#but i also want to be close to the stage so i can see like i’m a short btch bro lol

[mynameismad]

What have I been up to?????

Hey all! I'm sure you're all cycling rapidly through the stages of grief like I am, but I thought I'd just check in and let everyone know what's going on with me and when they can expect more comics!

GOOD NEWS: I got a concept art job! I've been working freelance for a client for about two months now and things are going great! Honestly working on short assignments with weekly deadlines has been an amazing break from the slow, constant march of longform comics. I am surprising myself every day and haven't been this excited to learn and grow as an artist in a very long time. Moving forward, I would like to find a full time job in games and stay there, rather than continuing to hustle full-time in comics. I've paused my Patreon for the foreseeable future.

THAT BEING SAID: I will always be making comics!!!!!! I love them a lot, they've been good to me, and I have all these ideas in my head that NEED to be let out. I want to start making them in my own time, rather than as my main source of income. We'll see how long it takes to find true stability in concept (maybe never, lol) but in the meantime I will keep drawing my silly little guys and posting them online for everyone to see. I have to! I have to keep going and making the art I want to see in the world! We have to keep going!!!!

SAKANA: hoping to get back to the fish boys sooner rather than later. I've been stuck on whether to end the latest chapter right away or get a few more pages in there. We're moving into a HEAVY part of the plot, which will be trickier to write, so I've been procrastinating lol. Please don't take my extended absence as proof that I'm walking away from the story: I've just been busy with a new job and I don't know exactly how to get to the next chapter yet!! (also, jsyk, the Webtoon mirror is something I was doing for fun! not a priority!!)

RR: I actually have a few different projects started for RR! Chapter 2 is like 9 pages in, but then I paused and started work on a 20ish page minicomic, which is like 7 pages in. I'm going to finish the mini first and hopefully upload it to itch.io. For Chapter 2, I created this really elaborate environment in an effort to force myself to learn Blender, but then I got a job....so I have no time to learn Blender lol. Still trying to figure out whether to simplify or push forward.

OTHER: yeah...I am a comic artist at heart so obviously I have a million things I want to do. But SAKANA and RR are the highest priority right now!

UPCOMING: I am pursuing other freelance work for shorter, more manageable projects! If you need somebody to redline all your thumbnails, critique the first draft of your synopsis, or make a 20-40 page comic, please keep me in mind!

In closing: I'm locking my twitter accounts tonight and moving away from the platform for now. I'll be here, Instagram (@/mad_rupert), and BlueSky (@/madrupert). Thanks for sticking with me, let's hold onto and support each other in the coming weeks, months, and years! Let's keep going!!!!! I love you all so much!!!

[solxamber]

I TRIED TO DO A REQ EARLIER BUT IT WENT HORRIBLY CUZ I WAS IN A RUSH IM SO SORRY IF I MIGHTVE CONFUSED YOU.

My ask: Could you do the housewardens with an idol/ really famous reader from back in their world and they have a really bright smile that can blind people

THANK YOU AND. AGAIN IM SO SO SORRY

Housewardens x Reader with a Blinding Smile

hi! don't worry about it, i hope this is what you wanted and thank you for waiting <3

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is absolutely floored when he learns about your past life as an idol. It's not information he comes across on his own—instead, it’s Ace and Cater who excitedly tell him while showing clips of you performing for fun.

He watches with wide eyes as you move confidently on stage, each song accompanied by that radiant, nearly blinding smile. For a moment, he’s struck silent.

In those videos, you have a smile that can outshine the sun itself. His cheeks turn bright red as he watches, wondering how he’s ever going to handle dating someone with such star power.

Riddle finds himself wanting to shield you from crowds, too aware of how many admirers you have. He’s conflicted—proud but also slightly intimidated, especially when he realizes that he's one of the people drawn in by your smile.

When you flash him that dazzling grin, he can’t help but stammer, tripping over his words before eventually managing a whispered, “Please... not so bright. I can’t concentrate.” But even with his flustered protests, he’d never want you to stop smiling, not when it makes him feel like the luckiest person in the world.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona can be a bit jealous and even snarky, especially when others are drawn to your bright smile. He's familiar with admiration and attention, but not the type that seems to radiate from you so naturally.

Even in the middle of a crowded area, if you look his way with that blinding grin, he’s done for. He can’t help the soft smirk that forms in response, though he tries to play it cool.

“Keep smilin' like that, herbivore, and you’ll make it harder for me to keep you out of trouble,” he drawls, pulling you close with that lazy grin of his own. But he’s privately enchanted, even though he’ll never admit it out loud.

Whenever he catches you smiling in his direction, he relaxes, his usual cynicism melting away, and in those moments, he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s lucky to have you.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is utterly captivated by your charm and star-like presence. When he first realizes just how famous you were, his business mind whirls with ideas about how you could take Mostro Lounge to new heights.

However, the moment he sees your blindingly bright smile directed solely at him, his business schemes crumble, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling he can't quite control.

He’s incredibly flustered around you, but he adores how you light up his world. Your smile has an almost hypnotic effect on him, and he finds himself working harder to impress you, pulling all the stops in ways he’s never done for anyone else.

If he’s feeling particularly brave, he’ll murmur, “Don’t go flashing that smile to just anyone… it’s far too precious to be shared,” though he’s always the one most drawn to it.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is thrilled. He’s already brimming with positive energy, but knowing you were an idol only excites him more. He eagerly listens to every story you share about your performances, begging you to show him your old routines, and applauding with boundless enthusiasm.

Your blinding smile is simply the cherry on top, making him feel like he’s basking in pure sunlight whenever he’s with you.

If there’s a crowd around, Kalim proudly tells everyone, “Did you know my partner’s a superstar?” while he beams at you, completely unashamed of his open adoration.

Your smile gives him energy, and he’d do anything to see it again and again. Kalim often finds himself daydreaming about throwing a huge festival in your honor just to see you shine on stage once more, with him as your biggest fan.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil understands fame and the effect that a dazzling smile can have. Still, even he’s caught off guard by the intensity of your presence and that nearly-blinding smile you give so freely.

He can hardly believe he’s dating someone who has a charm and radiance that rivals his own, and sometimes, he’ll go silent just watching you, almost in disbelief.

“Careful,” he teases, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We can’t have you outshining me now, can we?” There’s a competitive edge in his tone, but it’s softened by genuine admiration.

Though he’s usually focused on maintaining his own image, he quickly becomes protective, shielding you from the harsher side of fame and relishing in the moments when that radiant smile is just for him. In those rare times when you’re alone, he’ll smile back, admitting softly, “You’re beautiful… but let’s keep that our secret, hmm?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is bewildered—and just a bit overwhelmed—by your past as a famous idol. He can barely handle crowds, let alone the idea of the entire world being captivated by your bright smile.

When he sees you perfom and realizes just how magnetic you are on stage, he spirals a little. To him, you’re almost otherworldly, and he can’t believe someone like you would even notice someone like him.

When you flash him that blinding smile, though, he freezes, practically combusting with embarrassment. “N-No fair! Are you trying to kill me or something?” he stammers, face going red as he looks away.

Even as he complains, he finds himself replaying those moments when you smile at him, treasuring them like rare, legendary loot in a game.

Your warmth and brightness make him feel alive in ways he can’t explain, and though he’s shy about it, he’d do anything to protect the light you bring into his life.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is mesmerized by you, plain and simple. He’s never met anyone with a smile so radiant it could rival the brightest stars, and he finds himself drawn to you like a moth to flame.

To him, your smile is nothing short of magic, something that warms his heart and fills the void he’s often felt in his life.

When you smile at him, Malleus’s usually stoic expression softens, and he watches you with an intense, almost reverent gaze. “You shine brighter than the stars, my dear. Tell me, is that your true power?” he muses, half-teasing but fully captivated.

He takes your hand, holding it carefully, as if you’re as fragile as you are radiant. Your brightness becomes something sacred to him, and he’ll make sure no harm ever dims it.

In his presence, your blinding smile is met with an equally warm, if quieter, adoration, and he would keep that glow alive forever if he could.

(you can let me know if it's too short or if it's not what you wanted, I'll be happy to write it)

Masterlist

[somewhere-south-of-neutral]

Senior year of high school, a classmate and I both received the STAR award, which is given to the student or students who get the highest SAT scores in their graduating class each year. The award ceremony was held at the clubhouse of an old wealthy social club, the kind that, in Atlanta at least, probably doesn't want you digging into its past. I am Jewish, and the other recipient from my school was Black. Most of the honorees, students from high schools all over the city, were members of one minority or another. A large number (though I don't remember if it was more, less, or equal to half) were also women. I remember thinking that there was a good chance that almost none of us would have been allowed into that room before the 1980s. And then I remember thinking, as one student after another who didn't fit the white, Christian, male mold these clubs were built to cater to went on stage to accept their award, that our presence in that room was a victory in more ways than one.

I have been to Masada, from which you can still see the outlines of the Roman warcamps that besieged a doomed band of Jewish rebels and where, nearly two thousand years later, an Orthodox rabbi tearfully looked up from the ruin he was investigating to inform the watching archaeologists that the ancient mikveh they had found, the oldest we know of, was kosher.

I have stood in the ruined Jewish quarters in Lisbon and Madrid, where there are very few Jews anymore. But I was there, and I did not need to hide. I have been to the former headquarters of the Spanish Inquisition, where, in buildings made of bricks hewn from the graves of my forebears, they orchestrated my nonexistence. But I was there, and I existed, and the inquisition did not.

I have been to Savannah, GA, where the descendants of those who fled the inquisition founded a synagogue. The Inquisition headquarters were in ruin, but that synagogue still stands strong, and people still pray there. It is beautiful.

I have been to Berlin, where less than a century ago a plot to ensure that I could never exist, along with the descendants of many other minorities, was hatched and came frighteningly close to succeeding. But I was there, and I walked the streets visibly Jewish, made so not by a badge of shame but by my kippah, which I wore, and still wear, proudly wherever I go.

I have been to Prague, where centuries ago, according to myth, the rabbis created the golem, a magical protector built out of necessity to shield the community from harm. The golem is not there, but the community still stands. The Great Synagogue is one of the most beautiful and ornate buildings I have ever been to.

In every generation they have tried to destroy us, but we are still here and they are not. These next four years, and likely many after, will be hard. They will be steered by those who want us dead, and when I say us I mean all of us, any who do not fit their very narrow mold, but we will survive. And, one day, our (literal or figurative) descendants will stand in the places where they plotted to destroy us, and they will be free, and they will work to undo the damage, and their presence in those places will be a victory in more ways than one.

Good luck. Stay safe. We will get through this together. I love you.

[gotskamstuff]

Honestly the only hope I am hanging on to is the fact that the response to this finale is so STRONGLY negative that it’s impossible to ignore it and it’s impossible to not see damage in terms of numbers for S5 (who even knows what the higher ups at Netflix are thinking right now) BUT in the meantime they have very very recently said that S5 is still in the writing process and therefore nothing is finalized yet in terms of storyline.

I know that most likely we can assume that Rudy Pankow wanted to leave the show himself, but with the way that the Pates were talking about in interviews just before pt.1 got released with them saying “we hope to go for season 5 AND 6, we closed a trilogy and started a new one” makes me believe that up until recently they didn’t know when/if/for how long they would’ve been renewed by Netflix and the fact that the producers were aiming for 2 more seasons probably contributed to Rudy’s decision to be like “mmmh yeah no, 4 more years as a main on this show is too much”.

To be fair, I honestly 100% believe that the ending of S4 as they shot it and as they released it is TOTALLY meant to be permanent, as of now JJ is dead and there’s all the intention for him to STAY dead, that’s it, end of it and all that jazz.

HOWEVER with such a response I am hopeful for them to doubt it and take some steps back (‘cause I mean, it would be a stretch but it’s not impossible impossible impossible to work around it…we’re talking about the show that had Sarah dead for like 10 minutes lol) and with the fact that now they have officially been renewed for one final season and nothing more, maybe they could AT LEAST TRY to find a deal with Rudy and make him come back even just as a recurring role and not main cast for half a season or the final 3-4 episodes explaining it all on how he survived and playing around it with the blue crown.

I mean, I think Jiara is the prime example of how the fans response has been heard in the past and has been incredibly influential, also playing a role into putting to the side storylines that weren’t well received at all (Kie and Pope).

Most likely scenario this is just my wishful thinking and me being in the denial stage and none of this is probably ever gonna happen, but at the same time I just can’t see how they could just ignore this strong response they’re getting and do nothing about it, not even attempt it.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT, THIS IS WHAT JJ MAYBANK THOUGHT ME: DENY DENY DENY

[unforth]

Just fyi, unfortunately Peach Flowers House seems to be closing https://www.peachflowerhouse.com/closing

Damn. Thank you for letting me know.

They'd gotten so quiet this year that I'll own I had concerns but it's still a bummer to see those concerns are justified.

I just visited their webpage. Print books are 30% off and they're taking orders through November 30th (discontinuing outside the US shipping on the 15th). Ebooks will be on sale through the 15th.

I'm gonna grab a copy of University of the Underworld (ebook only), as it's their only danmei title I don't already own.

They have published in print editions:

Little Mushroom

Golden Stage

The Imperial Uncle

Peach Blossom Debt

In the Dark

I have read their translations of all of these and they're all solidly translated, decently edited, and excellent books. I honestly can't pick a favorite, they're all great in different ways. Little Mushroom is incredible, and I think everyone who likes spec fic should read it. The Imperial Uncle was delightful. If you like Modu and/or Poyun you'll almost certainly also enjoy In the Dark. Golden Stage I like so much I bought it even though I'd already read the fantranslation. It looks like at least some print titles are sold out; it's worth grabbing the ebooks if the print aren't available anymore.

It's depressing to know that if all the people I know who've said they want to or plan to read these books had actually gotten them, maybe they wouldn't be closing (but maybe they would, sales might not be the problem, idk). Regardless, you've got 2 weeks to a month left to buy them depending where you are in the world. Don't miss out, they're all great in their own ways.

If anyone outside the US wants me to play danmei mule and ship stuff forward lemme know, I can try to help.

[cannibal-wings]

So... that all happened.

In an effort not to drown in current events, here's some WIP Wed for You Pay the Cost. This is all extremely rough. And I'm talking extremely here. A lot of this will get changed as I finish out the scene and edit it. I just wanted to share something. Gotta head to work now, but enjoy.

Leon was the last one to go through the door, he ducked under the frame and moved his tail all the way inside before closing the door behind him. He watched Luis set a small backpack down on the couch and begin to go through it.

“You ok?” Ashley asked him. She caught the way he seemed to hover uncomfortably near the door.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m good.” Neither of them were sure if that was the truth. He stepped a bit further into the room and shrugged his rifle and shotgun off his back. Leon didn’t really know what to do with himself.

Luckily Luis saved him the trouble by turning his attention to him. “Ok,” he started with, “lets give you a quick lookover, Big Guy.”

Leon raised an eyebrow and rubbed his two bottom pedipalps together. “A lookover? For what?”

Luis stepped closer to him and said, “Your product line has a high failure rate, as far as mutations go.”

“Product line?” Leon frowned and stepped back.

Ashley asked, “So you know what he is?”

“Well, now that I’ve seen the full mutation, yes. I had a guess before, but seeing the whole thing in front of me, there’s only one product type it could be. Verdugo.”

“Ver-what now?”

“It means executioner, but I think a more fitting title should have “Guardian” or “Protector” even “Body Guard” would have gotten the product’s purpose through more clearly.” Luis closed the gap between himself and Leon once more. “They were created to be soldiers but Saddler quickly abandoned that idea after learning their abysmal survival rate through production. The research teams shifted focus and fine tuned the serum, more survived but not in the numbers he was looking for. Instead of scrapping the project, it was re-pitched as a line of personal body guards.”

Leon ignored most of that. “So you think I’m going to die?”

Luis shook his head. “Most likely not. You survived the mutation process, but I’d like to double check.” He reached up for Leon’s face and said, “Bend down for me, ok?” When Leon hesitated he added, “It’s best we get this done now, yeah?” Leon relented and Luis reached up to touch the outer jaws. Instantly Leon flinched back away. “Leon,” he said more sternly, “don’t be difficult.”

“I just- is this really necessary?”

“Yes. Now stop being a baby.” This time when he reached for Leon’s mandibles he was less gentle. He pulled him back down and opened them up. “I must remind you, my lab did not work on the Verdugo line, I was primarily a special variant Plaga researcher. However, they made us all sit through the presentations of the other labs, so I know just enough to get you sorted.” Leon kept trying to pull away from his touch, no doubt partly on instinct and partly due to being uncomfortable. And while Luis could sympathize with him, he still needed to check him over. “You mutated quickly and aggressively. The process normally takes a week, sometimes more, and is done in stages, induced with serum injections in increasing doses. Now this,” he manipulated the mandible in his hand, “this isn’t the correct outer jaw that goes with this body plan.”

“Yeah?” Leon wanted to yank it free but he let Luis continue. The other man ran his hand along the inside of it, feeling for something. It was uncomfortable, Leon felt the tip of his tail twitch. “What’s it go to then?”

“Las Plagas,” Luis said bluntly. “I think something interesting happened with you. The Plaga can also cause mutations to the host. The drone types have predictable mutations that follow their life stages. The controller Plaga often have more unique mutations, suited to the individual host. These can be triggered at will or in a life or death situation. Sometimes due to stress as well, or as a trigger from another, stronger Plaga.”

“So you think the Plaga was also trying to make me into a monster?”

“Yes,” he said. “But it got overridden by the Verdugo mutagen. The jaws and extra arms are not from the Verdugo mutagen. If I had to guess, they are from the Plaga.”

“But he’s done now, right?” Ashley asked. “No more changes?”

“Theoretically, yes, but-”

“There’s always a but,” Leon said with an eyeroll.

“But until we get the Plaga out of you, it could try to mutate your Verdugo form. Unlikely, since this is such a strong mutation, but it could happen.” Luis finished feeling around one side of Leon’s jaw and moved to the other. “Are you in any pain? From the mutation? Anything still hurt?” Leon shook his head. Luis finished pushing on Leon’s jaw lining. Nothing felt inflamed or swollen. “You don’t appear to have venom sacs, I don’t know if you’d consider that good news or not.”

“Wait, I could have had venom sacs?”

“Yeah, the Plaga with this face type can sometimes develop a venomous bite. You’d have a gland back here,” Luis reached in again with his hand and pressed just under his ear, where the skin of the outer jaws fused with his human skin. “But I don’t feel anything. It’s possible it’ll develop later.” He turned his attention to the large fangs at the end of each mandible. “I doubt it though, I don’t see a hole in your fangs for the venom to leave through. In any case, if you feel swelling here,” he pressed again, “or here,” and did the same with his other hand, but on his neck this time, under the human jaws, “it might be the gland coming in. It won’t affect the remains of your human jaws, or at least it shouldn’t, and your spit won’t be venomous. But your outer jaws could deliver a toxin strong enough to bring down an elephant. So exercise caution.”

“Great,” he said unenthusiastically. “What about,” Leon almost hesitated to ask, but he knew if he didn’t do so now, he might never get the chance. “What about acid? The ones I’ve come across can vomit acid.”

“Ooooh, that’s a tough one my friend. That organ is internal and I’d have to open you up to see if its in there. Your cousin species, the Novistadores have acid as well, but your species isn’t often engineered with it.” Luis moved away from Leon’s face and began to run his hands along the various plating on his chest. “I wouldn’t worry about, if you develop it, it’ll be because of the Plaga.”

“And the only way to know would be to open me up and check?”

“Yes.” Luis pressed on one of the plates that sat just below where his diaphragm would be. “Does this hurt when you breath in?” He could feel Leon expand his lungs and his ribcage moved under the carapace.

“No.”

“Good, good. Some issues that were reported with this line had to do with lung capacity and the ability to breath uninterrupted by the carapace.” He continued to move his hands down to his stomach. “Have you had any bowel movements?”

“No. Haven’t really had time.”

“You eaten anything recently?” Leon didn’t want to answer. He clamped his jaws to his face and looked at Ashley. “Leon?” When he looked up it was clear that the question had made him uncomfortable.

Ashley said instead, “Remember when I called you? And I said Leon wasn’t acting like himself?” Luis looked to her then back at Leon and nodded. “Well, when he wasn’t… himself,” she settled on, “he had eaten some of the cultists.”

“Oh.” Luis looked again to Leon who wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I see.” The blood around his jaws had been a giveaway, but he thought that maybe he had only used them in self-defense. “While I wouldn’t suggest your diet become comprised of human flesh, I will say that your guts are designed to process raw foods. Vegetables, fruit, and yes, meat. So eating them won’t have any negative consequences on your health.”

“I’m a fucking monster,” Leon said quietly.

Luis dismissed that with, “You were doing what you were designed to do. Protect Ashley no matter the cost.” When Leon looked at him with an eyebrow raised, he said, “It’s pretty obvious that its her you’re being made to protect. I don’t know if Saddler had you imprinted or if you did that all on your own.”

Ashley asked, “Wait, imprinted? Like with baby animals?”

“Perhaps that was the wrong word, “paired” might have been better. You see the Verdugo line, like I said before, was shifted to become a guardian type weapon. The first few iterations were not biologically bound to the one they were supposed to protect.”

“And now they are?” she asked again.

Luis nodded. “We have two ways of doing it, both involve the use of a Plaga. It’s clear that Leon has a Plaga inside him,” he said and turned over Leon’s arm to show off the dark veins that were still visible in the gaps between his carapace. “Sometimes both parties are infected with a custom made set of paired Plaga, this, along with picking a person close to the one needing the protection, insures the best results post mutation. If the client has the money and Saddler decides they’re worthy, the client will receive a custom Controller Type Plaga. Then it doesn’t matter as much which Verdugo is shipped to them, if it carries a normal Plaga the client will have no issues with commands or its loyalty.”

“And Saddler would do that? Just give someone a Controller Plaga?” Leon snorted. “Doesn’t that seem a little dangerous?”

“No, it’s actually a benefit to him as well. You see his end goal is to control the world with Las Plagas. The more people he infects the better, and if these folks are eager to do so willingly…” Luis trailed off. “It’s not a safety concern for him because Saddler’s Plaga is the strongest we’ve seen. He wouldn’t give out something that could usurp him to some random militant group.”

Luis put a hand on Leon’s back and started to lift and check the various plates. “You have a Plaga but Ashley doesn’t,” he was focused on Leon and didn’t catch the way that she froze up, “but you’ve clearly already paired yourself to her. Your body language gives it away, I’m sure you feel it as well?” Leon nodded. “The instincts that come with the mutation are strong. Incredibly strong. New Verdguo if not previously paired will pair themselves with someone eventually. We normally keep them in solitary until a client buys one for that reason alone. The pre-paired ones are obviously made to order.”  Luis continued, “Once the bond is made its made for life. It cannot be paired again. Of course, that doesn’t mean it can’t serve another, but the biological connection? That’s a one and done deal.”

Leon looked at Ashley who was staring back at him. “What does that mean?” he asked. “For me?”

“Well, you might be switching careers friend. Being separated from the one you’re paired with for long distances and durations will cause immense feelings of anxiety and sometimes violence, if you aren’t brought back together.” Luis asked, “Can you bend forward for me? Like you’re going to touch the ground?”

Without giving it much thought Leon leaned forward and dropped his hands to the floor and stretched. “So that’s it? I’m fucked?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go that far friend. You have options. Control over yourself will come with age. Some of our Verdugo on the market have been around for a couple of years now. They settle pretty easily, at least, that’s what I gather from the reports I’ve read.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashley said, “Leon I’m sorry. I didn’t know this would happen.”

“Neither of us did, not your fault.”

“On the bright side,” Luis said, stepping away, “you are built wonderfully. I’ve never seen such an exceptional specimen. Your body seems to have adapted perfectly to the mutagen, nothing is out of place. Full range of motion, carapace that has a bit of give, everything slots perfectly together, honestly, a perfect example of your species. If the Plaga hadn’t don’t a couple of its own mutations you’d be exemplary.”

“Please,” Leon winced, “please stop talking about me like I’m a product.” He stood back up to his full height.

“My apologies, Leon, but you are. Best shore up with that now instead of later.”

[keehllo]

MiziTill and IvanTill analysis.

— First, understand Mizi, Till, and Ivan’s character.

Mizi’s guardian must’ve contributed to her naivety as arts of her with her guardian seemed sweeter than Till and Ivan’s interactions with aliens. Till was constantly thrown around and treated like garbage as his guardian ENJOYS TORTURE. Ivan is also treated horrible which contributes to his pessimistic personality compared to Mizi.

Mizi had something Ivan didn’t: Optimism. That’s most likely why Ivan didn’t hate Mizi when it was obvious Till has an infatuation with her. ���When she smiled at me, my heart was reborn” which is obvious, Mizi’s brightness attracts people and which is why she’s able to make friends very easily. Ivan knew Till needed that, one of his ways of wanting to make Till as happy as Mizi does is by telling him how horrible Alien Stage is and wanting to run away with him.

I forgot which animatic but it’s shown that Ivan never had a red dot in his pupils until he saw Till. That must’ve been his sign of attraction. This same red dot is seen in Till’s eyes as he runs away with Ivan, he’s happy — until he thinks of Mizi. He remembers Mizi and thinks of what horrible things they’ll do to her if he leaves. The red dot disappears in Till’s eyes.

— Second, Till’s struggle with attachment.

Till clearly struggles with attachment as seen with Ivan, which is confirmed by VIVINOS on her Patreon, saying: “Till has a deep love-hate attachment with Ivan” which is one of the evidences that Till actually struggles so much with how to react when someone shows care for him.

What makes Ivan’s care different from Mizi’s though? Why couldn’t he accept Ivan’s but he could accept Mizi’s?

Ivan was close to him. He was always around him and even if they did fight, they would still hangout. While with Mizi, Till failed to even build a relationship with her. Evidence being Mizi’s intimacy score with Till: “He’s so distant… does he hate me?” And this is because that outside of rebelling, Till writes songs. It’s most likely a coping mechanism for him to vent his feelings. You can see in one of the animations as Till is writing something, Ivan is right next to him. This can be used as a symbol of their closeness. Even if Mizi wasn’t there, Ivan was.

Because of Till’s struggle with healthy attachment, he couldn’t react properly when someone genuinely built a bond with him, but he could with someone who barely hangs out with him.

This is a sign of avoidant attachment. Till’s struggle in how he can show love. After all, how can someone who has never been shown love by his own guardian give love? He was never even taught what actual love is.

— Third, difference between idolization and crushes.

According to VIVINOS on her Patreon she claims that Mizi is a “fantastical figure” to Till. As stated before, they barely interacted as Till was almost always in his own world (rebelling or writing music). Even though Till knows and speaks to Mizi, they don’t even have a bond anywhere close to how Till is with Ivan.

When you don’t build a bond with someone, you only perceive them as a figure. There’s very little to perceive about them when you aren’t close with them. This is how Mizi’s naivety and brightness comes into play, she was everything that Till isn’t. She isn’t a pessimistic, traumatized jerk who hits his own friend (Ivan) just because he gets frustrated with them.

Because of his trauma, he wanted to feel that too. Till put Mizi on a pedestal. This is IDOLIZATION. It’s a way to cope, a form of escapism from his harsh reality.

How can I be so sure it’s that? You can see it in Round 6. Mizi, already going through Round 1, is traumatized. She’s seen the worst. In Till’s flashback, she pictures Mizi in her Anakt Uniform when she was still innocent.

Conclusion: Till does love Ivan, but because of his attachment issues, he didn’t acknowledge that.

[found--family]

am i the only one who sensed some jilted lover vibes from jensen? 

[genderqueer-karma]

what the fuck i didn’t expect to cry just now. it’s so amazing how you can connect to people you’ll never meet.

[axellis-archv-2]

a moment abt overhalliday if you dont mind but its in the tags bc im embarrassed sowwy..

[thedeadthree]

☆ persona for all ur lovely mcs!! 🎸💫

ISABELA !!!!!!!! hi hi dearie ! ty ty so much u are a sweetheart AHH.

🎸★ INFAMOUS MC ASKS.

🎸 ★ PERSONA: how does their day-to-day personality compare to their on-stage persona?

ANSWERED HERE ! ♡

she i would say loves to subvert the reserved off stage and lively on stage ! she is the life of any party off stage and plays into the melancholia of her music on stage! as her band takes heavy influence from darkwave/cyberpunk-ish/new wave/noise esque genres her more moody-esque energy when performing is what she plays into on stage! she is the best at parties <3 very known to have the best taste in music and be the dj at parties and road trips, for entertainment will stop the party tunes and will play the most depressing tunes you have ever heard at said parties as well.. for the funsies <3

i think for mona its important to her very much she is as she is both on and off the stage ! shes as thoughtful as she is to her fans on stage and with the people in her life, shes as motivated to create art and make life as beautiful for herself, her fans and her loved ones ! she is as pure of an artist as you can be and she wants that to be seen both for her stage life and in her private life. she loves art in all its forms and as her music is a love letter to art (MoMa is named after and is the acronym for the metropolitan museum of art !!!!!!) and she lives to embody that in her music and her life <3 (things dearest to her are reserved for her loved ones of course and she expects that to be respected!)

he is quite similar to mona in that he is as much of a curator of portraying the love to create and the love of being an artist both in his stage persona and his off stage persona but i will say he likens to his personal life as being precious to him and prefers that be reserved for his loved ones ! he is very much an ambivert in that on stage and out and about he loves to be present with his fans, his friends and his loved ones; but at home or in the studio prefers a small group (maybe one other person or two like rowan or jazz or vic when theyre in a relationship!) of his loved ones or to be with his thoughts ! we love a beloved with range !

they are veeeeeery much so an introvert off stage in comparison to her muuuuch significantly so on-stage persona. on stage aura is the portrayal the wish to be perceived as an artist, they put on a show a masterclass of performace and musical art for their fans ! off stage aura the performer takes a backseat, shes introspective and prefers her thoughts and her art. parties are nooot their thing <3

and teehee bonus track version !

oh indeed ! he gets an au!!!!!! (hes in the g and vic poly! and hes a close friend and a side chara in all of the ocs verses !) and you would never guess what the name of his band is (it is not ken-doll) ! he is just as who he portrays himself both on the stage and off! (and by that he is as much of a beloved buffoon on stage as he is off the stage sjanakjn) loves to share his life with his loved ones and his fans (much to the chagrin of his managers his acting one bernadette/bernie and his music one in the au the dearest orion jaskna. who would prefer if he kept at least one or two things to himself kjaska you dont need to share everything my love!) and if his fans or his loved ones asked him to fight a bear in an arm wrestling match because they had a bad day he would do it because thats the sort of soul he is ! he made a name for himself and his loved ones and his fans were there for him, so his way of returning that love is to offer that in full in return to them !

[kittlyns]

Coming to the realization that I'm never going to be a fun aunt to my friends' babies because I always feel like I'm losing more than I'm gaining

[akkivee]

i forgot to say!!!!!! tho i wouldn’t be able to tell you exactly where lol i got my assigned seat for day one!!! i’m somewhere in front reserved seats so i think my death is imminent lmao

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[six-of-ravens]

sure you might have had a stupid moment, but at least you're not my 3rd(?) cousin who joined a cult, quit his job, refused to pay taxes for 3 years, and just lost the farm that's been in his family for generations.

[siobhanromee]

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