flushed collar to the tops of your thighs where your towel cut off, down to your feet before trailing back up. “Fuck…” he repeated, and your breath quickened just like that.
Maybe he could die. Because there was no possible way he’d just survived looking at you this way. You looked edible, for fuck’s sake, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into the side of your neck and listen to you whimper beneath him. He closed his eyes against the images plaguing his mind, hoping to hell neither Charles nor Jean were prowling around the mansion’s minds.
“Looking for this?” you asked, your tone laced with faux innocence as you held up his shirt. “Shame, I was just about to see how good it looked on me.” You pouted, and Logan closed the door with the back of his foot in response.
“Don’t let me stop you.” His eyes were dark, pupils blown with lust as he watched you thread your arms through the sleeves that were much too big for you.
Oh, you were having too much fun with this game, making sure the flannel covered your ass as you turned away from him, letting the towel fall from around your chest to pool at your feet. You grinned wildly at his audible groan as you started feeding the buttons through their respective holes, stopping just low enough that your nipples were covered, but not much else.
You took a step back, glancing at your appearance in your floor-length mirror on the opposite side of your room. “Think it suits me, personally,” you turned, placing a hand on your waist, accentuating just how baggy his clothes were on you. “Don’t you?”
Logan’s chest heaved at the sight of you in his clothes. His clothes. Your hips swayed as you sauntered towards him, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and tugging him closer. His breath hitched as you traced your fingertips across his naval, only briefly dipping below the waist of his jeans, untucking the white singlet he was wearing. “Cat got your tongue?” your voice was as softly teasing as your fingers, his entire body shivering as your hands skirted beneath the white fabric, your palm cooler against his heated skin.
“You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart.” He grit as you thumbed the thick vein pulsing just inside his hip bone. That sweet scent of your arousal hit him like a truck as you leaned up to his ear, biting softly at the sensitive skin just beneath.
“Then ain’t it just peachy I can heal?” you used his phrasing from before, and it was Logan’s undoing. Ducking back, he crashed his lips onto yours, your mouth eagerly parting to allow his thick tongue to dance with yours. He wrenched your hands from his front, throwing them around his neck as he lifted you from the floor in exactly the same way he did not an hour ago.
Though this time you moaned freely as your core pushed against the steadily growing steel in his jeans. He bucked his hips in response, growling as you both all but fell onto the bed, your hands tightening their rough grip in his hair. He let his eyes roll as he nipped the supple flesh of your lips, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, over your jaw and into your neck. His tongue smoothing the sharp bites he left against your skin.
“Logan…” you breathed his name when he found the scar on the side of your neck, your hands clawing at his shoulders when he sucked a small bruise against the mark. You gasped, tilting your head up to provide him with easier access.
His hands had been trailing up and down your sides, venturing beneath his shirt, feeling your bare skin against his palm. Your chest inflated as he teased the underside of your breasts with his fingers, and he nipped against that spot on your neck at the same time as encasing your breasts in his hands. You whimpered beneath him and it was everything he’d dreamed of, and so much more.
“Fuck, sweetheart you’re killin’ me.” He groaned as you wrapped your legs around his waist again, pulling his clothed cock closer to your core. His hands squeezed and groped at the soft skin of your chest, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to hear you gasp again.
He could tell you were getting impatient, your hands trailing down his back to the hem of his singlet, pulling it up to his shoulders. He drew back from you briefly, sitting on his heels and pulling the top over his head. You swore you drooled.
“Holy shit Lo’, you’ve been keepin’ this from me?” You followed him up, your legs still wrapped around his hips as your hands found the muscles of his abs, drinking in every valley, plain and peak of his physique. Your fingers grazed up through the hair dusting his chest, bracing against the hard plateaus of his pecs. “Fuck me…” you breathed in disbelief, and Logan responded with a wild smirk.
“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he trailed off, hands cupping the sides of your neck as he brought you in for another searing kiss. Logan gently pushed you back down on the bed, swallowing your low moans of need. His fingers deftly plucked at the buttons of his shirt, exposing more of your body for his hands to feast on. He pulled back again to shove the material off your shoulders, dragging it from beneath you to discard on the floor. “Gorgeous.” He uttered under his breath.
You were completely bare before him, and his eyes locked onto every perfect imperfection on your body, from the various scars on your chest and stomach to the small dents left behind by his own fingertips. You panted softly, placing a foot against his shoulder just as he went to lean back down and hold your lips hostage once again.
“Even this up, Howlett.” You breathed, and Logan turned his head to nip your ankle sharply. Though before he could even think about loosening his belt, you’d already surged forward, your hands flying to the buckle at his waist, your head ducking into the crook of his neck you so often liked to nestle into. Only this time you bit savagely, earning yourself a surprise, husky groan.
There was a soft clink of metal as you pulled at the leather around his waist, placing it within arm’s reach. Just in case, you told yourself as you licked at the slight salt of his clavicle. You popped the button of his jeans, careful to pull down the zipper before shoving the rough fabric down below his hips. Logan tugged them the rest of the way, shoving them somewhere with the rest of the discarded clothes.
You fell back against the pillows of your bed, unable to stop yourself from biting your lip as you devoured the sight of his tented briefs, his heaving chest and dark eyes. Crawling back over your sprawled form, Logan dipped back to your neck, ghosting his lips down across your collarbones, his tongue lavishing the dip between the bone and your throat, before descending further between your breasts.
He nipped at the soft flesh, his mouth fluttering from left to right as if he couldn’t pick which one he wanted to devour. Your back arched in desperation, pushing your pebbled nipples further into his face before he sucked one into his mouth, teething slightly the sensitive skin. You gasped his name, your nails returning to his sinewy shoulders as pleasure coursed through your veins, one of your hands reaching up to grip the headboard behind you. Fuck he was good at this, switching between sucking softly and nipping sharply, before releasing your breath with a gentle pop, only to devour the other.
Your hips bucked against his abdomen and he moaned against you, grinding his desperate cock against the soft fabric of your duvet. He wanted to taste you first, wanted to feel you on his tongue before he even thought about fucking you. His hands replaced his mouth on your breasts as he travelled further down your body, biting and sucking every scar he came across before he was nestled sweetly between your thighs, drowning in the sickly sweet scent of your dripping arousal glistening between your thighs, the coarse, dark hair around your cunt now completely damp.
Anticipation set your nerves alight as you waited for him to do something, anything. And you threw your head back when his lips settled on your inner thigh, finding yet another scar for his tongue and teeth to explore. You whined softly, needily when he skipped your pussy completely, moving to the other side and leaving a mess of bruises for you to inspect later.
“Fuck Logan, do something!” You managed to grit, feeling his huffed laughter fan your aching cunt.
“I am doing somethin’ baby. Wanna be more specific?” he teased lightly, fingers tracing circles against your outer thigh. You bucked your hips towards his face, grinding into thin air. You called to him like a siren calls to a lost sailor, and he was all too happy to fall into the ocean for you as long as he was allowed to stay here for the rest of his long life.
“Fuck me with your tongue goddamnit!” you spat impatiently, and he grinned victoriously. His grip tightened against your thighs as he dragged you down and onto his face, his lips instantly latching onto your swollen clit.
You pitched back, spine arching as you pinched your lips together to stop yourself from crying out. Bolts of electric pleasure struck each and every nerve, setting you on fire as you writhed beneath his tongue, your hands darting to his hair, dragging him to where you needed him most.
Logan’s deep groan reverberated against your throbbing pearl, adding another layer to your ecstasy, and you barely managed to make a mental note that he liked his hair pulled before you were drowning in honey-laced lightning once again.
You tasted better than he could ever imagine, and he’d imagined this a lot in the last two months. Your slick like morning dew on his tongue, he ate you out as if he were starved. He guessed he was, in a way. Starved of having you like this, a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. It fucked with his head, the way you sounded so submissive and yet the grip in his hair was anything but. His cock throbbed with each tug, tip leaking copiously as one of his hands shifted from the outside of your thigh to inside, teasing your throbbing entrance with his fingertips.
Your mouth hung open as he slowly inserted a thick finger, your walls clamping down as if he would try to escape. Logan latched onto your clit once again, sucking along with every pulse of his wrist, the pad of his fingertip massaging that delicious bundle of nerves hidden inside your cunt.
Back arching, chest heaving, you held his head exactly there, not letting him move as you could feel those knots tighten and tense, the thread of your arousal building to snap into a mind-blowing orgasm. Your hips undulated in time to the pumps of his finger and the sucks of your clit, riding his face with each pulse of hot pleasure.
You couldn’t stop your pitched whine as he slowly inserted a second finger into your tight cunt, curling them against your liquid heat. You gasped his name to the sky above, managing to crack your eyes open and look down to where he’d made a home between your thighs.
Sensing your gaze on him, Logan raised his eyes to yours. Your pinched brows, flush face, and gaping mouth were all the encouragement he needed to tongue-fuck you with renewed vigour, lapping at your leaking essence with reckless abandon.
“Fuck! F–fuck, Logan… ‘m gonna cum. G’gonna– gonna make me cum!” you warned, and he responded with nothing but a dark, sadistic smirk as he ground his fingers against that spot that made you see stars.
With another, long suck of your clit, you came undone, the wire finally snapping as you barrelled into your orgasm. Your hands clawed at the sheets by your head, your back arched off the bed with a soft cry of his name. Logan held you fast against his face, eliciting a deep moan, loudly slurping your release like it would in any way satiate his thirst for you. But it only served as an aphrodisiac for his own neglected desires.
Shadows trembled around the room as you panted with each wave of ecstasy, your hips bucking with no rhyme or reason against his face until the pleasure became a little too much, a little too intense, and you had to tug him away by his hair, gasping as you were met with resistance before he acquiesced.
You felt like you were floating, basking in the cloud-like afterglow of your high, only to be brought back by Logan’s hand cupping your face, guiding you to look at him and his smug smirk.
“Still with me?” he asked cockily, and you didn’t have the mind to do anything but nod and laugh lightly.
“Yeah, just about. I take it back… You’re definitely experienced…” you breathed and he hummed a chuckle against your cheek.
“Been around for a while, you learn a thing or two,” he grinned before his jaw went slack with a silent moan. He hadn’t noticed your hand move from beside your head, only realising when you palmed his steel cock through his briefs. You gently pushed his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, swinging your leg over his waist to seat yourself atop his aching heat, rolling your hips slightly and watching as his head fell back, neck exposed for you.
Leaning down, you licked a long stripe up his throat and along the rough stubble beneath his bearded jaw, pinching his ear between your teeth. You tugged slightly, and his hands braced against your waist, guiding you to continue your movements with your hips. You wanted to take your time with him the same way he did with you, but your desperation to feel him inside of you outweighed your yearning to both hear and taste him cum on your tongue.
Sitting back on your heels, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his briefs, dragging them down over his muscular thighs, smirking slightly as his cock sprang back to lightly slap against his naval. He was fucking delectable, flushed tip leaking clear slick, veins pulsing down either side of his shaft. You pushed down the want to trace them with your tongue as you shoved his fabric past his knees.
Logan kicked off his briefs a little too eagerly, and if he wasn’t so drunk off arousal, he would check his behaviour. But the truth was, he didn’t care. Not in this moment. Not when you scooted back a little to take his member in your hands, slowly sliding your palms up and down.
“Shit darlin’, like that. Fuck, just like that…” he groaned lowly, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you circled his tip with the centre of your palm. His hips bucked into your grip as you alternated your hands, using a corkscrew motion that had him squeezing his eyes shut, every sense consumed by the pleasure you were giving him.
You thumbed down one of those pulsing veins and watched as he inhaled sharply, bearing his teeth in a silent, heated snarl. Biting your lip, you rose on your knees, leaning forwards before sinking onto his cock.
Your back arched as he filled you, stretching your needy cunt deliciously. A long, low moan rose from the depths of Logan’s chest as you seated yourself fully, your cunt pulsing rhythmically around his sensitive heat. Taking a moment to adjust to the feeling, your nails sank into the muscles of his chest, slowly clawing down to his naval and watching as his brows pinched in desperation.
If you were feeling a little meaner, you’d have made him wait. But you’d both waited long enough, so you languidly rolled your hips, mouth falling open as his tip grazed the spot his fingers had been massaging not moments ago. “Logan…” you uttered breathlessly, falling into a steady tempo.
The shadows of the room quivered and shifted along with your movements, and you felt an itch along your back up to your shoulder blades. Logan cracked his eyes open, watching as the darkness around the room morphed into those same two, broad wings he’d seen that first time your mutation flared. However, nothing was threatening about the sight. If anything, seeing the way they flexed and fluttered as you picked up your pace filled him with a sense of wonder. Fuck you were so fucking beautiful.
He couldn’t take his eyes off you, fighting with his instincts to pound up into you in favour of savouring the way your hips ground against him, your cunt squeezing him in a vice grip, obsidian wings extending towards the edges of your room. Rising into a sit, you whimpered softly with the slight jostle, before downright crying out as his fingers grazed the shadowy membrane.
You panted into his parted lips, barely able to form a thought other than how fucking good he felt inside you as you bounced on his cock, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and clawing red hot lines down the thick muscles of his back. Logan growled in your ear, no longer able to resist the urge to fuck up into your molten ecstasy.
“You’re so fuckin’ good sweetheart. Feel so fuckin’ good.” he groaned, moving his hand from your wind to your waist, encouraging your movements. He could tell you were close, your thighs shaking slightly both with the effort and the pleasure, your pitched whimpers fanning his neck as you buried your head, nipping and biting in the space where his shoulder met his throat.
“‘M so fucking close… fuck ‘m so close!” you gaped, nails still scratching down his back, earning yourself yet another delicious growl. Logan bucked his hips, pulling your head back from his neck by your hair to look him in the eye. He wanted to watch. Craved the sight of you losing control on his cock, because of his cock. The hand on your waist skirted down between your thighs, fingers expertly playing with your clit as you crested your high.
Head thrown back, spine arched, you exploded in euphoria, pleasure coursing through your body like a tidal wave, crashing on the shore. Your wings flared in either direction, shaking as he continued to grind his tip deep inside you, rubbing your swollen, sensitive pearl ruthlessly. Breathing came second to feeling, unable to inhale as you all but seized up completely, your muscles trembling along with every wave of your orgasm.
Logan panted against the hollow of your throat, all and any self-control quickly dissolving as he recklessly flipped you both over, your clock and lamp clattering to the floor as the tips of your void-like wings swept beneath you, his hands gripping the pillow beside your head.
Seeing you cum on him like that, feeling your walls tightened and quiver, Logan lost every semblance of self-control he was clinging to. Sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your neck, he pounded into you relentlessly. Pure, unadulterated pleasure spiked through his system as you whimpered and whined beneath him, your nails clutching his shoulders, breaking the skin and clinging on.
“Fuckin’ perfect for me. Shit darlin’, squeezing me so good.” He snarled before his teeth returned to the dents he’d made against your neck. He tasted iron as he bit down and you cried out in pain-addled pleasure, dragging your sharp nails from his shoulders, down either side of his spine, to the dip in his back. Your ankles locked around his waist, and it was his undoing.
Logan’s hips stuttered as he utterly lost control, his staggered groan muffled by the skin of your neck, eyes screwed so tight he saw stars. His fingers gripped the fabric on either side of your head, razor-sharp claws ripping through the threads and sinking into the headboard as he hit his climax, bucking with each spasm of ecstasy flooding his veins. His cock reached new depths as he filled you so completely, anchoring deep within your cunt. Muscles flexing and contracting, he rode out his orgasm as your tight walls milked him for all he was worth, before he almost collapsed into you, his chest heaving.
He struggled to recall a time when he’d cum so fucking hard, his ears almost ringing as those sharp bolts of pleasure started to recede and he pulled his teeth from your neck, tongue swiping up the small trickles of blood he’d drawn.
Were you still alive? Honestly, you couldn’t tell, feeling so weightless you were sure your soul had left your body. You only knew you were still clutching to the mortal coil because of the satisfying scratch in your shoulder blades as those shadows returned to the room, leaving you with just your corporeal body.
Logan rose on his arms, his claws retracting into his knuckles as he looked down at you, and you looked up at him, both speechless. Why the fuck had the two of you waited so long to do that. Your brows pinched as he pulled out of you, his hand cupping the side of your face. Since neither of you could form words, he encouraged you to speak through your lips, moulding his own against your mouth.
And you poured every ounce of your adoration into him, arms circling his shoulders, holding him close. You could feel his grin growing before he drew back from you, sweat sliding down his brow.
You responded by mirroring his smile, laughter bubbling from your chest. “Holy shit…” you manage to breathe as he rolled off you, drawing you into his tight embrace.
He inhaled deeply, basking in the scent of flowers, iron, sweat and sex. “Yeah…” was all he could say, still finding himself reeling a little. “Sorry ‘bout your neck. And your pillows. And headboard… and lamp……” he paused sheepishly. “And the clock.”
You giggled madly as he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him and using you almost as a blanket. You folded your arms across his chest, Bracing your chin atop the backs of your hands and gazed up at him whilst he got comfortable, an arm propped up behind his head. “Please, I think a clock and lamp are worth possibly the best sex I’ve had in my life.” You smirked, bending your legs at the knee for your heels to rest at your tailbone.
“Yeah? Better than the infamous Shots Shack bin shed?” he teased, cocking a brow.
“Know your limits, Howlett,” You bit back, to his deep chuckle of amusement. Letting the silence settle for a moment, you allowed yourself to reflect on what had just transpired, blinking in realisation as you remembered. “Did… did I pull the shadows…?” you asked slowly, and Logan’s smile widened to a toothy grin.
“Yep. Now that I think about it… this might be a good way to train.” You smacked his chest, your face a picture of faux scandal.
“Logan Howlett, are you suggesting we have sex every time we train?” You asked in mock offence, unable to keep your façade as he genuinely debated it for a moment. “Not sure Charles would be too pleased. Or Scott, for that matter.”
“I’m sure they’d get over it,” he responded and you snorted a laugh, rising from his chest to sit at his side, stretching your sore arms and back. Your neck throbbed a little, but honestly, you didn’t mind, it served as a reminder of the pleasure you’d just shared. It was the best kind of pain.
The idea of showering now filled you with dread. You couldn’t be fucking bothered, realistically. Besides, Logan seemed to like it when you smelt like a dead horse earlier. Settling on your decision, you tugged at the duvet beneath you both, clambering beneath the soft blanket and snuggling into his side, an arm slung across his front, ear pressed against the beat of his heart.
A fond smile pulled at his lips as he looked down at you nestled against his chest, your deep sigh fanning his pecs. It had been far too long since he’d felt peace like this. Far too long since he’d felt this kind of comfort, it almost made his eyes water, only now recognising how fucking lonely he’s felt.
Sinking back into the pillows, Logan’s arms wrapped around your tired form, holding you close. God fucking help anything or anyone that dares try and take this away from him. He’d lost too much, and though he was terrified of losing you too, it only solidified that he’d fight claw, tooth and nail to keep you safe.
Your breathing steadied as you succumbed to the exhaustion and slow, soothing swipes of Logan’s thumb against your waist. It would take a while for him to fall asleep, and he wished he’d had the foresight to bring a cigar with him when he came to retrieve his flannel. But just like you with your shower, the idea of even leaving the bed wasn’t even worth entertaining, let alone the idea of leaving you.
So instead he simply lay with you, listening to the sound of your breathing and the beat your your heart, until sleep knocked at the door of his mind, and he closed his eyes.
Only to snap awake mere hours later. What the time was, he had no idea, your clock at been knocked to the ground in the tryst. You’d both shifted in your sleep and whilst your head was still buried in his chest, he’d turned to face you.
Logan’s eyes blinked against the darkness, adjusting rapidly to the severe lack of light. Something was off. He could sense it.
Silently, his claws fed through his knuckles, instinctively moving his hands from your body as he slowly raised his head.
And froze solid.
Seven humanoid figures draped in smoking shadow stood around the bed, heads cocked to the same side as if their necks had been snapped. His pulse quickened, adrenaline pumping through his veins, fight or flight response triggered.
Although, there was never much flight involved when it came to Logan. He didn’t move, not out of fear, but to not provoke anything. They stood unnaturally still, simply watching with eyeless faces. You shifted in your sleep, and Logan spared a glance at your vulnerable state, his protective instincts flaring wildly at this unknown threat.
Simultaneously, they all began to sink into the floor, and Logan watched with subdued horror as their bodies faded into the darkness as you stirred awake.
“Lo’? You ‘kay?” you asked groggily, your eyes heavy with sleep.
He nodded. “Fine. Heard something ‘s’all.” He lied, though making a promise to tell you the truth once the sun had risen. “Probably just one of the kids. Go back to sleep,” he smoothed your hair from your face as he settled back next to you, wrapping you up safely in his arms. You breathed deeply, murmuring something even he couldn’t comprehend before you were dragged once again back to sleep.
Logan stayed awake until long into the small hours of the morning, watching the room with vigilance, glancing it at you with each slight sound you made in your sleep. But whatever those things were, they didn’t return that night.
#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x reader#logan x reader#james logan howlett#logan howlett#x men logan#x men wolverine#x men x reader#logan smut#logan howlett fanfiction#wolverine smut#the wolverine x reader#essa's works
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Sweet Like Candy 2
Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Thor, Bucky Barnes (Professor AU)
Summary: the new school year proves to be hectic. (short!chubby! reader)
Part of the Bad Professors AU
Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.
Professor Odinson ends his first lesson. You’re still copying down the nouns he wrote on the whiteboard as the rest of the class packs up, already chattering about their next lecture or what kind of drink they’ll get from the campus cafe. You scribble quickly, resigning yourself to deciphering the scratchy print later.
You just have a few more lines... gosh, you can hardly make out whether that’s a j or a g.
The rows continue to empty and Professor Odinson’s low drawl wafts up as he speaks with a few students about the weekly quizzes. You’re especially nervous about those yourself. As you get to the last set of nouns, he blocks your view with his large body and picks up the eraser.
“No, wait--” you call out and pop your head up.
It’s too late, he swipes right through his own writing. You groan and drop your pen in defeat. You cringe as he turns to look up at you. You roll the pen to the middle of the book and shut it. You stand and start to pack up.
“I didn’t see you up there,” he calls up. “Apologies.”
“It’s okay, professor,” you throw it all in your plush bag. The soft fabric is nice to cuddle and calming. “I’ll just use the textbook to finish.”
You had a look at the textbook. The print is smaller than any book you’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s why it was the cheapest. You hide your dismay as you come to the center aisle and slowly descends.
“Cherry, was it?” He says, “no, no, Cerise.”
“Yeah, that’s me. You remember,” you stop on the bottom step and grin.
“How could I forget? Oh, so lucky you’re here. I meant to inquire, those strawberry candies, what was the brand? I’ve not been able to find any with that particular wrapping.” He says.
“Oh, er, I have some more,” you reach into your bag. “I get them down at the K-Store. They sell all sorts of Korean imports,” you take out you little sack of candy and loose the ribbon drawstring. Primrose sewed you it over the summer. She said it would keep the chocolates from melting into your laptop fan. Again.
“You are too kind. I’ll just have the brand and treat myself--”
“It’s fine! Lots to go around,” you pick out a handful of the strawberry candies. “Here.”
“Thank you,” he holds out his large hand to catch the candy. “You are too kind.”
“No problem,” you grin. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”
“Thursday,” he agrees. You have class twice a week since it’s a language course, and you’re sure you’ll need both periods to get it down.
“Have a good one! Gotta go.”
“You have a class?” He wonders, and you stop before you can skip off.
“Not exactly. My friends are meeting me at the library.”
“Friends, mm. Well, have fun.”
“Enjoy the candy,” you chirp and spin away, “buh bye.”
You rush out and sweep into the hallway. For once, you’re not running behind. Heck, you might even beat Primrose to the library, although you might pick a table she doesn’t like.
As you reach the front doors, you stop short at the odd breeze along your bum. You reach back and groan. No! Your skirt is rumbled up above your but, tucked into the underside of your panties from squirming in your seat. Gosh, you must’ve put on quite the display as your thigh highs do little to cover your ass. Literally.
You just hope Professor Odinson didn’t notice.
You fix your skirt and shake your head at yourself. You shouldn’t have worn the cropped denim jacket, you should’ve brought a shacket. Ugh, you always choose wrong!
Your phone vibrates as you come down the steps onto even ground. You unlock it with one hand as your bag bounces over your hip. You have the font set to a size bigger than before. It's helping.
Sigh. Primrose beat you to it. She’s always such a stickler. You reply that you’ll be there shortly and Olive echoes the sentiment, warning that she might be a few minutes late at her studio class. Good, it’ll take some heat off of you if you’re a bit behind the clock.
You stop at the library cafe. They have a smaller selection than the campus cafe but you get an apple cinnamon muffin and a cider to match. You’re living your best life.
As you come up the library entrance, you tuck your muffin into your bag, angling your arm awkwardly to do so. Your elbow hits something behind you and a grunt startles you. You drop the muffin and it misses your bag, the paper bag crinkling as it hits your foot.
You bring your arm down as you look to your feet. The paper bag is scooped up by a large hand and you follow the arm up as the man stands straight. You gulp as you recognise him. You think. You squint.
“Professor... Barkley?” You utter.
“Barnes,” he growls and holds out the muffins.
“Oop, I’m sorry,” you say as you take the bag, “thanks.”
“You should be careful,” he says.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”
“And watch where you’re going,” he growls and sidesteps you, giving you no opportunity for a response.
He struts into the library and you turn to stare after him. Well, you weren’t exactly paying attention. You’d been more concerned about balancing your treats. You head in after him but are sure to turn in the other direction.
You get your muffin safely in your bag and take out your phone. You ask Primrose where she is and she tells you she’s up on the second floor. You do your best to follow the other directions but you don’t get there before Olive.
You sigh as you come up to them and set your paper cup down, “sorry, guys. I got a bit lost.”
“And you got cider,” Primrose remarks.
“I did,” you shrug as you sit.
“It’s fine, Prim,” Olive tuts. “We’re just studying.”
“Just studying,” Primrose shakes her head. “Not me. This professor. He gave me less than a day for my first lesson and now he’s sent back a grocery list of revisions, all while saying no more than a full sentence to me.”
“Sounds like a butt!” You blow a raspberry. “My professors are pretty chill.”
“That’s good,” Olive smiles, “mine too. But physics... I think it’s going to do me in. I haven’t taken it since Grade 12.”
That’s not—oh,” you catch yourself.
“Been a while,” Olive chuckles. “No worries, I know I’m old.”
“Sorry,” you grab your cup and sip.
“Cerise,” Primrose interrupts. “I can help with your Norse homework. I took that class last year. It’s a lot of work.”
“Oh, thank you! Do you still have your notes? I kinda... didn’t get it all.”
“Brought my binder,” she reaches for her bag. “I’ll hand it over if you go grab me one of those.” She taps your cup lid with her other hand.
“Deal,” you agree. Thank god! This might not be as big a disaster as you feared.
#thor#dark thor#dark!thor#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#thor x reader#series#drabble#au#sweet like candy#professor au#avengers#captain america#mcu#marvel
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the latin students
sheets of parchment grown brittle with age
practicing verb conjugations until you know them by heart
the faint, dusty smell of an old church
reading of long-ago battles, preserved in history
tracing the outlines of the roman empire on a map
learning the story of romulus and remus
dried fruit and a goblet of wine
the cramped, elaborate letters of a medieval manuscript
the tragedy of pompeii, brought to life in museum displays and historical accounts
walking through ruins, spaces treasured over the centuries
perfecting your grammar, seeing how all the different pieces fit together
latin phrases scribbled in the margins of all your notebooks
bringing new life to a dead language
a calligraphy pen sliding gracefully across the page
reading of new archaeological discoveries
mosaics and frescoes still vibrant after hundreds of years underground
noun declensions running through your head
elegant statues, still beautiful after millenia
getting a window not only into antiquity, but into hundreds of years of european history
celebrating the ides of march with your friends
#dark academia#dark academia aesthetic#academia aesthetic#academia#student aesthetic#light academia#light academia aesthetic#studyspo
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companion
noun
a person or animal with whom one spends a lot of time with.
*♪¸¸.•*¨・:*ೄ·*♪¸¸.•*¨・:*
Your coworkers often asked about the ring on your finger, but you were extremely dismissive about it.
It raised some suspicions, but they all brushed it off, calling it odd, but you didn't care.
You and Sebastian preferred cats over dogs. There was one night where the two of you couldn't stop talking about cats. Cats this. Cats that.
It was nice talking about them, but it would be better if you could actually have one.
Your home was big, and extremely lonely. It was only you and Sebastian. It wouldn't hurt to have a little fur ball, right?
You got off of work, heading to a cat cafe that you've been eying. You opened your phone, heading to your boyfriend's contact, saying you would be home late.
"Stay safe, I love you! 💕" You smiled at his reply, pressing the side button which caused the screen to turn black.
You placed your phone in your pocket, entering the cafe, a small bell chime heard as the door opened.
"Welcome! Is it just you today?"
"Yes."
"Alright! Would you like thirty minutes or an hour with the cats?"
"I think thirty minutes would be best, thank you."
"Okay! Follow me." The worker led you to the front desk, ringing up a key that cost twenty five. Not bad. Not bad at all.
You paid with cash, a fifty dollar bill, to be exact. "Keep the change." The worker slid a basket full of cat toys and treats next to the key.
They led you to the second floor of the cafe, there were a few individuals in separate corners, each drinking different kinds of drinks and eating small snacks.
You chose to sit in the middle of the cafe. There were pink partitions that surrounded you with cat paws adorning them. A small table was between two of the partitions, two cats playing with a ball of yarn right next to it.
You sit down at the table, placing the small basket next to you, then placing the key in your pocket.
You skimmed over the menu, everything was cat related in some way, it's cute.
Sebastian would love a place like this.
You frowned at the thought, wishing he was with you.
It's okay, though.
A worker dressed in a suit that appeared to be lolita fashion approached you, "are you ready to order?"
"Yes, I'd like jasmine tea with a small strawberry shortcake."
She scribbled down your order, "very well. I will be back with your order when it's ready." She smiled, then left.
The two cats that were playing with yarn became uninterested, deciding to set their attention onto you.
They meowed, rubbing their heads against your knuckles. "Aren't you just the cutest little guys?" You happily cooed, giving them the attention that they were basically begging for.
A gorgeous black cat walked by, it looked at you, but tried to be sneaky about it.
You giggled softly, being subtle about your glances towards it.
The cat shuffled closer, loafing and purring as its eyes shut in a cute way.
It's... sassy. It reminded you of Sebastian. This cat is perfect.
The worker came with your order. "Enjoy!"
The porcelain tea cup was a nice pastel pink with a white silhouette of a cat.
Same with the plate of the strawberry shortcake.
It was a little bigger than you expected, no worries, you'd bring some home for Sebastian.
You pulled your phone out, taking a picture of the table, then the cats.
You took a few sneaky photos of the loafing cat. You were definitely drawing over it to make it look like Sebastian later.
After the lovely thirty minutes ended, you got up.
"Hi, again! I will be taking your dishes and coming back with your bill. Would you like to take what you didn't finish home?" You nodded, and she left, coming back with a foldable white box with pink stripes.
She left again, this time taking your dishes with her.
You placed the rest of the strawberry shortcake into the box; folding it neatly.
The worker came back with the bill, "are there any of our cats that interested you?" She placed it onto the table. You reached for your wallet inside of your bag, placing your card onto it, as well as giving her a ten dollar tip.
"Yes, actually. How about the cute black one?" As you were signing the bill, the cat suddenly appeared.
It was suddenly next to where you were sitting just a few minutes ago.
"Oh, wow. He normally dislikes our customers. Lucky you, haha!" She joked, leaving with your card and bill.
After a three minute wait, she came back with a few things. A padlock, a small packet of papers, your card, and a pink cat carrier.
She placed everything but the padlock down onto the table. She held it up. "Here's the padlock you can unlock with your key which, for us, means that you vow to take care of him."
You reached into your pocket, holding up the key. You smiled as you placed it into the hole, turning it, and it unlocked. She made a happy noise, handing you a pen. "Free of charge, sign these, and he will be yours!"
You picked up the pen again, getting on your knees and resting your weight on your calves as you signed each paper.
You clicked the pen after you were finished, holding it up to her. "Oh, no. You can keep it!" She picked up the papers, rushing away again. In her small absence, you put your belongings away, absentmindedly petting the cat that was now yours.
She came back with an envelope. "This has the certificate, copy of the papers you signed, and everything you need to know about this little cutie. Have a good day!" She waved goodbye, then left a final time.
You scratched under your cat's chin, to which he purred loudly. "In you go." You opened the carrier, and he surprisingly went in with no fuss.
You closed the carrier. A box with cake in your right hand, cat carrier in the other. You were ready to go home and surprise your boyfriend.
"On my way home, I'll see you soon <3"
"Yay!! Pls hurry :(("
"Sebby!" You called out, and he opened the front door, he was met with you carrying a little too much for his liking.
"Where did you go?" He smiled, taking the cake box off of your hands, entirely oblivious as to what was in the pink carrier.
"A cafe of sorts. I brought back cake and another surprise."
"Really?" He turned around excitedly, and you held up the carrier. "Open it."
He traded the cake box for the carrier, and you watched him open it to reveal the beautiful black cat.
It looked like he had malfunctioned. "C... Cat!" He immediately cooed, petting it and rubbing it in spots he knew that cats liked.
His ear fins wiggled happily. You just had to sneak a picture.
If you didn't know any better, you would say that the cat was a bomb from how loud it was purring.
"Oh, [Name], this is amazing!" Sebastian giggled softly as the cat trilled upon each ounce of attention he gave him.
"You're gonna love it here, little dude." Sebastian slithered away, cat in his claws, and you followed him to the kitchen.
You placed the box onto the kitchen table. "I'll be going to the store for cat necessities and groceries. Is there anything you want?"
"Hmmm... Maybe meat?"
You smiled, "of course, Sebastian."
The cat was already exploring, off on an adventure, as Sebastian called it.
Wow. That really is Sebastian in cat form.
#sebastian solace x reader#sebastian solace x you#sebastian pressure x reader#sebastian pressure#sebastian solace
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some time ago i watched This Video about ergodic literature and got inspired to get the book S. by jj abrams & doug dorst. i've finally started reading it and i have Thoughts
the video i linked shows and explains the premise of the book, but here's the tl;dr - two students(ish) are writing annotations in the margins of a novel called 'ship of theseus' by mysterious author V M Straka while passing it back and forth. they are getting to know each other as well as trying to solve the mystery of Straka. it's a non-linear epistolary story told through a footnotes, scribbled comments, and inserts such as postcards et cetera.
there's a couple reason this book caught my eye in particular:
- i love "two people getting to know each other through letters/accidental text messages/notes" trope. it may just be the internet denizen in me but i'm a sucker for characters who get to know each other through text.
- immediately intruiged by the mystery author's name, Straka - it means magpie in czech, so i feel like i'm getting a head start on the mystery because i'm the specialest little boy in the world!!!!
- it looks cool as hell
(i purchased a used copy that was apparently a library copy so it feels extra Authentic hehe)
ANYWAY i'm still very early in, but i have many impressions to chew on already. first off, i really love the whole premise/medium, and it looks Really Good. there's a lot of really cool details that make it look authentic (if we ignore the COMICALLY LARGE MARGINS) - the book absolutely looks like something i could find in my grandparents' bookshelf. the comments being written in different colours of pen to signal when in the chronology they were written is very good. everything is pointing to a Very Fun and Immersive reading experience.
howeverrrrrrrrrr
while i Am having fun so far, there's also a lot of details that keep shaking my suspension of disbelief. like i am trying my best to hold on to it - im accepting the Comically Large Margins and the silly premise that these two people absolutely had to pass the book back and forth to communicate. like i am fully on board with that. it's just... i feel like this book is trying to Appear more clever than it actually is?
i think maybe the main problem for Me Specifically is that it's pretending to be a book written by a Probably European author and translated to english, but S. was so obviously written/created by americans and not intended to be read by someone who knows any of the languages they're dragging into this.
i was correct in assuming Straka is meant to be czech, as ship of theseus was originally written in czech - but it's weird to me that the narrative is completely uninterested in like... the original? there is a foreword by the translator, who goes on and on about the mysterious circumstances under which v m straka died, but the fact that the original language is czech is mentioned in a *footnote*. i would think a foreword by a translator would, realistically, say more about their credentials or their actual process of translating. or is that weird??? i took a class in classical literature in uni where that's kind of a big deal so maybe i'm biased???
BUT ALSO the fact that straka's identity is So very mysterious and very possibly a pseudonym... if you're like, genuinely trying to untangle this mystery, wouldn't you make a note about the meaning of the name??? like wouldn't you put a picture of a magpie on your conspiracy board about it?? Straka is absolutely a valid czech surname because most czech surnames are seemingly random nouns or adjectives, but if you think it's a pseudonym then someone made a very deliberate choice!!!! HELLO!!!!!!
then they listed the names of people who are thought to possibly be v m straka (of varying nationalities), and like okay maybe i'm nitpicking but i has to take a pen and fix some of them. they used SOME special letters for some of the names but very sporadically - they wrote vaclav instead of václav, and ekstrom instead of ekström... like at least be consistent if you're going to ignore special letters!
the worst language offender by far is this:
if you want "the monkey dances" it's "opice tancuje". you could also do "opičí tanec" for "the monkey's dance". this particular abomination is causing me physical pain.
one of the first inserts i ran into was a letter written in swedish + a direct translation:
GUESS WHAT I CAN READ SWEDISH TOO... i can't tell if the "original" letter is supposed to be the swedish or the english one - while the swedish seems to be grammatically correct (I THINK), it extremely reads as Something Written In English And Getting As Directly Translated To Swedish As Possible. it reads very stilted and oddly phrased. i get the impression i'm not actually supposed to be able to understand it, it's just here for Flavour, and that's fine! this one i can easily justify as the swedish being the in universe translation.
here's another very small thing that made me sigh very deeply
"at what point does this book stop being straka's alone & become *theirs*?" THE BOOK IS CALLED SHIP OF THESEUS. AREN'T YOU GUYS DOING LITERARY ANALYSIS OVER HERE??? IT'S THE FIRST CHAPTER AND YOU'RE JUST SPELLING OUT THE PREMISE TO ME TO THE POINT OF CONDESCENSION.
like. okay. maybe not everyone knows what the ship of theseus refers to (also i want to point out it feels like a very english language phrase to me. it Does exist in czech but it doesn't sound like a good or catchy title i think) - but i really do feel like two university students doing a deep dive into this book + author would 100% analyse the meaning of the title, that's like 101 level stuff!! this comment would be so easy to save - just have Mr Black Pen add a quippy comment about this being a bit on the nose, or pointing out the aptness or irony of the title, Anything. it would add so much to the believability for me.
like i didn't study literature at a higher education level so maybe i'm completely off base, but i DID study art history, and it seems almost absurd to me that these characters are doing so much digging and mystery solving about the author's mysterious past and rereading all of his books to find out more... and not engage with the basicest basics such as, the original text(s) pre-translation, possible cultural contexts, tHE TITLE... why are they drawing connections from choices made BY THE TRANSLATOR that absolutely would not be there in the original czech!! !!???!!!????!!
anyway my biggest actual problem so far is that i'm really struggling to read the actual ship of theseus. i have fun reading the annotations, but the actual book... i am Struggling. i've never been any good at reading ~*The Classics*~ so it might just not be my vibe, but i'm not sure if TOS is even a Good Book? like in this universe it's Allegedly a classic and very iconic or whatever. and obviously it's a challenge to write A Classic that makes its mark on history. and gods know there's discourse about whether or not The Classics are actually good books and that's way above my paygrade. but idk i couldn't get through chapter 1 without skimming through it because it kept boring me so bad.
i suspect i might just, keep reading the annotations storyline and not bother too much with the 'book' part of the book. i genuinely wanna see where the story goes!! despite my complaints i Am sold on the emotional core of it.
i think the premise rules so hard but i really feel like the authors are too monolingual and american and maybe haven't read that many books????? i can't speak on the latter but the former.............. maybe im the one who's too european
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10 First Lines Challenge
Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!
Thanks for the tag @hurricane105, @abbyzwrites , and @nocturnalfandomartist !
How the stories go: Link poured another cup of tea for his uncle and himself, lazily blinking against the morning sun that filtered in through the window of their modest home.
Practice for Keeps with @mistresslrigtar: Zelda inhales, glancing right and left, a note pressed to her chest.
The Promise: Mechanically, Link stroked the rag over Epona's side.
Like a starfragment in the night: It's the play of colors in the sky as the sun sets that coaxes Kass to change his song from a juvenile tune to a more sorrowful one.
To have a choice: Zelda kicked a pebble with the tip of her riding boot until it skipped into a puddle in front of her and cursed herself.
Crown of Lies: Zelda closed the massive double door to her room behind her, feeling the lock snapping in place under her palm.
One Stitch at a Time: Zelda blinked some moisture into her screen-dried eyes and glanced through the big shop windows onto the street.
Just after midnight: "What a beautiful evening, right?" Zelda sighs and stretches her legs loosely wrapped around Link's waist.
Of Rocks: Link peeks into the cooking pot and then back at Zelda who sits on a log and scribbles furiously in a notebook.
Shop Rules: The customer bell of the Starlight Memories Jewelry Shop rings and Isha looks up from a ruby circlet she’s been working on.
I start with the character doing something 99% of the time. That's not only a pattern but very much intentional because it's an instant hook. Additionally, I try to set the mood of the fic with strong verbs and nouns, so that the fic draws the reader in like quicksand. 😂
I tag @leiladebees, @sparklyhyperbole, @liv-andletdie, and @jdetan.
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Fresh for @hinnymicrofic
(pretend I posted this on the day it was assigned. In my defense, I started it and then got distracted)
"Okay, give me an adjective," Ginny commanded, twirling her quill in her hand, the Saturday Witch Weekly splayed open to the activities page in front of her. Homework and O.W.L.s long forgotten as her and Harry soaked up the sun during a rare warm, Spring morning.
"Green," Harry said, taking a bite of his toast.
Ginny scribbled the word green down in the blank spot on the Mad Lib. "Give me another one."
"Fresh."
Ginny nodded, writing it down.
"Noun?"
"Toad."
"Okay, last one. I just need a verb."
"Does pickled count as a verb?" Harry asked.
Ginny set her quill down, turning to her left to glare directly at her boyfriend.
"I am going to kill you."
Harry’s eyes twinkled back at her, "Many have tried, everyone has failed. What makes you think you're so special to finally kill the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"I know your weaknesses," Ginny threatened. "Like how you are ticklish right here." Ginny poked Harry's side.
Harry flinched away from Ginny, a giggle escaping his lips. "Please stop!" Harry cried out.
"Only if you promise to never bring up that stupid Valentine again," Ginny said, poking Harry in the side with every word.
"Deal!" Harry said, still trying to wriggle away from his girlfriend's torment.
Ginny stopped tickling his side, her hand moving to Harry's arm. Lightly she traced down until reaching his hand, interlocking her fingers with his. He gave a light squeeze that she eagerly returned.
"I am so very lucky," Harry sighed out.
"Yeah?" Ginny softly smiled.
"Imagine if you worked for Voldemort. I would be long dead by now."
"Death by tickles, what an embarrassing way to go," Ginny said shaking her head.
"So what did that Mad Lib end up saying?" Harry asked.
"Who cares," Ginny replied, swinging her leg over Harry's lap, pressing her lips to meet his.
#we were a fresh page on the desk filling in the blanks as we go#hinny#harry potter#ginny weasley#hp#I lost half of this draft yesterday and then had to rewrite it so it is different than what I wanted but the vibe was there#(Also I started to actually write the Mad Lib but I was mad at the way it was sounding so I gave up and now you don't get one)
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Paesi che non ho mai veduto e visauto con teEeeeeEEEEe
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Unfinished work, meandering notes to self, scribbled lyric fragments, marked-up text, mad outlines. I find them almost inexplicably beautiful in all their genres.
I’ve long been attracted to this sort of artifact—of artists caught in the act of making art. If you look around, you can find them in corners of the internet: academic websites, auction house offerings, fanzines. They show up in the occasional exhibit, or as a sideshow in museum retrospectives. There are many types: tossed-off sketches and more-considered studies, unfinished work, meandering notes to self, scribbled lyric fragments, marked-up text, mad outlines. I find them almost inexplicably beautiful in all their genres.
Some of my interest is aesthetic. I appreciate a crude hand; I can see the artist in it. I respect the honesty of the specimens, knowing they were not meant for me to see. They’re forensically interesting, often revealing stages of thinking. But I suppose what I find most satisfying about them is the way they seem to embody anticipation. They’re full of portent, more verb than noun. Also, poring over them gives me the same charge I get from reading the letters and journals of famous people. There’s a nosy pleasure in that,
— Adam Moss, "The Work of Art: How Something Comes from Nothing . (Penguin Publishing Group, April 16, 2024)
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AAC board so far! Really proud think looks great, still working on completing some folders may add more later but really happy with board right now
(Also scribbled out square is real life name)
[ID: screen shot of a Home board in the AAC app Chatterboards. The words are sorted into columns with different colors, left to right there are pronouns in yellow, simple answers in red, verbs in light blue, questions words in pink, nouns in green, and directions in orange. Most, but not all of the words have images on the same button. The bottom of the screen has white folder icons for various other pages. The top and rightmost columns are bright blue and have common phrases, verbs, prepositions, and other words. End ID.]
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Back to Contents
Fragment #2: Orphans of Spite
Hush now, no scribble nor scratch, not a single sound. Betrayal by stylograph would be an ironic ending, although it would come all too soon. I hide amidst crates, stolen away by a dirigible. This story would not end in New Newgate, no. This story is only just beginning.
It has been some time, dear journal. Allow me to bring you up to speed.
Alighting from the dirigible, subterranean London became my new home. My identity shattered, memories still fading, I sought comfortable street corners at every avenue. Fortunately enough I still have my wit – and as such began work for a rather distractible investigator on Moloch Street. Nevertheless I felt aimless without sense of self, and found myself wandering into Spite on one odd eve.
Spite makes orphans of us all. All too frequently people push away that which they do not understand; this depressing truth extends even into our interactions with other people. And we do this all without ever asking the question: is it that you cannot understand, or that you simply refuse to?
My mind whirls with such questions. And when my psyche begins to buckle under the stress of such equations, I seek out the place of refuge I had discovered on that fateful night.
If you ever find yourself walking the streets of Spite, you might be beholden to an inexplicable sight: a solitary bench perched on high - positioned all so precariously, between the turrets of the tallest spire. Unreachable, insurmountable, unobtainable.
It was barely my second week in London, but I took what little my new name possessed and invested in rope and pitons. Without funds for a harness I still committed to the climb, establishing a foothold, inch by cautious inch, until finally I claimed my prize. And for a while, that bench became my home.
My perennial palace of serenity sat high above the busy streets, and although the climb retained some difficulty it was still worth the stillness of mind that ascent afforded. However, as with all things in this fallen city, oddities began blooming like dandelions.
Mysterious packages, echoing giggles, and an uncanny sense of being watched. At first, they bided their time from a distance. To my surprise, their unidentified parcels contained the occasional aid; and all the more surprising to my false sense of security, I otherwise received cruel pranks. I must have been a good sport, for after a while my mysterious benefactors finally revealed themselves.
My bench is no longer quiet. It is now home to a rowdy gaggle of urchins, who still are beholden to their own whims whether they bring gifts or grief. I tried showing them some of my work, and despite lacking in literacy they cherished my gift of words. In return, I was given a name.
Artichoke, Boots, Slipper, Truncheon. I know not the naming conventions of these guttersnipes, but they named me Bean. I was brought to tears by their kindness, and even more so when they tried to pass it off as an exchange of convenience: my namesake predecessor was a close friend of theirs who passed from this world all too soon, and they were determined not to let it go to waste.
And similarly determined am I - Ms Bean - to ensure that this newfound life of mine isn't simply tossed away. Despite its missing letters and borrowed nouns, I shall make this identity my own.
My memories fade. My old life is all but vanished now. New memories blossom in the wake of this strange new reality. And finally, I feel more myself than ever before.
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SaSi Prinxiety Week 2/7: Feathered Fallacies
Prompt: Feathered Wings
Tags: @prinxietyweek
Synopsis: [Fallacy (noun): A false or mistaken idea.] Logan does an experiment incorrectly. To put it simply, Roman accidentally gains a pair of silky white wings. Virgil's simping over- I mean admiring how hot the Prince looks with them.
Relationships: Romantic Prinxiety
Characters: Brief Appearance Logan, Roman, Virgil
TW: Small panic attack, Remus being mentioned
~
“Erm…. Logan?”
Logan sat at his desk, working on schedules. He looked up as he heard Roman call his name. “Yes, Roman?” He called back, taking a sip of his coffee- was it actually wine? Who knew.
Roman paced outside the door. “We’ve got a problem!”
Logan leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“It’s better if I show you.”
Logan stood up, adjusting his tie and glasses. What in the world could be so important? He unlocked the door, it open. He pauses mid-movement, looking Roman up and down.
“Roman, how on Earth did you manage to gain wings?”
Roman crossed his arms with a huff. “Gee, teach, I wonder. Think about it for a second.”
What- Oh.
Logan internally cringed. “You were nearby when I was working with those chemicals, weren’t you.”
Roman have him a look that clearly meant that he was. “No shit, Sherlock! Fix this right now!”
Roman’s newly gained wings lay folded against his back, the feathers a dove white. They were fairly large, though not large enough to be considered an issue fitting through doors. They were rather beautiful, Logan had to admit, although the princely side clearly wasn’t enjoying it much.
Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is why I specifically state that nobody is to come near my house when I’m working with chemicals.”
Roman shrugged. “Patton said you might have an extra jar of Crofter’s! I ran out!”
“Terrible excuse.” The blue tied side summoned a clipboard and a pen. “Now, about your issue…” he scribbled a few things down before continuing. “I’m unsure if there is a cure I can conjure this very second. I’ll get back to you when I find one.” Logan went to close the door, but Roman placed a hand on the doorknob.
“What do I do in the meantime? If Remus finds out they’re about to be fried chicken wings.”
Logan thought about it for a moment. “Go to Virgil.” He forcefully closed the door this time, relocking it.
Roman groaned in frustration. “Damn you, scientific laws of the Mind Palace!!”
“I heard that!”
“Oh shi-“
~
“Virgil, stop petting them.”
Virgil ran another hand over the soft and fluffy feathers. “No,” he concluded, “I will not.”
“You’re acting like a five year old right now!”
“Okay, well you’re the one who decided not to listen to Logan!”
Roman felt a shiver run down his spine as Virgil continued to run his hands along the wings.
It wasn’t very often that Virgil was interested in things. But these wings? The greatest thing he’d seen his whole life. Period.
“So you can feel this?” He asked.
Roman was not about to admit he was enjoying this. “Sure can, emo. Can you stop that? I don’t like it.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Your face says otherwise, you royal pain in the ass.”
The prince blushed, scoffing. "Does not!"
Virgil rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, fine." he removed his hand from the feathery limb. "There, are you happy now?"
Roman stared at him. "No." He grabbed Virgil's wrist gingerly, placing his palm back onto his wings. "Keep going."
"You confuse me."
"Just shut up and do it!"
The two sat in silence as Virgil continued to pet Roman's wings.
"They're very pretty," Virgil mused after a while, examining the feathers, "What the hell was Logan even doing that day?"
"I have no idea." Roman adjusted his sash, brushing off any possible dirt or lint that could have gotten on it. "I did see Remus at the door, saying something about 'cephalopods' and tentacles, but that was it."
Virgil hummed in response. "Your wings need to stretch," he concluded, standing up, "They look tense."
"Oh! Okay." Roman stood up as well, observing Virgil's room. Very emo. Just like him. "Shall we head to the Imagination, then?"
"You want me to come with you?" Virgil looked confused.
Roman gave him a soft look. "You're the only side I trust with this right now and Logan's busy. Patton would probably die from cuteness overload, Janus is Janus, and Remus- well, I don't want to become fried chicken."
Virgil snickered. "You got that right. They'd probably taste like glitter."
"Haha, very funny." Roman playfully nudged him in the side. "Now come on! I can sink us out!" He placed his hands on the purple-clad side's shoulders and sunk them out.
Virgil shrieked, not expecting the sudden change of gravity. He latched onto Roman, as he randomly shot out any curse he could think of.
It was certainly different than sinking into Thomas' house.
"Woah, are you okay, Virge?"
Virgil's breathing was rather heavy as he clung onto the prince from the side. "HOLYSHITDON'TFUCKINGDOTHATTOMEAGAINOFISWEARTOGOD-"
“Hey, hey! Breathe.” Roman brought him into a hug, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “4, 7, 8. Remember?” His tone was hushed, soft and caring. “Breathing is good for you, yeah?”
“We’re imaginary you- you dipshit.” Virgil was surprised he even managed to get that sentence out. His chest was tight and gee, was he shaking.
“Focusing on breathing, my prince.” Roman supplied, holding him in a gentle embrace, “you can cuss me out later.”
Roman helped Virgil sit on the ground next to him, keeping a protective arm around him. They were quiet as Virgil focused on his breathing.
The sides sat on a grassy hill, surrounded by flowers. The Imagination’s castle was in the distance, it’s winding and tall towers looking small from their spot.
Roman carefully opened his wings for the first time, being surprised at how big they really were. They looked much smaller folded, he decided. He tried flapping them very slowly as if he already knew how to use them.
Virgil had become much calmer by then, and watching intently.
Roman gave him a bright smile. “I have to admit, they are rather cool.”
“They really are..” Virgil cuddled up to Roman’s side, smiling. “I’m kind of sad I have to see them go.”
Roman chuckled. “Me too.”
The red-sashed side extended a wing, carefully folding it over Virgil’s like a blanket. “For protection,” was what Roman said, “Just in case.”
Virgil scoffed playfully. “Protection from what? Your terrible humor?” He pauses. “…it feels like a weighted blanket.”
Roman beamed. “Well, you look tired, creeping beauty. Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll protect you.”
Virgil blinks up at him. “Oh, okay. If you say you.”
There’s a blissful silence between them as Virgil drifts off to sleep. Roman observes the fluffy clouds, before looking down at his dark and stormy knight. He pressed a gently and loving kiss to the top of Virgil’s head. “Have a good nap, dear.” He whispered with a smile.
Roman wasn’t too happy when Logan called him a few minutes later.
“Not now, nerdy wolverine!”
“But-“
“If you wake Virgil up with how loud you’re talking through this receiver I’ll kick your ass.”
“Okay. I’ll just text you. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Roman rolled his eyes and hung up.
On the other side, Logan rolled his eyes as he grabbed an unopened bottle of red wine. “I can’t deal with this shit right now.”
He drinks half the bottle.
~
Listen, I just wanted some Logan in this- I thought it would be funny
#sanders sides#prinxietyweek2023#roman sanders#virgil sanders#prinxiety week#sanders sides fanfiction#sandersides#tss virgil#ts roman#ts sides
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every thirty seconds: [new proper noun] [furious scribbling & trying to hear it correctly]
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