#even though i think his ability to believe in it had been worn down for a long time

[majimaisms]

majima wants roots so bad and because he can't afford to have them he tries to be the roots for people he cares about but he cant be. because hes nothing and no one <3 which i think makes him the most useless piece of shit in the world by his standards

[azrielbrainrot]

Pull My Strings

Pairing: Rhysand x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Mind Control

Description: Rhysand has dealt with numerous assassins over the years, but none was quite as captivating as you.

Warnings: Smut, mind control, dubcon/noncon (reader consents but she's being mind controlled so), vaginal sex

Word Count: 1,9k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: Please pay attention to the warnings and only read if you're truly comfortable with it, I know this story won't be for everyone. This is my version of Rhys if he had lost his mind when his family died and he's quite honestly a villain. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Rhysand's lips traced your jaw, humming against your skin, reveling in your taste, strong hands holding onto your waist as you sat on his lap, your own hands lost in his hair, pulling him closer as he traveled lower, marking up your chest with his teeth. It's not often you get distracted during a mission, but the High Lord was certainly making it hard to think.

You can't help the tremble that runs through your body when his warm tongue circles your nipple, expert fingers pulling the dark fabric of your dress to the side to give him access, a moan following it when he nibbles on it teasingly. Gods, you needed to focus, you hadn't even noticed him touching your dress.

As soon as you were presented with this target, you knew this wouldn't be like any other job you accepted before. The Night Court's High Lord was renowned for his cruelty as well as his bottomless power. No matter how confident you were in your abilities and how successful you've been thus far, this would be a particularly dangerous mission which is why you decided to use a different approach.

Seducing Rhysand hadn't been too difficult, his eyes seemed to follow you ever since you stepped foot into his banquet, dressed in a deep purple gown, and after some initial pleasantries and a few charming words you had been invited to dinner the following day, this time at a different estate instead of his own home in the Hewn City.

This seemed to be a vacation home of some sort, even though it looked well lived in. You had never heard of the city shining below either, as beautiful as it was, which led you to believe that this was the sort of place the High Lord used when a pretty female such as yourself caught his eye, keeping her away from his court and responsibilities. The Court of Nightmares wasn't an inviting place, too dark and gloomy even for an assassin, so you had been glad to be moved to a different city. It would also help with your escape, - the Hewn City had to be a lot more heavily guarded than Velaris.

Dinner had been more than pleasant, but you hadn't expected anything less of the charming and stupidly handsome High Lord. Even if you didn't need it for the success of your mission, you think you might have ended up in his bed anyway. It was truly a shame that you had been sent here to kill him, you would have probably gotten along quite well, especially if you could both drop the act.

“Distracted, darling?”

His deep voice cuts through your thoughts, grounding you back in the present and the feeling of his lips on your skin as he kisses up your throat once again. You hold the back of his neck and pull him into a deep kiss in lieu of an answer, tongue dipping into his mouth and stroking his as you unbutton his silky shirt, revealing more of his tanned skin and some strange marks covering his shoulders.

His hands caress your legs, slowly making his way up your bunched up dress until he's holding onto your thighs, fingers playing with the lacey panties you'd worn for the occasion, a shiver running down your spine. It almost pains you to reach for your dagger, making sure he's lost in your kiss before lifting it to his chest, intent on plunging the blade through his heart.

Rhysand pulls away before you can, holding onto your wrist right as you the blade makes contact with his skin, the sharp tip slashing across his chest, a minor, pathetic wound compared to what you had meant to do.

“I was hoping you wouldn't do that.”

“What-”

The High Lord watches you with a somewhat disappointed expression, a sigh escaping his lips as he tightens his grip on your wrist until you drop the knife, the sound of the metal hitting the expensive floor boards echoing throughout the empty house, signaling your defeat. He loosens his hold on your wrist immediately, running a thumb across the tender skin apologetically, even lifting it up to his lips, kissing away the pain.

For someone who had almost been murdered, he was entirely too calm, - it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He was touching you too delicately, staring into your eyes with the same enamored look as before, as if he truly had no intention of hurting his assassin. You briefly wonder if you could get away at least, but he shuts down that train of thought quickly by letting go of the glamor he uses to keep his power at bay, night incarnate spreading around the room, suffocating you in its intensity.

If that wasn't enough, you also feel sharp claws easily breaking through your mental walls. When you whimper out at the pain you discover that he was now in control of your body, seeing as if you can't even raise your hand to hold your head when it felt like it was about to split open. Purple eyes watching you all the while, never straying from yours even as he searched through every corner of your brain.

“How long have you known?”

Although your body was immobilized due to his revolting daemati abilities, he seemed not to care to restrain you further, allowing you to speak or scream if you so wished. You knew it was futile to call for help, the house was likely soundproofed, and even if it weren't, no one would help you when you had just been about to murder their High Lord - you wonder if anyone was strong enough to pry you away from his grasp.

He also seemed content with keeping you perched on his lap like a living doll, watching you with a strange glint in his eyes, something that unsettled you far more than anything else he could have done. If it weren't for your pride, you might have started begging for a quick, painless death.

“You're sadly not the first assassin that thinks to seduce me before attempting to stab a knife in my back.” He had known since you stepped foot in this court then. He hums in response, unashamedly listening to your thoughts, smirking at the glare you send him before adding, “But I must say, you're by far the most tantalizing.”

“Chest,” you correct, doing your best to look down at the still open wound and the blood pouring out, “I was going to stab you through your chest.” The anger you felt was so pronounced that it almost made the fear non-existent, almost.

“I knew you'd be perfect,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek, softly caressing the skin with his thumb. You have no time to linger in those words or the wistfulness in his eyes before he speaks up again. “Close your eyes for me.” Your body follows his command immediately, those talons of his clawing deeper into you, his voice echoing inside your head and replacing everything else.

You've been sent to Prythian to kill the Night Court's High Lord. Upon meeting him you couldn't help but feel drawn to him, finding yourself captivated by his charm and good looks, your heart stirring like it had never before. You accepted his invitation to dinner in his home, and just as you were about to pierce his skin, you found yourself unable to, letting the knife fall to the floor as soon as you saw blood coating the blade, begging for his forgiveness and proclaiming your rising affection for him.

“You can open your eyes,” Rhysand says, both hands now cupping your cheeks as tears start falling desperately from your eyes. You find yourself blinking away some of the momentary confusion before looking down at the flesh wound on his chest, already closing due to his fast healing, remembering your current predicament.

“Oh Gods, I'm so sorry,” you cry out, guilt like you had never felt before crashing over your body. How could you hurt the only male that you had ever cared about? “I didn't know what else to do. If they found out I let you live they'd come after me so I tried but I couldn't bring myself to kill you. You're-”

“No need to apologize again, darling,” he cuts you off, kissing the corner of your mouth and wiping the tears off. “I know you won't hurt me.”

“I'll accept any punishment you see fit.”

Rhysand chuckles adoringly, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “You will not be punished for something you didn't do.” Both of you look down at the knife laying on the floor, the scent of his blood clinging to it. “Like you said, you had no other choice.”

“Then what happens now?”

“Tomorrow you will tell me and Azriel all about the people who sent you so I can make sure they will not hurt you,” he starts, standing up from his chair and taking you with him, your legs wrapping around his body for stability. With one step, Rhysand winnows you to a dark room, his own you presumed. “Right now, I wouldn't mind you showing me just how sorry you are.”

With his suggestion comes the memory of his lips on yours, how every touch strayed you farther from your initial objective and deeper into madness. You lean down to kiss him passionately, gladly swallowing the moan he lets out, intent on doing exactly what he said, and show him not only how sorry you were but how this foreign feeling he evoked in you threatened to make you lose your mind.

Rhysand wastes no time in walking you to his bed, frenzied hands roaming each other's bodies, never quite getting enough. He drops you on the mattress unceremoniously, pulling away to strip the rest of his clothes as your eyes trail over his body, lingering on the cut across his heart, a mix of guilt and pride rising within you.

“You should be proud,” he says, your eyes finding his in confusion. “No one has ever gotten this close.”

As soon as the words leave his abused lips, you feel your dress dematerializing, only a few particles floating in the air accompanied by a strange fabric smell, your body now completely naked as he studied it appreciatively, much like you had been doing to him. You hadn't been aware of this power of his, you didn't even know it was something that existed in this world.

“I never stood a chance, did I?”

“Maybe you did,” he purrs, a confident smirk falling over his lips as he leans over you, positioning himself between your legs, the weight of his cock as it pressed against your stomach sending goosebumps erupting all over your body. “I can feel the power bubbling under your skin, you were wasted on that guild.”

“Use me,” you breathe out, wrapping your legs around his waist as he guides his thick cock to your entrance, a moan escaping him at not only the feeling of your cunt swallowing him but also your words. “I will serve you better than I ever did them. I'll be your sword and your shield, and anything else you need from me. I'm at your mercy, my High Lord.”

“Don't worry, my love,” he says, mesmerized by the way his cock slips in and out of your soaked cunt, drunk on the feeling, eyes traveling across your body, not wanting to miss a single detail. “I have every intention to.”

[greenlantrns]

cg ! jason todd one-shot

summary: you lose your favorite stuffed animal and jason goes through great and semi-embarrassing lengths to get them back to you.

tw: jason is a crime boss, so yanno. expect allusions to crime boss activities and a sprinkling of swear words.

The thing was, on average Jason did his best to keep his two lives — so to speak — completely separate. He didn’t even like wearing clothes home if the Red Hood had worn them all night which sometimes meant changing from one pair of sweats and a hoodie into another pair of sweats and a hoodie. There was a big red line drawn in the sand when it came to you and your home together and the rest of his business.

Still, sometimes things happened. Like for example, an unexpected move. For a long time you’d lived in a one bedroom apartment just the two of you. You alternated between sleeping on the couch, the floor, and Jason’s bed because you had that annoying kid ability to sleep comfortably just about anywhere and that had worked until it hadn’t. After finding you asleep on the counter slumped against the refrigerator Jason had decided that if you were going to stay — and he sure as hell hoped you’d stay — you needed a bedroom.

You’d been living in your new place for a solid week before either of you noticed what was missing. Your stuffie was something you kept under wraps, tucked behind your pillow until nighttime. You didn’t often carry him around unless you were feeling particularly small or particularly fussy and so it made sense that in all the excitement of a move you hadn’t noticed their absence for a few days.

That said the calm before the storm never lasts and Jason wasn’t fully prepared for how forlorn a kid could look for hours on end and for days at a time. This was no regular pout, he was convinced.

Jason had tried to look for the thing. He’d turned their new place upside down searching and then some. He’d gone through boxes once and then twice, he’d turned pillow cases inside out and couch cushions upside down.

It wasn’t until you made a single sniffly little comment that Jason’s life flashed before his eyes.

“What if we left him behind Jay?” You’d asked in that pitifully small voice and Jason had winced internally — likely externally too but he liked to believe he had a better poker face than that.

It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind it was just that— well, their old place was already in use at the moment.

After moving out of their one bedroom Jason had felt oddly sentimental about the crummy old place. Sure they had outgrown it but it wasn’t like he didn’t have the funds to keep up with rent. On top of that seeing as it had once been his home and not just some random base of operations there were only a few people that even knew the place existed.

It’s anonymity had made it a perfect place to set up his primary ‘office’ if you will. It was a perfectly good space that was unknown to those who were apart of the larger operation that could function as a rest stop and meeting ground for those of his men that he trusted the most.

If the thing was there than Jason was pretty screwed.

He grimaced. “I’m sure we didn’t, kiddo.”

Your lip looked wobbly and although you hated to cry Jason could tell you’d been barely fending off tears since you’d realized you stuffed animal was gone. He thought he’d been prepared for the dam to break but fuck if it wasn’t hard as hell to sit there and watch the tears slowly well in your eyes.

Jason wasn’t always the most physically demonstrative. Sometimes his body felt like it was on auto pilot; after the pit it sometimes didn’t even feel like his body was his at all. It didn’t bother him much if he didn’t think about it but it did make physical affection a bit difficult.

He tried his damndest for you though and you never seemed to care about the stilted affection Jason had to offer just as long as he was there. With unsure hands Jason pulled you into his side.

“I’ll find your friend, I promise,” He murmured.

You pulled back and wiped hastily at your eyes as you narrowed your gaze to look up at him. “How can you promise, what if he’s gone with our old house forever?”

“Well,” Jason paused. He hadn’t planned on sharing the fact that he still technically owned — or rented — their old place. He thought it’d bring up too many questions and he’d prefer you to be as ignorant as possible to his nightly goings on. “I still have keys to our old place and some of my friends live there now.”

You tilted your head while you considered his words. “You got friends?”

Jason scoffed and thwacked you on the nose gently. “Yes, I have friends smartass.”

That elicited the smallest of smiles and Jason nearly slumped in relief after about a week of frowns and near tears. Jason planned to go later and preferably alone but before he knew it you were practically catapulting off the couch. You’d tossed your blanket to the ground and were searching frantically for your shoes even though you were still in pajamas.

“Just leave your mess why don’t you!” Jason called as he sighed and picked up the blanket you’d discarded on the floor. “kids like a little tornado.”

Jason heaved himself up from the couch and went to wait by the door trying his hardest not to relax into the hands-on-hips-exasperated-dad stance that was becoming more and more natural to him the longer you were around.

“Ready!” You shouted as you skidded to a halt in front of him. You’d thrown a sweatshirt on over your pajama pants that absolutely belonged to Jason and on your feet were a pair of winter boots. Jason raised an unimpressed brow as you grinned up at him.

“It’s a bit late for you to be out don’t you think?”

“Nuh uh!” You insisted. “Gotta find my friend, Jay.”

Jason crossed his arms. “I’m not taking you out in the middle of the night, you forget where we live?”

A pout was forming but Jason tried resolutely to ignore it. “But Jay,” your voice had taken on that soft, pitiful quality again and Jason felt his resolve wearing.

“This is Gotham, kiddo,” He emphasized again but your puppy dog eyes didn’t waver and dammit he was becoming a pushover.

He quickly began to rationalize in his head. Their old place wasn’t far, they could probably walk but it’d be incrementally safer to get a cab. Jason knew he had guys in the apartment at the moment but they were his most trusted for a reason, right? Jason’s sigh was long suffering as he held out his arms.

“You’re not getting down if you come, you know that right?” He asked as you grinned real wide. You went into his arms easily and allowed yourself to be lifted up into his hip. It’d taken Jason some practice learning how to carry you like a kid and not a sack of potatoes but he was getting better. You nodded enthusiastically.

“Until we get there,” you amended after a moment of thought. “Gotta help look.”

Jason relented because of course he did where you were involved and with that the two of you set off. Getting a cab was easier said then done but Jason made it work with the help of you wildly waving your arms. When you both got to your old complex you managed to convince Jason to let you down but you still had to hold tight to his hand.

Jason ran cold most days, another side effect of the pit he’d wager, but you still clung to him when a chill caught you and he couldn’t help but drop your hand so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders.

He didn’t bother knocking when he got to their old door but when he stepped in the apartment came to a stand still. His men — and women, though in his defense he hadn’t known Sasha would be there tonight — stared at him wide eyed. Jason stared back before clearing his throat.

“Evening,” He spoke to the room snd it was clear they hadn’t been expecting him. Not that they were doing anything they shouldn’t have been more just that Ian had his feet on the fucking table like he’d been told not to a million times and Lenny was eating some greasy sack of who knew what from Bat Burger — if there was anything Jason had tried to drill into these idiots skulls it was that the amount of fast food they ate would kill them before any Gotham lunatic could but he’d have to table that argument for the night.

“Hey boss,” Sasha said, all easy confidence because out of all of them she probably took his shit the least.

“I’m here too!” You whined at being blatantly overlooked. When this brought the immediate attention of everyone in the room down to you you felt heat creep up into your cheeks, getting a bit bashful as you took a half step behind Jason. Noticing the kid Jason saw some people shift their guns out of sight or into waistbands and he couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate it. You only vaguely knew what the Red Hood got up to and Jason was perfectly fine with that for now.

“Everyone, we’re on something of a manhunt.” Jason explained. He spoke with the same detached professionalism he would use at one of their actual meetings and hoped his own cheeks weren’t burning red. “I’ll let my colleague explain the rest.”

Jason turned to look at you but you still looked a little nervous. He bent a little to speak softly to you, “just like we rehearsed in the cab, got it?”

You nodded.

“Um well,” you were alternating between talking and chewing nervously on your lip. “I’m looking for my friend. He’s really soft and he’s got really cute ears! He’s a little floppy now cause he’s old and he’s kinda small so you might have missed him but I think he’s here.”

The room was quiet and Jason’s men alternated between looking at you, each other, and then Jason, to see if maybe they were misunderstanding something.

“I’m sorry, boss,” Lenny started. “Are we looking for a stuffed animal?”

It sounded ridiculous when said out loud but Jason thought back to your teary eyes and was reminded of the importance of this excursion. “We’re not leaving until he’s found and this one,” Jason tried to ruffle your hair but you squirmed away from him, embarrassed in front of so many people. “Has a bedtime, so get to it.”

Everyone got to searching slowly at first but you were clearly unsatisfied with this. You huffed as you redirected people in the direction of ‘where stuffie is most likely to be’ and ‘where stuffie is least likely to be.”

“You got a bossy kid,” Ian muttered as he began pulling up couch cushions. Had the situation been less absurd — a group of gang members and hardened criminals searching top to bottom for a stuffed toy — Jason might have taken offense on your behalf. In this case he just laughed but schooled his expression when you shot him a look.

“You’re not looking, Jay!”

“I’m supervising Ian, he gets distracted easily.”

You narrowed your eyes between the two men but were placated as you went back to your search.

“Yeah, maybe a little bossy.”

It was nearly a half hour later when Sasha emerged from Jason’s former bedroom.

“Found it!” She called.

You gasped and turned around nearly in a blur. You’d been in the middle of arguing vehemently with Lenny about how Bat Burger was bad for him and home cooked meals were always better. Lenny had made a good argument but come up short when you mentioned how much you liked Jason’s cooking.

He looked at his boss incredulously. “You cook?”

Jason shrugged. “I dabble.”

That had all been interrupted when Sasha came out brandishing the worn stuffed animal in one hand like a hunting trophy. You immediately grabbed the old thing hugging it like your life depended on it before doing the same to Sasha. Sasha looked taken aback but reciprocated the hug right back.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“No problem, kid.”

After the stuffed animal was safely returned to you the events of the evening seemed to catch up to you. You looked suddenly very tired and didn’t fuss at all when Jason gathered you up into his arms.

“Alright guys,” he said softly. “It goes without saying this stays between us, yes?”

They all nodded affirmatively and Jason tried to ignore how amused they all looked. “Sasha. You’re in charge. Lenny, pick up a fucking cook book, will you?”

There was a chorus of ‘got it boss’ and ‘night, red’ that followed Jason out the door but he didn’t mind them much at all as he carried you down the hall. He could tell you weren’t sleeping by the way you were toying with your stuffed animals tail.

“Thanks,” you mumbled sleepily.

“No problem, baby,” Jason responded.

“Jay,” you spoke again after a beat of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

It was sort of funny, considering the two of you had moved to give you your very own bed, but Jason couldn’t say he minded. “‘Course.”

[georgiapeach30513]

The Flowers of Waverley Road, Part 1

Summary:  Magnus Romano is a fierce leader of the biggest Mafia family in Boston.  And deep outside of the negotiating and the city he has remained to keep his daughters hidden.  But continues to use them as a bargaining agent.  Each daughter has their own journey and story.  Each daughter has their own tests and heartbreak.  And each daughter is fiercely loyal to each other.  His pretty little flowers.  His major point of bribery.  But they’re not as delicate as Magnus thinks that they are, or as stupid.

Pairings:  August Walker X Orchid, Nick Fowler X Lotus, Jax Teller X Dahlia, Jack Bass X Violet, Ari Levinson X Lavender

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, masturbating (F), arranged marriages, misogyny, age gap, power imbalance, implied abuse, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  8k

Universe Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

“Mr. Levinson?” Ari looks up from his magazine he had just been staring at, annoyed at all the clearance that was necessary for this job.  It was a house completely out in the middle of nowhere.  A house so far off the beaten path, one would assume they were in an endless loop of trees.  “Miss Romano will now see you.  Should you be hired, make sure you wear different shoes.”

Ari glances at his old worn boots; a bit dusty, stained in paint, and sure a bit dirty.  He didn’t ask to come to this ridiculously white office.  Why was everything so white?  Not even a fingerprint in sight.  Possibly the rumors of burned off fingerprints was factual.

His heavy footfalls carry him into Miss Romano’s office, and she looks up from her computer glaring at him.  “I didn’t ask to come here, sweetheart,” Ari smirks, planting himself on a white coach, and she grimaces at him.  Even she is decked out in white.  Head to toe.  White business dress that clings to every inch of her curves.  Some things never changed.  She hadn’t aged a day.

“Mr. Levinson, we take people going to Waverley Road very seriously,” her long manicured fingers tap on the desk, and she slides her chair back.  Walking in front of the desk to lean against the edge.  His eyes roam up and down every inch of her, “And we take people abusing the ability to get onto the property very seriously.  You understand what you are signing on for?  People not directly involved in my family’s business rarely ever make it this far.”

“Family business, huh?  Is that what they’re calling the mafia these days?”

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Mr. Levinson,” Ari nods his head, even though he is aware that she knows exactly what he’s referring to.  “A background check was done on you.  A lot of petty crime.  You will not be permitted inside of the house.”

“Why?  Do you have a princess locked up in that tower?” The woman stands unmoving.  They did.  They had some princess locked in there all alone in the middle of nowhere, “Just how many flowers of Waverley Road are there?  I lost count.”

“Mr. Levinson.”

“Rumors of the Romano flowers are all throughout the city.  None as beautiful as you, Miss Lotus Romano.  Unwed because she’s unfit, and can’t be used as a bargaining tool.  Magnus knows her worth, and wants to keep his pretty little daughter happy.  Which one finally was sold to the highest bid of Jack Bass?  Which one gets to be bought by Bart Bass?  The Romanos are in the Basses pocket, and everyone knows it.  Can’t forget your little delinquent of a sister.  Has she ever been found?”

“Are you finished, Mr. Levinson.  Insulting my family is not a great way to get a job.  I am the one allowing you into our family mansion.  I am the one that will either give you this job, or take it away from you.  Do not question my authority in my family,” Ari’s eyes slowly blink close as he tilts his head to her.  Leaning back and getting more relaxed in his chair.

“The last interview I had there was only three files on your secretary’s desk.  You don’t have too many people vying for a chance to work for your family.  I believe I’m all that you’ve got.  You don’t have a choice.  My work is good and clean.  And I come with great references.  Where is Nicky?  Getting his cock sucked by some bimbo?”

“Now that is enough,” she slaps her hand on the desk, turning her back to Ari.  He could speak all he wanted to about her family, but bring up Nick, and she shuts down, and shows emotion.  She calmly picks up her phone, ringing her secretary, “Cici, have Nick escort Mr. Levinson to Waverley Road.  If he’s to have anyone working with them, they have to be cleared with me, and he’s only allowed one person.”

“Uh, Frank Adler?” Ari clears his throat, because a request for some help had already been sent in.  If it hadn’t made it to Lotus, there was no telling when Frank would be approved.

“His file is being processed.  That may take a couple of weeks.”

“A couple of weeks?  How the fuck am I going to get any work done?”

“Figure it out,” Lotus gently lays her phone back on the receiver.  Walking around to her chair, and ignoring Ari, “You may go.  Nick will make sure you make it to Waverley Road in one piece.  And if Mr. Adler should be cleared, he will join you.  There is a small house in front of the mansion, you can stay there, Frank as well, should he be approved.  Make sure that you have your bags packed.  You’re going to be stuck on Waverley Road until all the repairs are finished.  Should you need something, Nick can be of assistance.  Should you want to leave, don’t.  We own you now, Mr. Levinson.”

Bitch.  Ari stands, and walks back out to the foyer, waiting on his former roommate.  Lotus really was the cold bitch that everyone claimed that she was.  Heart of stone, and no fucks given, but she had a weakness.  This is what Ari wanted and needed.  And he had completed this part.  Now onto the mansion.

Nick looks at himself in the mirror, straightening out his hair when he looks at his phone, “Hey, sweetheart.”

“I asked you not to call me that while in this building.  Mr. Levinson was approved.  You need to take him to Daddy’s summer mansion.”

“Isn’t your baby sister there?” Nick did not foresee the luck of having the most awkward and needy of the sisters at the mansion.  A girl that would open up to anyone that was giving her attention.

“And that’s where she will stay, until Daddy decides what he’s going to do with her.  There are a few that she has caught the eye of.  Don’t know if they are profitable though.”

“You know casually talking about your sisters being in an arranged marriage is a little concerning.  Should I be alarmed?” His eyebrow cocks up as he shuts down his office.

“I’ve got the files, Nicky.  No one has ever asked for my hand in marriage, and Daddy has never offered.  I supposed I’m going to remain an old spinster that is too smart for this whole operation.”

“Would you take marrying someone you’re in business with?  Like, I don’t know, the man that has no one above him in this family, but your father?” He would continue to ask any chance he got, until she said yes.

“You forget, this is only business.  Don’t confuse casual sex with anything more than a fix.  Take Mr. Levinson to Waverley Road.”

“Make sure you’re waiting at my house, in one of the pretty little lace numbers I got you.  I’ll take your Mr. Levinson to the mansion, and explain the ground rules.  I’ll see you when I return,” he doesn’t wait for a response.  He never does.  And she is always waiting for him.  Every time.  Giving him so much, and so little all at the same time.  It was infuriating that the one thing he wanted, she was still keeping guarded.  Her heart.

He struts out into the waiting room, snapping a finger towards Ari, “Follow me.  You sure know how to piss people off, you know that?”

“Well, what’s the fun in knowing I got the job if I can’t play around a bit?  So Lotus Romano?”

“What?” Nick stops to turn around and look at the man.  Ari is a beast.  Taller than most men he had ever seen, and wide.  His skills we’re definitely better suited in other avenues besides a carpenter.  

“Who is at this mansion?” Ari gives his old friend a wink.  Nick was not someone he wanted to piss off.  He needed Nick, and clearly he and Lotus did not want to joke about their ‘relationship’.

“It’s best if you leave that one alone,” Nick responds, spinning on his heels and continues to the parking garage.

“Why is that?” Dig a bit more.  It was what Ari is good at.  Get more information, and if she was as pretty as her sisters, how bad could it be?

“She’s barely legal.”

“Ahh, but she is legal.  Is she promised to someone?  Chuck Bass maybe?  Would he finally sell one of his daughters to a more age appropriate man?  How is Jack’s new bride?” Nick grunts out his own frustrations.  Magnus was living in the dark ages.  “He had all those girls for more than having children, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about them.  They have very little say in what he’s doing.  Lavender will fall in line like her sisters before her.”

“Worked out well for Dahlia,” Ari surmises, settling himself in Nick’s car.  “How is she?”

“Teller keeps her busy.  She got what she wanted.  Away from the Basses, and away from her father.”

“And why do you suppose that is?” Nick keeps his eyes on the road.  As long as Ari didn’t bring up Lotus, he was okay.  No one ever got away with speaking about her.  “So, Jack’s bride complied, and the Basses still funded Magnus’ dying empire.  He’s nothing without the Basses.  He basically became a tool for them.  They’ll continue to use him to get what they want, and when they’re done, well, you know what will become of Magnus and his daughters.”

“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” Nick turns to glare at Ari.  A man that talked a big game about something he was not technically a part of.  It was complicated.

“Nothing.  I’m just a carpenter.  Being forced to live out in the middle of nowhere, I can't leave my base until the repairs are done.  Out there all alone with nothing to keep me busy but a barely legal flower.”

“Going inside of the house is unwise.  You are to stay outside,” another warning of staying outside, and not entering the house.

“Why?  Is there something wrong with Rapunzel?”

“She is to be kept chaste,” Ari snorts.  They were never really chaste.  None of them.  People talk.  Little girls locked up in towers always had their vices.  Their way with men and women to get what they wanted.  More so of what they needed.  “Bart isn’t interested.  However, there are others that are looking at Lavender.  The flowers of Waverley Road are now a legend.”

“What about Lotus,” Nick warps the car over to the side of the road, and wraps his hand over Ari’s throat.  “Easy.  We’re on the same side.”

“You do not deserve to speak her name,” Nick spits out at him.  That was his first strike.

“What happens when she’s sold to the highest bidder?  Dahlia was smart, she got out while she could.  Leaving her sister to be claimed and promised to Jack.  Lotus isn’t promised to anyone.  Do you think that will last?  Do you think her father won’t sell her?”

“She’s valuable on her own.  Magnus needs her, and her brains.”

“And her sisters are nothing but the flesh in between their legs?  I see.  Things worked out well for Orchid,” the oldest of the sisters.  The one who stood tall and proud.  Walked side by side with her husband.  A man that would kiss the ground she walked on, if she asked.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nick huffs, putting the car back into gear.  Turning onto the famed road, and the long journey to the mansion.  No one ever knew or understood the Romano family.  Even Nick, despite Lotus randomly dropping tidbits.

“Do I not?  I’m risking my life being here.”

“No one asked you to,” Nick whispers.  It was a lie.  One that they were both aware of.  Ari was asked.  And it was worth the risk, should he be successful.  

Trees are so heavy down this road a lesser man would feel as if he was losing his mind.  There was nowhere to go but forward, or back from which you came.  No one dared to come out this far, and judging by the security stations on the way in, they would never make it to the point that they currently are.  Guarded by more than the maddening forest.

It was boring.  No wonder he was being asked to live on the property.  “How much land does Magnus own?”

“All of it,” Nick answers with finality.  Ari had pissed him off.  Nick was easy to talk to, until you made him get into his head about Lotus.  “You are not to go into the mansion.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“There’s your quarters,” Nick points at a small cabin, not at all grand.  “It’s big enough to sleep at least four people.  You will be given a car that you can commute from here to the mansion.  You are not to step foot inside.  Lavender can be a bit persuasive, you are not to listen to her under any circumstance.  However, should her life be in danger, you risk yours to save her.  That is how it goes.  You wanted to be surrounded by the flowers.  You are.  And this…”

A gigantic mansion comes into view.  An otherworldly and old look to it with ivy growing up the sides.  It looks haunted.  Should anyone happen to unluckily stumble upon it, it would terrify them.  And right by the pool was a gorgeous and completely nude young woman sunbathing.

“My god,” Nick, irritated puts his car into park.  “She was told you were coming today.  Cover your eyes,” Ari would not.  Perfect tits on that one.  She was hot, and she knew it.  Fresh Brazilian wax.  She wanted to be seen.  “Lavender!  Put some fucking clothes on.”

Her mouth turns up into a smirk, but she doesn’t move, “If I am to live out here all alone, I’m going to take advantage of the privacy.”

“And I told you,” she stands up, and Ari gets a full body look at her, turning back around to awkwardly bend over to gather her hat.  Awkward because she wanted Ari to see her puffy, velvety, and scrumptious cunt.  “Lavender!”

“Aw, Nicky, don’t look as I walk away,” Nick turns away from her, and grabbing both tits, she jiggles them just for Ari to see.  Ari would not be staying away from her.  She wanted to show him her body, and he was going to look.  “I’m going inside to fuck myself.”

“I hate you.  How am I ever going to tell your sister about this?”

“Just don’t tell her I put a strap on my giant teddy,” Ari likes her.  He was sure she was more talk than anything.  But she needed it.  Bad.  “Daddy has me out here all by myself, I should be able to have some fucking fun!”

“Go fuck your teddy bear then!” Lavender flips his back off before finally walking into the house.  She wasn’t entirely lying, and wasn’t entirely telling the truth.  Fixing the roof she was told.  She was aware of the area where the roof leaked.  And she had a plan.  If she was going to be out here bored while all her sisters got to have a man touch them, she was going to have some fun.  With the carpenters.

“Ignore her.”

“How can I?  My god, she either needs someone to lay her over their lap and spank her ass, or she needs a real good fucking,” he tilts his head, trying to continue to look at her.  Still she was shaking her tits at him.  Pinching her nipples, before walking away.

“She’s a liar.  All she wants is attention, and you’re giving it to her,” Nick slaps Ari in the back of his head.  Ari and her could potentially be a problem, or the best thing they didn’t plan on, “Your boxes will be coming here by tonight.  This is the key to your car.  There is the garage.  I’ll have Lotus message you the key codes for everything.  And stay out of the fucking house.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ari groans, getting out of the car.  “This my supplies?” He asks, pointing over to a mountain of lumber and boxes upon boxes of things.

“Yes.  Have fun, Ari.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.  Also, Magnus and the other girls will be here tonight for dinner.  Make sure you’re at home.”

“So you’re saying if I want to fuck the princess I better do it before tonight?” He bites at his lip, looking back into the house, hoping to see those perfect tits.

“I’m saying don’t be looking at tits, and have nothing done before they get here,” jumping into his car, Nick drives back into the city, and back to Lotus’ office.  Speaking of fucking, she owed him dessert.  She could continue her work, while he feasted on the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

Ari looks up at the mansion, wondering where Lavender had gone.  He just wanted to have some fun, and enjoy something nice to look at.  Instead he starts opening up a few of the containers.  Sweat pours down his brows as he unloads everything.  Minor repairs, and it would get done faster with a crew.  But Magnus didn’t want a crew here.

Hearing one of the sweetest little moans, he looks towards a window.  There she was.  Still needing to be seen.  Playing with her tits, and grinding on the arm of a couch.  Ari completely knows why Magnus didn’t want a crew.  She is looking straight at him begging, “Ari!” She whines, placing her hands in front of her to grind even faster.

Her tits look even more amazing as she works herself over the furniture.  “Ari, the door is unlocked.”

“Well, hell,” it was an invitation, and who was he to say no.  Walking into the mansion, and breaking the one main rule he has, he follows her desperate sounds.  Tiptoeing into a sitting room,  and there she was.  One of the most amazing women he had ever met.  What a welcome gift he was getting.  “What cha doing?”

“Imagining I was riding you?” She was needy.  Moving over this arm of the couch like her life depended on it.  “You like my titties?”

“Oh I love them.  You making a mess on the couch?”

“Uh huh.  You can lick it up if you want.  You can play with my tits, too.”

“Oh, I think I want you to lick it up,” her eyes go wide as she stares up at him.  Black seas of lust in her eyes, glossy and still so innocent.  He steps closer, reaching out to pinch both of her nipples.  “You never been talked to like that?  If you want to be a desperate little slut, I can treat you like one.”

He rolls her nipples in between his fingers, and she arches her back, bringing herself closer to him.  Moving her hands behind her, Ari sees her pretty puffy lips spread over the leather.  A trail of slick gathering on the arm.  She was a pretty little thing.  “I’m going to suck your tits, okay?”

“Uh huh, please!” He wanted his fingers in her.  His mouth closes around one nipple, and her body loses self control.  Screaming out his name, until he pulls off her with a pop.  Looking at her wide eyed at her outburst.  Her juices drip down onto the couch and floor.

“Did you just squirt from me barely sucking on your nipple?”

“What?” Ari’s hand swipes up her honey, showing her just how soaked his fingers are.  “I uh…”

“Show me your pussy.  I’ll taste that, too.  If you think sucking on your nipples feels amazing.  Sucking on you right here,” his finger touches her clit, and she shivers, mewling out his name, while her body searches for more pressure from him.  “Show me.”

Lavender scoots down onto the couch, legs already spreading wide, and Ari gulps.   She was an easy target, “Tell me, sweetheart,” Ari begins as he gets down to his knees, smiling down at her bare and leaking cunt, “Who visits out here?” His hand lays flat over her mound, and she squeals.  “Uh uh, who visits out here?”

“No — no one.”

“I don’t feel like you’re being truthful.  Big house, sweet little slut like you, all alone with just me.  What would happen if I fucked you right here?”

“No!” She shakes her head no rapidly, and when he tries to remove his hand she slaps her own over his.  “You can play with me.  No sex.”

“We did just meet, hmm?” leaning a bit closer, his hand slides up to spread apart her lips, giving just the most sweet kiss over her bundle of nerves.  “Who comes out here?  Your father?” Peering up at her, his tongue flicks over her little bean, and Lavender struggles to talk.

“Sometimes.  I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

“Who else?” She gives him a little pout, trying to pull him closer to her heat.  Needing nothing more than to have him kitten lick her again.  “No, you tell me who else comes here, and I’ll suck on this clit, until you’re coming in my mouth.  Maybe put a finger in that sweet puss.”

“Bus-bus-business associates.  The Basses, and…some man I don’t know.  Please, Ari, I want you to put a finger in me.”

“Only one for now.  Maybe you can figure out who else is coming here for me, and I’ll give you even more fingers.  I don’t want anyone to walk in on me feasting on your cunt.  Just be a good girl for me, and I’ll make sure to ruin you, okay?”

She nods her head, and Ari dives right in.  Wrapping his lips around her overly sensitive clit, and swiping a finger up and down her slit.  Letting her get good and squirmy until he sinks one finger in.  Her walls immediately start pulsing around him.  She was a responsive little thing.  A perk of the job he supposed.  Get information and get to fuck her.  It wasn’t a bad trade off.

Pumping his finger in and out of her, and her hips start to move with him.  Her hands squeeze on her tits.  Magnus was a fucking idiot.  Leaving this pretty young thing that was begging to be fucked all alone.  And she had a mouth on her.  Willing to say anything as long as she was touched and got off.  

She was ridiculously tight.  Clearly she was pretty inexperienced.  Which made her a danger to herself.  Or maybe she was the perfect daughter to sell to pay for his next business venture.  He was an idiot.  She wouldn’t be inexperienced when Ari finished with her.

“Ar-Ar-Ari!” His arm was dripping in her cream and slick.  Lines of arousal puddles into his hand, and the loudest squelching sounds he had ever heard echo in the empty house.  She is just about gone.  Dumb and pliable.  Just for Ari.  “Ari!” She screams, gushing into his mouth.  “Ari!” Her voice starts to go soft as she pushes him away, “Stop.  Stop, I’m throbbing.”

“Yeah,” he leans back, wiping her honey off his beard.  Keeping her lips spread, “Look at that little clit.  It’s all swollen.  You can see your heartbeat in it.  Did you have fun, Rapunzel?”

“Uh-huh,” she is mesmerized looking down at her little hole.  He had made her feel things that she had never felt before.  They both watch as he drags his finger out of her quivering hole, and he gives it a long stare.  Projecting spit onto her spread cunt before rubbing it in.  Giving her sensitive nub a flick, she trembles.  “Can we do it again?”

“Remember what I said, princess,” Ari slips his soaked up fingers past her lips, and like a good girl, she sucks her juices and his spit off him.  “And I’ll look at and taste that cunt whenever you want me to.  But I hear your family is coming over tonight.  You better clean up your mess.  You’d hate daddy to see what a mess you made.  Maybe next time I’ll let you fuck my fingers.  Just have them there while you and those pretty tits bounce.  Run along.  Don’t wear clothes the next time I see you.”

She sits up, and hungrily kisses on Ari’s mouth.  Tasting her arousal and moaning before she sits back, making her tits jiggle for him before going to get some things to clean up the mess.  She was trouble.  But what a fun trouble she was going to be.

“Daddy!” The oldest of the Walker children runs up to his father.  Jumping into his father’s arms, and August throws him up in the air.  “Daddy, we’re going to the castle when you get dressed.”

“I know, buddy.  You want to pack you and sissy some toys?  I think mama said we’re staying the night.  It’s such a long drive back out to the city,” he sets his son down, and Tripp runs off to gather some toys, while August heads into the bedroom, seeing his beautiful wife zipping up their suitcase.

“You’re late,” she answers shortly.  Standing up, only to smooth her dress down, refusing to look her husband in the eyes.  “Carys is asleep, and going to be in a foul mood at dinner all because you are late.”

“Orchid, honey, I’m not here to argue.  I’m here to change, so we can leave.”

“This has put us thirty minutes behind.  And,” her words get lost in her mouth as August steps up to her and starts kissing on her neck.  “Don’t try to butter me up.  Carys is going to be in an ill mood because…mmm — because we’ll have to wake her up from her nap,” his kisses always are the best.  Scattering kisses all down her chest, before the softest peck is placed on her lips.

“Carys is going to get to spend the night with her aunt Lavender.  Tripp as well.  And mommy and daddy get to have fun all night long, and not worry about anything,” dipping his hand under her dress he grabs a handful of her breast.  “And mommy is going to let daddy ravish her.”

“Auggie…” she starts to pant out, leaning more into him.  Eyes glazing over as she slips into a submissive state.

August clears his throat, and steps away quickly, leaving her to huff out in irritation, “Honey, we’re already late.”

“You’re insufferable.  The reason you’re late?” August silently walks into their closet, beginning to change into something a bit more casual.  Not saying anything, “I see.  The family business.”

“Did you know that your father hired a carpenter, finally.  He went out to the property today.  I hear your sister gave him quite the greeting.”

Orchid steps to the edge of their closet watching her sexy husband change, and all with a blank face, “Daddy’s stupid.  You know how Lavender is.  And why shouldn’t she be?  Babied by all of us, and mostly Daddy.  He’s kept her away from everything, and…” Orchid takes a deep calming breath, looking down at her wedding ring, and August catches the gesture.  “She has no idea.”

“Did an arranged marriage turn out so bad for you?”

“You are only a few years older than me.  Dahlia ran away.  Lotus is praying Daddy never takes her away from Nick, and Violet…don’t make me think about that.  He’s old.  He’s too old for her.  She’s twenty-five.”

“And he’s forty-five.”

Orchid chuckles, turning to go back to their bedroom before placing a family photo in his hands, “Are you going to make our daughter marry someone that is twenty years older than her?  Keep her hidden away from men so she’s a virgin when she’s married.  This is medieval shit, August.”

“Jack paid handsomely.  And your sister was no virgin,” Orchid rolls her eyes, starting to walk away, but August grabs onto her wrist, “And no.  I would never make Carys marry anyone.  I’m not the head of a goddamn mafia family.  You know…you know why he does this.”

“We didn’t ask for this, August.  We’re just pawns in this fucking game, and we have no say.  If…I got lucky.  Lotus is trying to play by Daddy’s rule, and all she wants is Nick.  One sister runs away so she’s not sold to Jack, so he buys the next one.  And what of Lavender?  She’s twenty, and…”

“Bart isn’t interested.  Chuck on the other hand,” August shrugs, buttoning up his shirt, “Plus, from my understanding another is interested.  She could be married in a few years.  She’ll finally get what she desires above all else; a man’s admiration.  I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“Oh?” She cocks up her eyebrow, getting distracted from whimpering cries on the monitor, and August starts to leave the closet.  Heading straight towards their daughter’s room.  “No, you do not ignore me, August Walker.  Why should I not have to worry about Lavender being sold?”

“You make it sound so gross.  It’s business.  You and your sister agreed to it.  It’s not like Lavender can’t get out, just like Dahlia did.”

“Answer me,” she stomps her foot outside of Carys’ bedroom.  Brows furrow as she stares up at her husband.  “Do not open her door, until you answer me.”

“Our daughter is crying.”

“August?”

“Remember when I told you the less you know the better off you are?  You don’t know how to lie, so it’s best if you know nothing.  Go get Tripp, and let’s head out to the mansion.  I’ll make sure she’s changed, okay?” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but somehow August always managed to keep her and the babies safe.  

“Fine,” she answers, turning to fetch their son.  Letting August deal with their toddler.

“Hey, baby.”

“Daddy, I cy,” she stumbles out of her bed, reaching her arms up high for him.

“I know, baby.  We’re going to go to the castle tonight.”

“Ooh!  Pity dess.”

“Yep, mommy picked out a beautiful dress for you.  Let’s change you, and take you to the potty, it’s a long drive, okay?  You gonna sleep with Lav Lav tonight?” She gives him a nod, and wiggles out of his arm to go to the bathroom, while August sighs.  Things were falling into place, but the only thing that mattered to him were the three people in this apartment.  He would pull out immediately to keep them safe.  And everyone knew exactly where he stood.

Dahlia takes a long drag of the joint before handing it up to Jax who finishes the roach.  Turning to look back at his wife who was staring up at the giant mansion, “We don’t have to go in.”

“Yeah, we do,” she leans up against his back, rubbing her hand over his thigh, “I need to make sure they’re okay.  I was supposed to marry Jack.”

Jax hisses through his teeth, laying his hand over her own, “But you didn’t.”

“She did though.  She’s a child.”

“And we’re doing what we have to, including her, to make sure the same fate doesn’t fall to Lavender.  She’s convinced herself that Jack and Violet are in love,” her hand flips around, and she weaves her fingers in his.  Almost ten years of marriage, and Jax was still her best friend.  “She lives in a fantasy world to protect herself.  It’s easier to believe that her sister is just a princess that was rescued from this tower.  Lavender is emotionally stunted.  She’s created this reality to save herself.”

“Stop trying to make sense.  I hate it here.  I hate everything about this place.”

“Yeah, but don’t we get to have fun now.  You’re the badass black sheep of the family.  Tattoos, piercings, and married to an outlaw.  How does it feel to break the system?” Jax was the only thing that saved her.  He was worth the risk of running away, and eloping the day she turned eighteen.  Her father was unable to keep his promise to Jack.  That time.

“I hate him,” Jax, turns back on the bike to look at her again.  “Your father and Jack.  If given the chance, I want to kill them.”

“You can’t talk like that.  Especially not here.”

“I can.  I want them both dead.  Violet shouldn’t have to be a shell at the age of twenty-five.  She’s going through the motions to be a carbon copy of Orchid.  This deal was sick.  Your father is a piece of shit.  Magnus Romano will meet his demise.  I just want to pull the trigger,” Jax could almost taste his blood already.  He would pay for what he made his daughters do.  

“There’s a timing for everything, babe.  Come on.  Let’s get our quarterly dinner over with.  I’m good and high.  Now I need a drink,” Dahlia’s eyes narrow as a man walks out the front of the house with a shit eating grin.  “Mother fucker,” she grouses, slapping Jax’s leg.  “Ari?”

“Well, look at what the cat drug in,” Jax holds out his hand for a shake, but Ari declines.  “What gives?”

“I haven’t washed my hands since I’ve been here.  It’s a bit nasty and rude.  What…what are you two doing here?  Didn’t think the jackass Magnus let the likes of you two step foot into his place anymore.”

“Quarterly visits.  What were you doing in the house, Ari?” Dahlia slings a leg over the bike, and walks right up to him.  “No men allowed.”

“I was invited in.”

“You better leave that one alone.  She’s desperate.  Ow,” Jax holds onto his chest where Dahlia smacked him.  “What?  Come on, that girl is.  She is so needy living out here all alone.  She gets fucking bored.”

“No.  Men.  Allowed, Ari.  Keep your grimy little…ew, haven’t washed your hands you disgusting asshole.  Get…get out of here!”

“You coming by my little humble cottage to stay?  Maybe we can smoke a little?  Chat?” Ari laughs, wiping his beard again, only to get hit by Dahlia.  “She’s like a little chihuahua, Teller.  I’m only joking,” he pushes her away with one hand when she tries to smack him again.  “She’s like a big chihuahua.”

“It’s not safe to talk here,” Jax reminds Ari.  “Especially not high.”

“Well, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future.  I’m only allowed to have one person on my crew.  But she has been very easy and forthcoming.  Easy, tiger.  My god, you know how I am,” Dahlia had heard all about Ari’s sexual prowess, and he was working it on her sister now.

“You keep your hands to yourself, Levinson.”

“She’s a big girl.  Let her have some fun.  Teller, loosen her up a bit.  Maybe she needs another good fuck on the bike.”

“Shut up, man.  We’ll see you after dinner.  We don’t stay here,” Jax nods his head at Ari as he walks towards the garage for his on property car.  “Babe, don’t take what that man says to heart.”

“He touched my baby sister.”

“And she needs to be touched.  Everybody wins here.  Keep your head on right.  Go on in.  I’ll be in your old room, you visit with Lav.  Sounds like she needs some tough love talk from you.  Let her have fun, but maybe remind her sex doesn’t equal love.  Not in this world.”

——

“No,” Jack answers, putting on his watch as he stares at his wife.  “I don’t like that dress.  Put on the black one.  And we’re not staying at your father’s house.  It smells musty there.  Nor do I want to be around the likes of Teller,” he looks at himself in the mirror, straightening out his hair before leaning back down to snort up another line of cocaine.

“No bra.  I like when you get cold, and your nipples point out,” Violet slowly closes her eyes as she reaches for the black dress that Jack had laid out of her.  Looking at her arm to see the tiniest healed mark.  Lotus helped keep it a secret.  He hadn’t discovered the implant.  She didn’t want children with him.

“And put on the Tom Ford perfume.  Last time you wore that Dior one, and it gave me a headache.  Never wear that again.  I left the jewelry I wanted you to wear out as well.  I heard Chuck was asking about your sister.  How much do you think she’ll cost?”

“I don’t know, dear,” Violet says walking out of the closet.  She is the perfect trophy wife.  She stands there, looks pretty, listens to everything she says, and lets him fuck her like an animal.

“I asked you not to call me that.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds, her voice devoid of any emotions.  “We should probably leave,” he pulls down the top to her black dress, exposing her completely.  “Jack.”

“I just wanted to look at you.  They’re perky, and pretty.  Mmm, if I could I’d make you take my cock in front of your family, so they could see how much I own you.  Let’s go,” he says, slapping her ass before pulling her dress back up.  “You know, I think I actually liked the navy one better.  This jewelry will still work with it.  Go ahead, change, but let me watch.”

“Yes, sir,” obedient, but sad.  Emotionless and going through the motions.  This isn’t at all how she saw married life.  Everyday used as a sex doll, and humiliated even when it was the two of them.  But Jack had paid a pretty price for her body, so now she is to be the trophy on his arm.  The one he got to show off in front of all his friends.  And she is but a vessel.

Magnus takes a puff of his cigar as he walks through the door.  Hearing a dramatic cough from his oldest daughter, “Daddy, my kids aren’t used to smoking.”

“My house.”

“My kids.  Either you put it out, or we leave,” no one ever goes against Magus’ words.  No one argues.  No one tells him what he will do.  Until Orchid had children.  He wanted her to marry August, she did.  August had taught her a lot of things.  Having a backbone was one of the many.

“Thank you,” she says when her dad lays down his cigar.  It was a disgusting habit.  “Tripp’s birthday is in a few weeks.  My baby is going to be four, can you believe it?”

“I’m sure August is ecstatic for having a boy to carry on his name.  Some of us were not so lucky.  Even though we tried.  Tried lots of times.  August, my boy,” Magnus leaves her side to shake August’s hand.  Ignoring Carys completely, even though she is in his arms.

Flashbacks of the many times her father had ignored her flow through her head.  Carys reaches a hand up to August’s mouth, and he kisses over it.  Looking down at her quickly before continuing on with the conversation.  August would never ignore her.  And August was not Magnus.  She reminds herself by picking up their son, needing to touch his chubby cheeks.  

“Daddy, we should eat,” Violet says out loud, grimacing when her hand is squeezed by her husband.  Her eyes look down at the floor, ashamed for speaking up.

“Where is my princess?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dahlia rolls her eyes, walking into the dining hall.  “She’ll make her grand entrance when we sit down.  She needs to be seen, and admired.  Let’s go,” she takes her seat with Jax, as far away from her father as possible, while the rest of the group follow.  

Magnus takes his seat at the head of the table, eyes looking towards the door when his youngest daughter bounces in, “Hey Daddy,” she gives him a kiss before reaching to grab her niece, “Hey, my darling angel.  You want to sit with me and Tripp?” Carys nods her head, loving any moment she gets to spend with her aunt.  

“Daddy, can I get clearance to go to a museum tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll have Tyler bring you some more art supplies here.  Just give him a list of what you need.”

“But Daddy…”

“I said no,” his hand slaps on the table, and Lavender looks down at Carys, trying to fake a grin, but is embarrassed all the same.  “I’m glad we’re all here.  It was high time we spent some time together.  Especially you, Dahlia,” it was best not to engage in his words.  Nothing good ever came from it.  She bites her tongue, her fingers digging into her husband’s thigh.  

“Eat,” he announces again, watching his family start to place food on their plate.  Missing how Jack is the one to make the plate for Violet.  While all her sisters are making their own plate, she waits for her new husband to put what he deems is the right amount for her to eat.  

“Daddy?”

“Not now, princess,” Magnus glares at his youngest daughter, who gives him a quick pout.  “What?”

“When do I get to be married?  Or date?  Or leave the mansion?  Or have a boyfriend?” Violet turns to look at her sister with her mouth agape.  Lavender had no clue how this worked.  She also thought this was a fairytale.

“I just want the big beautiful wedding, and someone to come home to me every night.”

“Princess, you’re too young.  Live a little,” she gives him a pout; her signature move with him, and it’s Orchid that clears her throat.

“There’s more to love than just a wedding, Lav.  I don’t like this talk at the dinner table.  This always ends in an argument, and if that happens my kids and I going to the bedroom.  They are hungry.  And they will eat.  And that is the end of this conversation,” Orchid gives her youngest sister the sweetest smile she can muster.  “Marriage is a commitment.”

“Everyone else is married though!” Lotus rolls her eyes, starting to tap her fingers on the table.  “Don’t act like you and…”

“Enough!” She shouts at her sister.  “Eat your food, and listen to what Orchid says.  If you behave, I’ll make sure you are brought canvases, and just remember, I have eyes everywhere.  How was your day laying in the sun in your new bikini?”

“It was fine,” Lavender lies.  Nick told on her.  It wasn’t her fault.  She was bored out of her mind and Ari was sexy, and paid attention to her.  And he made her feel so good.  Eventually he would have sex with her, and then she could marry him.  They would see.  They would all see.

“It’s always a joy coming here,” Dahlia smarts, kicking her leg over to Lavender.  “I’ll come by and see you this summer.  Wouldn’t want you to stay all alone,” Magnus lets out a groan.  The idea of Dahlia infiltrating his sweet Lavender’s mind was not something he wanted.  But he wanted a nice meal even more.

Dinner becomes mostly quiet until Magnus scoots his chair back abruptly, “I have to leave.  Lav, I’ll have some art supplies sent to you abruptly.  Stay out of trouble.  I’ll be back in a month.”

“A month?” Lavender complains when he walks out the door.  “While I am here by myself forever and for all eternity.”

“A dramatic little brat that…” Jack’s hand moves to Violet’s leg, and she stops immediately.

“We should be leaving, too.”

“It’s late,” Orchid stands to walk towards her son.  Picking him up from his chair, and kissing over his head.  “Violet has her own living space here.  You can leave in the morning.”

“We’re good tonight.  Violet sleeps better in her own bed.  I also have an early morning, and I don’t feel like commuting, everyone have a wonderful day.  Violet, to the car.”

“Yes, sir,” while she heads towards the door, without hugs from her sister, Jack bows his head towards the Romanos, following behind her.  

“I don’t like that prick,” Jax grunts.  “What happened to her personality?”

“She’s in love, and married,” Lavender tries to argue.

“You are a child.  That is not love.  That is control.”

“Yep, that’s my cue.  August, get Carys, we’re going to bed,” Orchid heads on up to her room, with August and both kids, while Lavender glares at Jax.

“I’m sorry to burst your fantasy bubble, but that’s not happiness.  That’s not a fairytale.  If you don’t see that, then you never knew your sister.  He was supposed to marry Dahlia.  What did she do?  She ran away and married me.  Everyone else will coddle you, but not me.  The reality is, if you’re on this path, you’re next to be married.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Jax snorts, standing up.  There was no talking to her.  “Remind me of how good that is when you don’t get to decide who you have sex with.  When you’re told who you will marry and who you will have children with.  Tell me it’s good when you’re laying on your back, getting pumped full of cum from saggy wrinkly balls.  That is your future.”

“Jax, that’s enough,” Lotus’ pinches the bridge of her nose.  While she agrees that Lavender needed a reality check, she was in the perfect position to get everyone what they wanted.

“No!  She needs to understand that this isn’t some fucking game.  Well, it is this big chess game.  You just need to realize what the queen is.  Live in your fantasy world in this big castle in the middle of nowhere.  But don’t expect the rest of us to.  Orchid and August were a one in a million thing.  Lotus isn’t allowed to get married because she’s too valuable to the family.  Because what you saw tonight, that’s your future.  A woman with no voice and no agency.  I’m going to bed.  Dahlia?  You staying or leaving with me, babe?”

“Leaving.  Lavender, open your eyes, sweetheart.  Jax would never lie to you.  Neither would I.  Ask Lotus.  We’re pawns.  We’re not queens.  Goodnight, baby girl.”

Lavender sighs as she leans back in her chair.  Arms crossing over her chest as she looks at Lotus, “You going to tell me how stupid I am?”

“Stupid for letting a stranger see you naked.  Stupid for letting the stranger in the house.  Know what game you want to play before you decide to jump in and hope for the best outcome.  Sissy, you’re playing a game that you don’t understand.”

“I shouldn’t trust, Ari?” Lotus sees just how young her sister is.  Even for a twenty year old.  She had no life experience.  Was kept locked away from any normalcy, and was stunted because of it.  “I liked him.”

“Just be careful with who you invite in.”

“You’re not telling me I shouldn’t trust him though.”

“Now you’re getting it.  Go to bed.  I won’t see you tomorrow, because I’ll have to leave early to get into work,” she walks over to her sister, giving her sister a kiss on her head.  Turning to walk to her bedroom.  She had given Lavender enough for this evening.  Give her something to ponder while she lays awake at night, and hopefully get her head out of the clouds.

“Lo?” Lotus turns back to look at her baby sister, wishing that life could be a bit different.  “Do you love Nick?”

“You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”

“That’s not what I asked.  So do you?” a blind person could see that she and Nick were too close for business partners.  But Lotus would deny it until the bitter end.  “Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t marry him?” Lotus shakes her head no, “Violet isn’t the only one that listens to Daddy.”

“Go to sleep, princess.  Learn to have your voice that isn’t controlled by a man.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Next

Masterlist

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[hirokari]

hurts twice as hard.

p: chat noir!jaemin x gn!reader | g: angst, fluff in the end, chat noir!jaemin, superhero!AU, best friends to more | wc: 1.5k | a/n: i watched the miraculous ladybug movie with sunny and im obsessed with chat noir now

“Kitty!”

Na Jaemin’s heart might just jump out of his chest at the cheery tone in your voice as you call out to him. Gingerly– yet not too quick to seem calm– he hops down from the rooftop of your apartment, landing on the railing of your balcony.

Usually you’d call out and tell him to be careful, but you know very well now that he’s capable of landing on his own two feet; even from six storeys up.

“You caught me,” Purrs Jaemin as he slides down to your height, leaning against the metal barrier. Smiling, you fold the corner of a page of the book you’d been reading and set it down on the slightly worn out velvet armchair you’d dragged out to the balcony after coming across it in a garage sale just a few months ago.

“On patrol, I see?”

“Not exactly,” Admits Chat Noir, the small golden bell on the neckline of his suit jingling a little as he takes in the sight of the dimly lit city. “Just came by to check in on you.” Feigning shock, you press a hand against your chest and fake a gasp, “Oh, am I finally rubbing off on you, Chat Noir?”

He chuckles, boyish and charming as he shrugs, a warm breeze brushing through the air as he looks to you. “Maybe.”

At that moment, as you meet eyes with the city’s mightiest hero, you spot something behind his mask– a spark. One resembling content and something you can’t seem to recognize. You don’t find it in yourself to look away because you’d already had these kinds of moments with him many instances before, though something about him now seemed different. Seemed more… daring and sure.

The hero tears his eyes away from yours, letting out a shaky breath as he stands upright from his leaning position, his elbows no longer folded over the railing.

“I have something to confess.”

“Hm? You can tell me anything,” You pause. “Except your identity, I suppose,” You can’t help but jest.

Jaemin lets out another small laugh, but it sounds nervous.

“I believe we’ve known each other for quite some time now, yes?”

Wordless, you nod in response, watching the hero fiddle with the belt of his suit.

“I just want you to know that… I won’t always be a superhero to you. I mean, I don’t want to be.” Jaemin runs a hand through his hair. Your brows furrow at the lack of flirt or charm in his tone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t just want to be a hero with you. I don’t want to be a world-renowned celebrity, or-or a man quick to save the city. I want to be someone who you know looks out for you. Some guy in a stupidly tight suit who likes to crack stupid cat puns in the worst times. A boy with some freakish cat-ability-powers you can call a friend.”

Because that’s what he is in the end, isn’t he? Still just a boy. A boy who’d made the choice of sacrificing so much to save the world.

“Kitty,” You say quietly as you ascend from your seat on the velvet cushion. Letting your fingers trail, your touch travels from the cold material of the balcony railing to the warmth of his fingers, and you let them rest on top of his fist.

“I know you’re a superhero, and everything, and you probably have a lot of other special people you tend to more than you should with me, but,” You look out to the city– the city which is safe, thanks to the superhero you speak with now. “You mean a lot to me. More than a citizen should feel towards a superhero. More than admiration, or gratitude, or respect– or pride.”

When Jaemin turns his head to look at you, he can’t help but tense when he meets your already watching gaze. “You’re a great companion to me, Kitty.”

With a somersaulting stomach and two hot cheeks, Jaemin whispers something so quietly under his breath, you think you misheard him.

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

“Wh-at?”

Your voice breaks involuntarily. Jaemin suddenly stands upright, his chest puffing out as his hands grip the sides of your arms. He looks at you with a new intensity, something along the lines of what you might believe is love, but you refuse to actually admit it.

“Kitty… I can’t love you. You-you can’t love me.”

“Why not? Have I not been this whole time? What other reason could I have to visit you and protect you and keep your company for if not love?”

“I don’t know– why me? Why now? Why when you’d save a life at the expense of yours? You can’t expect me to have the strength to love you when your life is at risk everyday, Kitty.” Your hands, now shaky, grip Jaemin’s and press more into the skin of your arm. Your skin is hot, burning against his touch.

“You can learn– we can learn. I can guarantee a safe return every time.”

You shake your head, thumbs caressing and grazing the back of his hands as he grows more desperate, his forehead leaning and pressed against yours.

“There’s… someone else.”

His heart drops to his stomach. Jaemin, swallowing a thousand words wished to be said thickly, heaves a heavy breath through his nose, his forehead not leaving yours. “May I know who?”

“...I suppose that’s the least I owe you.” Finally pulling away from his touch, the absence of his warmth sends goosebumps throughout your arms as you shiver and wipe your hands up and down your skin with crossed arms.

“But you promise not to blackmail me or anything?”

“That’s immoral for a hero to do,” Jaemin laughs, though it sounds a bit bitter.

Your stomach feels like it’s eating itself at the hero’s sour behavior.

“Don’t fall in love with your best friend, Chat Noir.” You sigh, fisting a handful of your shirt as you stare out. “It’ll be the death of you. Caring for someone so much you feel it might scare them off– loving him so hard you want to cry.” You tell him, quick and loud. And swiftly, under your breath, you groan: “God, Na Jaemin, you’re such a pain in the ass to be in love with.”

“Na Jaemin?” Jaemin repeats, slightly bewildered. “You-you mean, the guy that attends your college?”

You give the hero a surprised look for just a split second, before nodding, “Of course you know him. It’s your job to know everyone, isn’t it?”

“I… guess. I just happen to know that guy off the top of my head.”

Holy shit, Jaemin thinks he might just crash right then and there. He’d just gone through a rejection, heartbreak and probably what he considers the most joyous moment of his life within a short span of time. He doesn’t know how to act– what to say, or what to do.

More specifically: he doesn’t know if he should reveal the fact that you are in love with him, Chat Noir, who’d just confessed his heart’s contents to you.

Watching you, watching your lips move as you tell him more about him, he wishes time could stop then and there. There’s a tiredness in your eyes as you think about him– he wishes he hadn’t drained you so much, although he had no idea you’d felt this way towards him. You stop speaking, breathing heavily due to speaking so much about why not to fall in love with your best friend, mumbling something along the lines of his superhero name– he can’t focus enough to know.

“I’ll see to it that he is safe and protected. After you, of course.” Says Jaemin, standing in a firm stance. There’s a silence that sits between you two for a moment, before you’re rushing to wrap your arms around his torso tightly, face buried into his neck.

“Thank you, Kitty,” You croak.

And in that moment, with Jaemin wrapping his arms around you tighter, tucking his nose into you to breathe in your scent, he elects to keep his promise.

See to it that he’s safe and protected. Unharmed. Unscathed. Na Jaemin will return from every villain attack totally clean of any injuries– because Chat Noir or not, he knows you care for him enough to kill him if he were ever to get hurt. And that’s enough love to receive from you for now. He supposes he’ll deal with his feelings for you as Na Jaemin just a little later, and assure you that loving him so hard it hurts you will turn out to be worth it. 

Na Jaemin would like to think loving you hurts twice as hard; because he’d been rejected as one identity that’d loved you, and the other had always been too scared to admit his feelings to you. Not anymore, though, no. As soon as the sun of the next dawn rises and Chat Noir bids his goodbye to you with a chaste kiss to your open palm, Na Jaemin will love you like there’s no tomorrow.

a/n 2: boooo this is so rusty and rushed im so sry its like 1AM bear with me

© hirokari, 2023

[radioactive-earthshine]

Truck or treat~ 🧛

Hope you have a lovely spooky night!

🧛��♀️ A TREAT! 🎃

Here is more of the KonBart unpublished "coming back to life blues" fic.

Enjoy!

👻

Inside the barn loft was a magical place. It was for Clark when he was a teenager almost 30 years ago and it was to Kon too. Fairy lights hung on the unfinished ceiling casting them in a soft yellow glow while outside silver stars glittered. There was an old old old hide-a-bed type couch pushed against the wall that looked like it was from the 80s and it likely was. Kon wasn’t bothered by sitting on it though and he watched amusedly as Bart explored the loft. 

“Dude this place is cool! How come you never showed me this?! Hey, izzat that a telescope?!” Bart was at the window and his eye was pressed to the eyepiece before Kon registered the question. 

“Yep, belonged to Clark back when he was our age.” 

“Woah… I can see the neighbor’s farm!” Bart said with a grin but then it suddenly  fell as he pulled his face away from the telescope. “Maybe I can see a little too much of the neighbors heh. Guess no need for curtains when you’re this rural. You said this was Clark’s?” 

Kon made an awkward grimace and he did not want to think about the more creepy implications of that telescope. “I’m sure he was looking at the stars, Bart.” 

“Do you think you can see Krypton’s star?” Bart suddenly asked as he sat next to Kon, the couch was worn down from decades of use and he fell a little deeper into the couch than he expected but righted himself almost instantly. 

“Krypton’s star?” Kon repeated and he looked out the window towards the dark. “I’m not sure.” 

“Well Krypton was from our galaxy so you might be able to find its star. Do you think that’s why Clark has the telescope? Was he looking for where he came from?” 

“That’s… a good question. I really don’t know,” Kon admitted and he thought about Clark. He thought about him at his age, feeling alone and scared of his forming abilities, knowing he wasn’t human but also feeling so connected to humanity because it was the only thing he knew. He imagined him worrying if he was a threat, if he was always going to be loved, if he was going to be rejected the second he was found out that he was an alien, and finally he imagined him looking through that telescope to see if he could find something to latch onto to make it all make sense. 

Kon wondered if while Clark had all those feelings did he also feel guilty about having them because he was loved. 

“You asked me how I just accepted not feeling like I belonged.” Bart’s voice carved Kon away from his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” Kon sighed. “Out of all my issues being a clone and all the shit-terrific things I’ve been through, I never felt like I didn’t belong here. How did you do it?” 

Bart stared out that window as he answered him and his voice was weighted. “I admit, it never really bothered me. I always knew that no matter what, I’d be the speedster that just didn’t fit with the others. I’m not supposed to be here Kon, I was born one thousand years in the future to two families that should never have met, and I should have died twice before even coming here! I’m like a red sprite in a lightning storm. I’m an anomaly that just showed up that people had to deal with. I’m weird and because of that I am never going to belong, really. No matter what I do, no matter how much I try to conform, even if I read the entire contents of the San Francisco Library will I make myself fit better.” 

“So that’s why you-” 

Bart cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It didn’t bother me until I started seeing people not believe in me. I got tired of people thinking I was stupid and I tried to make myself be someone they all wanted me to be and I’ll be honest, it fucking sucked!” 

Kon suddenly felt guilty for all the times he called him an ‘idiot’ or a ‘nimrod’, but before he could even try to apologize Bart kept talking. “When you died Kon, it really made my whole earth shake, you know? It made me really start thinking about myself, where I wanted to be, who I was and then… BAM, there I am dead as dead can get too. Well, for a speedster anyway.”  “Being dead sucks by the way,” Kon revealed even though he didn’t remember much of anything. Only a vague feeling of contentment and loneliness.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: death, violence, guns, implied abuse references, trafficking references, abduction, past attempted murder, murder, addiction

AO3 link

Chapter 34 - Jesper

“Jeluna,” Inej repeated, frowning, “It doesn’t ring a bell,”

Nina was standing in front of the closed door to Inej’s room, her hair - usually always worn loose so it fell just over her shoulders - tightly plaited and her favoured outfit of dark, deep pocketed trousers and some brightly coloured jumper or other replaced by a neatly pressed, creamy white blouse and a skirt that fell past her knees over long white stockings, as well as a pair of shiny black boots instead of her beaten up brown leather ones. It was distracting Jesper - it wasn’t that it didn’t look nice, Nina seemed to have the ability to pull off just about anything she wore, but it just made her look not quite like herself. She wasn’t comfortable, he didn’t think, in the tight cuffs of the button down or the almost schoolchild-esque pleats of the skirt. She looked like one of the women in the University or Zelvar Districts, working front desks or accounts or correspondence. And when Jesper had thought that, he realised what it was that he actually thought, why he felt like something wasn’t quite right. Nina looked disturbingly Kerch. 

“Does she have a stage name?” he asked, “Maybe it would be easier to hear word of her that way,”

“Not that I’ve heard of,” Nina shrugged, “But she’s not been reported missing. I’ve not heard a word about it, even at the White Rose,”

“She won’t be,” said Inej, shuffling between her pillows to readjust herself, “Not until it’s already too late,”

“Tara and Amethyst-”

“The Leopard has been the most popular attraction at the Menagerie for months,” Inej shook her head, “And Amethyst was at the Sweet Shoppe for longer than anyone. I’ve heard rumours that Rollins took a liking to her; she was absent once before, a few years back, so I heard. Popularly believed he took her out of the city,”

Jesper frowned - he could bring an image of the girl to mind himself, but the missing descriptions had described her as in her early twenties. Twenty three, Kaz had said. 

“People noticed they were gone,” continued Inej, “Will anyone notice Jeluna?”

You know a girl from West Stave died in a similar pattern last month? From a smaller house, didn’t get much notice. 

“How old is she?”

Nina shrugged. 

“I only saw her once or twice; our age, a touch younger? Not old,”

Inej murmured something in Suli, and Jesper saw Nina glance away. He didn’t ask what she’d said. Even though it was probably just a prayer, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. A minute passed. 

“One other thing,” Nina was looking at him now, not Inej, “They want me back at the Van Eck house tonight,”

Jesper felt his shoulders stiffen involuntarily. He hadn’t seen Wylan in almost two weeks, the last he’d heard of the kid being the information Roeder gave Inej and she, in turn, passed on to Jesper the other day. Wylan was at a boarding house a short way South of here, he’d got a job at a tannery in the Warehouse District, and no-one ever saw him anywhere else. Jesper drummed his fingers against his knee, finding dissatisfaction at the attempt to lay against his guns and finding the sad little pistols sitting in his belt. He didn’t want to ask Kaz for his revolvers back, but he knew he’d crack before Kaz did and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Maybe he should just stop bothering. He needed a drink. 

“What does he want?”

Nina shrugged, playing with the end of one of her plaits. 

“I don’t know. Are you on shift tonight?”

Nope. 

“I’m at the Crow Club, but I might be able to slip out for a while - what time?”

“Ten bells. I don’t know how long it’ll be though, I could talk to Kaz…”

Jesper tightened his hand briefly in and out of a fist. 

“No, it’s fine. I can go with you,”

He felt Inej’s eyes on him and rolled his shoulders, trying not to meet her gaze. 

“Do you think he knows Wylan’s alive?” she asked into the growing silence.

Growing silence amongst the three of them, anyway; the rowdy shouts and cheers and arguments of the Slat were of course still leaking through the walls and floor. Jesper was pretty sure he’d just heard Pim’s voice next door, not long after Anika’s words had drifted through the air. 

“He must do,” said Nina, “Or at least suspect, surely it was reported back to him that he jumped into the canal and they couldn’t find him?”

“It’s a miracle he made it back out again,” Inej shook her head, “Those waters are dangerous enough for people who can see where they’re going; I don’t think it would be unreasonable for Van Eck to assume he drowned out there,”

She had a point. Jesper still wasn’t sure how Wylan had managed it; how far he’d had to swim, how long he had been stuck out there, how he’d made his way back to dry land. He hadn’t shared the full story in the short time they had together before Jesper went and fucked everything up, but the bruises on his neck had been telling enough. 

“You Tailored Wylan last time, right?”

Nina nodded. 

“It’s probably just Tailoring again; new young wives don’t stay young and pretty forever,”

“She’s about twenty,” said Nina. 

“So two years too old,” Inej murmured, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s all it is, you know. But stay wary, be sensible. You don’t know what he’s capable of,”

“I think we know exactly what he’s capable of, Inej,” Nina shook her head, “That might be half the problem,”

A moment dipped back into quiet as it rolled by, before Jesper ventured:

“Should we tell Kaz? About Jeluna?”

“I don’t know,” Nina hesitated, “Maybe. What are the chances he can do anything?”

“What are the chances he can do something but won’t bother?”

No-one answered Inej’s quiet question. 

Jesper watched Nina fidget with her sleeve for a minute before anyone said anything else. She glanced at her watch. 

“I’d better go,” she said, “I’m on my way to the courthouse, I just wanted to update you first - and check in on your leg, Inej,”

So that was why she was dressed like this. Jesper searched briefly through the few things he knew about Nina’s battle with the slow-but-surely-violent killer that was the Kerch legal system; he couldn’t remember her boy’s name, a Fjerdan, a year older than Nina - an ex-Drüskelle in on what she claimed were false charges. He couldn’t help but question what possible charges a Drüskelle couldn’t be considered guilty for, but he bit his tongue. For the sake of avoiding a pointless argument, for the sake of letting Nina just live her life, and for the sake of not being an idiot who gave himself away. 

“Good luck,” Inej smiled softly. 

“I’ll need it,” Nina half laughed, “If it’s the same judge I met last time you’d best pray for my restraint not to burst his heart in two,”

“Nina,”

“I’m joking,” she promised her, then with a wink at Jesper: “Violence only if absolutely necessary,”

*

It was definitely a strange feeling, loitering around the Geldstraat late at night, waiting for Nina to re-emerge. Jesper kept himself in the shadows near a side street, hoping it was late enough and he was out of view enough that none of the fine citizens of the area would pick up on his very clearly out of place appearance. Nina was actually quite a lot quicker than he’d expected her to be, but it still felt like a long time standing around; alone, somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, with nothing to do. He fidgeted with his sad little pistols. He was itching for a hand of cards. He checked his watch. Nina had been gone for about twenty minutes. Jesper needed to pull himself together. 

He studied the front of the Van Eck mansion opposite him in the dark. Flowers grew up the trellises either side of the front door, but the night was too thick to be able to make out what type of plant they were from this distance, and two potted trees stood sentinel, guarding either side of the gate. There were no candles burning in any of the front windows except the one farthest to the right - surely not the master bedroom from this position, Jesper expected that would look over the gardens, but perhaps someone’s guest room? Wylan had no siblings - yet - so other than a guest Jesper wasn’t sure who could be in there at this hour, not unless the servants’ cleaning rotas went on well into the night. Maybe they did. 

He wondered which window was supposed to be Wylan’s - or if that would be round the side or back of the house. That might make more sense, to have a nicer view of the fancy gardens, the private dock, the picturesque canal. It was just about the only canal in the city you could describe as picturesque, but once you were here looking at it that didn’t seem to bother you anymore. Even if you knew what the rest of the city looked like, even if you’d spent your time here wading through its slums, you could stand here and look at the canal, and you could think that it was pretty. It was pretty enough that, even for a very brief moment, you didn’t care about the rest of it anymore. That was how it got you. 

Yes, he thought, Wylan’s window was probably round the side of the house. Then: Why the fuck do you care? 

Too many answers came unbidden, and Jesper tried to stamp them out. He checked his watch again. Not even five more minutes had passed. 

When Nina did return, only about ten minutes after that, it was with a furious march in her step and fire burning in her cheeks. Her hair was still in its tight plaits, though a few strands had come loose, and the sour mood she’d been in after the courthouse had clearly only worsened. She yanked off her fake kefta as soon as she reached Jesper, shoving it over her arm to carry and shaking out the neckline of the blouse she was wearing beneath as though she’d overheated. He opened his mouth but she barely seemed to notice she was there, and kept walking without a word so he was forced to hurry after her.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, and just kept striding on. 

Jesper followed. The Geldstraat shrank behind him, continuing to shimmer in the distance, and as they made their way back to the Barrel and parted ways to West and East Stave, Jesper felt strangely discomforted by the knowledge that it was still behind them, shimmering prettily on in the dark. Picturesque. 

[thearchmanofgreenfield]

Night fell on the City of Hatlynshire. Just as the moon rose above the skyline and Bellmont, the city clock tower, chimed at the strike of nine Anna found herself feeling quite bored. She was but thirteen years old yet sitting in a bar having a chat with the bartender, whose name was Brutus but everyone just called him Bon.

“Do you seriously believe she’s coming Anna?” asked Bon as he served a regular customer.

“I do believe so, my sister doesn’t break promises” said Anna, but then she paused. “At least, not that much”

“Well I hardly doubt some of the patrons here would find it fitting that a young lass is sitting in a bar alone. And I’m sure calling you my daughter would be too far a stretch” said Bon.

Anna knew what he said was true. Bon was a tall and fit man with black hair and thin moustache. He had a wide chest and strong arms. Meanwhile Anna had ginger hair and had a round face with a body thinner than what most would assume was normal for her age. She wore a slightly worn brown coat over her red long sleeve dress with long but thin skirt. She had small red sunhat with a brown strip and a purple rose made of cloth which was an odd thing to wear at night but she only did it because she despised bonnets with a passion.

“You know I have every right to be here. Who cares what you human customers say. Besides, even if you told me to leave I would just give a complaint to Mr. Howards” she said while toying with an empty glass. Bon gave a smile and a small chuckle at here passive threat.

“Like Howards would care if you filed a complaint. He’s too busy a posh snob to give a care what we mere peasants say”

“Well maybe I have more influence on him than you think. After all, my sister works with him after all. Dispatching of all the nuisances on the street so he doesn’t have to waste he own Circulion soldiers” said Anna circling here finger in front of the glass. The glass then began to move and soon it lifted itself off the ground and hovered about an inch from the surface of the counter. Bon quickly reacted and grabbed the glass and put it away before anyone saw. He raised his eyebrow at Anna, an expression Anna perceived as a warning.

“What have you been told about using your abilities in public, huh?” he whispered.

“Oh, don’t worry. It was just an inch. Nobody noticed. And besides, I have to keep practicing every once in a while or I’d lose my focus” said Anna not taking what she did as a serious offense.

“Well I suggest do your ‘practicing’ in the Hamlet. No here” Bon whispered back while gesturing towards the hallway behind the behind the bar leading to the backdoor. A door that led to a secret side entrance to the Hamlet.

He then straightened himself and went back to serving patrons, He then continued to talk casually as though nothing had happened.

“And about your sister, you don’t think she can go on forever do you? Howards knows aiding rogues is against the rules. And when your sister becomes less useful or dead. He’ll just pretend like he never knew her or her band of vigilantes”

Anna went silent. She knew what Bon said was right. Her sister, Caroline, was a rogue. She was not a regular Circulion soldier. Nor did she ever want to be. She had found that her favored brand of just came by hunting down the Hunters herself with no rules to hold her back. She had assembled a small band of rebellious people like her and they ran missions hunting down those who sought to kill Circulions. Mr. Howards, the Lesser Noble in charge of Anna’s home, Anatoli Hamlet, had originally tried to stop her. But her actions had protected the Hamlet costing Howards no expense. So he eventually agreed to turn a blind eye every time Caroline did something questionable. Anna wished she could join Caroline’s group, who called themselves the Nighttime Crows, but Caroline had forbidden her from doing so even though she knew Anna’s thirst for revenge was as strong hers.

But more than her wanting to join her sister, part of Anna wanted her to come home and be safe in the Hamlet. But she knew convincing Caroline was fruitless argument. Anna knew she would rather die than cower under the sheets as Hunters tore apart her family again.

Just as Anna was pondering those feelings she heard the bell above the door ring meaning that someone had come into the bar. She looked at the new patron, she hoped it would be her sister but no. In walked a man wearing a dark coat and a bowler hat. Anna looked closer and realized she recognized the man. He was one of the Nighttime Crows.

“They’re here. That means Caroline must be nearby”

She was about to approach the man when she saw a second man coming into the bar behind the first man. She couldn’t see the second man’s face for it was obscured by a hood and top hat. All she saw was a glimpse of the man’s cheek. It was pale white and looked cold as stone. The man quickly draped his hood above his head and took a seat facing the table where the Nighttime Crow sat.

“That’s an Angel-face” thought Anna knowing that no even humans had skin that pale. She watched cautiously as the two men stood on either side of the bar. The Nighttime Crow didn’t even order anything and neither did the Hunter. Anna gestured towards Bon and when he came she pointed to the man with the hood. Bon’s eyes widened when he realized who the man truly was.

“Is that?” he whispered to Anna’s ear.

“Yes, and that one is with my sister. I think they’re in the middle of a job”

Bon reached down from the counter in order to grab the revolver he kept there. But he didn't pull it on the Hunter just yet. Instead he and Anna both observed this tensely as the two men did nothing.

“Why is he waiting?” Anna wondered.

Just then, the Nighttime Crow raised his hand and gestured towards the bartender. Bon immediately went to him to take his order. Bon then came back to the counter and began preparing a drink.

“It’s best you leave, this might get ugly” he said quietly to Anna as he squeezed lemon into a glass of gin.

“No, I want to see where this goes. I want to know if Caroline’s here” said Anna. Bon realized arguing with her was useless so he just took his glass of gin and served it to the Nighttime Crow. The Hunter didn’t order anything, instead just waiting silently.

The Crow finished his drink quickly. Anna heard the rattle of coins as he dropped money on the table and stood up. The Hunter too stood up at the same time. The Crow swiftly walked through door and disappeared into the streets. The Hunter too quietly walked along and followed him.

Anna quickly got out of her chair and she stated walking to the door hoping to follow the men.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” asked Bon noticing her leave the counter.

“I’m following them. Don’t worry I’ll be sure to keep my distance” said Anna casually, a tone Bon didn’t appreciate.

“No! You could get yourself killed. And I don’t want to have to deal with your sister’s wrath”

“You’re right” said Anna realizing that going in defenseless wasn’t a good idea. “Give me your gun” she said.

“What? NO!” said Bon in outrage.

“What? Don’t worry, old friend. I bring it back. I promise” said Anna. “Unless of course you want me to go without it”

Bon must have realized he was in no winning situation. So he took his revolver and slid it silently across the counter where Anna quickly took it and shoved it into her coat.

“Thanks a lot old chap!” she said giving Bon a wink before bolting out the door. And Bon was left pondering why he let her stay in his bar in the first place.

Outside, Anna entered onto the stone sidewalk next to the street. Above her was a sign that read The Anatoli Café. She had seen the man turn right before the door had closed so that’s the direction she took.

She walked quietly along the streets which were near empty aside from the occasional stray cat. The houses on either side of the road were packs together like a wall. Some still had light coming from the windows. But Anna knew that it was around this time of night that the Hunters roamed. She could remember hearing gunshots in the distance every few nights from her room in the Hamlet and every day the newspapers simply reported it as ‘gang violence’.  And it was oh so convenient that there were never any living witnesses to these crimes that could prove them wrong.

She walked along the streets, looking for any alleyways or small lanes. She kept looking until suddenly she heard a vice from in front of her. The closer she went the more it sounded like a discussion.

“I heard some of your men burned down a Circulion orphanage a few days ago…” said a voice judgmental tone.

“Is that true...?”

Anna knew that voice. It was her sister's. She quickened her pace and turned and nearest alleyway to her. And there she saw it.

Six people each holding either a revolver or a rifle. All pointing at the Hunter, who was surrounded on all sides in the middle of the alleyway.

Anna sister Caroline stood in front of the Hunter. She too had a ginger hair and a round face like Anna. But she wore an all-black coat with a bowler hat and black gloves. She was telling the Hunter something but she immediately stopped when she saw Anna’s shadow appear behind the Hunter. She turned her head and her eyes widened with shock when she saw Anna standing there.

“Anna, what are you… doing here?” she asked while still pointing a revolver at the Hunter. All the other Nighttime crows diverted there attention to her and Anna froze on the spot realizing that she hadn’t thought this through.

“I… well… I came…” she mumbled but before she could say anything  the Hunter had realized that attention of the Crows was elsewhere so he took his chance and bolted towards the street and towards Anna. He pointed his rifle at her but Anna felt like she couldn’t move. The Hunter’s mask which looked like an angel but with hollow eyes and a hollow mouth filled her with fear. She tried to reach for the revolver in her coat but her hands fell numb.

The Hunter pointed his rifle directly at Anna’s head but before he could shoot something struck him in the back and he fell over with a howl of pain. Anna looked and saw that it was Caroline. He walked closer to the Hunters with her hand hovering over her revolver’s barrel in order to deafen the sound. The Hunter turned around while lying on the ground and tried to reach for he fallen rifle. But Caroline shot him again and again to various parts of his body, her face stricken with deadly rage. He emptied her entire barrel on the Hunter and he fell dead on the ground. Caroline didn’t even flinch as she felt no remorse.

She then turned to Anna and her anger somewhat subsided. He gave her a tight hug and examined her body to see if she was injured. But when she realized Anna was fine her rage came back.

“Oh Anna, what were YOU THINKING COMING OUT HERE PAST DUSK! You know the rules!”

“Not like you ever followed them” Anna thought remembering that it was Caroline who had taught her how to sneak past the rules.

“I was waiting for in Bon’s place and I saw your mark. I thought you might need my help” said Anna trying to come up with an excuse. She saw Caroline exhaled deeply in disappointment.

“And what were you doing in Bon’s place?” she asked. Now Anna was made mad at that remark.

“I was there because YOU said you would meet me there, remember? You said you wanted to talk!” she said while taking a step back from Caroline. Caroline gave her confused look as though she didn’t know what she was talking about. But then gasped slightly as the memory came and back to her. She then gave out another sigh.

“Damn it, you’re right. I did forget. And I apologize for it. But you have to go home now” she said.

“But can’t we do it now. I haven’t seen you in weeks!” said Anna. Caroline shook her head.

“I sorry my little Anne, but I can’t right now…” she gestured to the dead body behind her. But then she grabbed Anna’s cheek and grinned.

“How about tomorrow? I’ll come by the Hamlet. We can talk as much as we want then. I promise.” she said in a hopeful voice.

Anna felt like she couldn’t trust her anymore. But she nodded anyway. Caroline grinned and patted her on the shoulder.

“Good, now go home” she said softly and Anna reluctantly obliged. She turned away from her sister and started the long walk back to the Anatoli Café. By the time she reached and walked inside. Most of the patrons had left and Bon was pretty much the only one there.

“Oh Anna, your back!” Bon said in relief as he polished another glass.

Anna said nothing. She just felt disappointment. Caroline had broken so many promises. So many. Anna didn’t feel like talking to anyone at that moment, even to Bon. She took the revolver out of her coat and placed it on the counter and slowly made her way to the back door avoiding Bon’s concerned look. She sulked her way behind the counter and disappeared behind the back door of the Café.

Back to Contents- HERE

[enterpris]

An Education in Attraction, Chapter 5

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: It's spring when you start your Master's degree. As the flowers and leaves unfold, so too do your feeling for Gojo

Warnings: Light swearing (1x)

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

After class on Wednesday, you walk with Kuzume and Saito across the campus.

“I think we should try the Gyudon Restaurant this weekend,” you say. It had just opened and one of the other teachers at the Eikaiwa school had raved about it to you last week.

“Ooo and then we can go out for drinks after!” You’ve learned that Kuzume subscribes to a ‘work hard, play hard’ mentality about the trials of grad school. 

“Could you make it after your lesson?” Saito asks as the three of you cross the street.

Instead of another session in the library, your group wanders into the botanic gardens and settles near some hydrangea shrubs just putting their buds out. The spot is further in, where you can just barely see the path and pond through the greenery. The May sun is a gentle caress, warm and sweet on your face, and a soft breeze leaves ripples in its wake on the surface of the pond.

“I can make it for dinner, as long as we don’t stay out too late,” you say. “I haven’t started next week’s reading yet.”

"The next chapter is so long," Kuzume huffs, "and it's being assigned with two other sections! They could at least schedule them one by one."

"And there's more in Learning Theories," Saito adds. 

“Shit, I almost forgot about that. There’s so much to do.” 

You sigh. You're still getting back into the rhythm of being a student again, and even with your days planned out, it’s easy to get worn out. Between the sheer volume of reading assigned and planning lessons for your own students, each day is a little overwhelming. 

Kuzume leans back on her elbows and looks up at the foliage. “Maybe I should have stuck with just playing the guitar. I am not looking forward to all the music theory assignments I’ll have to grade.”

“All subjects have tons of grading,” Saito waves her hand. “At least you’ll have some practical learning to break things up. I’ll be scoring essays forever.”

“I think lesson planning takes way longer than grading. But at least you can recycle some lessons,” you say.

“That’s true.” Saito runs her fingers through the soft grass in front of her. "At least there's no group work in Learning Theories. I can’t believe the professors assign such a large Curriculum project in our first term-"

Kuzume gasps. "I haven't even asked you yet!" She faces you and stares at you intently. "How are things going with Gojo?"

“Um,” You're not entirely sure how to answer that question. Both of the times you’d worked together outside of class Gojo had acted rudely, but you’re hesitant to say so. Even though he was the one acting poorly, it would be embarrassing to admit how he’d treated you. In class on Monday and Tuesday you’d resolutely ignored him, and you had resolved to work solo as much as possible to avoid any further insult. You look down at the grass to buy yourself a couple seconds to think.

 "He hasn’t really wanted to talk much. It hasn’t been going as well as I’d hoped." 

Saito's eyebrows raise. "Really?"

“Yea, he was honestly pretty rude the last time we met. He went out of his way to question my abilities and to tell me he’s finished two Master's already.”

"That’s awful! You wouldn’t think he’d need to show off with all he’s done.” 

"What else has he done?" You ask. 

“Maybe he just has a big head. I mean, if I was that gorgeous and smart too, I would be unstoppable,” Kuzume cuts in and laughs as the dappled sun falls on her face.

Saito answers your question. “He’s published a few papers and scientific studies. Gojo’s work is supposed to be pretty experimental and exciting, at least that’s what my father says. He’s a professor in the Physics department of the University and raves about Gojo’s work.”

Both girls are looking at you curiously now, and Kuzume's eyes shine as she leans towards you. They both seem to know a lot about him, and you feel behind. 

“His whole family are famous doctors and scientists. They’ve won awards and some have studied here. I think the University has a hall or something named in their honor.” Kuzume says. 

"Oh." You had no idea he'd done so much. You stare out through the branches at the water and reflect on what you know about him- admittedly it’s not a lot. He’s been aloof in your meetings and you haven’t really talked to him about anything outside academics.

“I didn’t know any of that,” you finish lamely. 

Kuzume and Saito look at each other. You are behind. The sun suddenly feels too warm on your face. A bird caws in the background and you hear another group of students walking past on the path- everything is grating on your nerves. 

“He’s just got a big reputation. He’s spoken on campus and at some of the other nearby universities in the past.” Saito says.

This is a lot to take in. You’d honestly figured Gojo just didn’t want to be paired with you, but if his academic prowess is common knowledge on campus, perhaps he wouldn’t want to be paired with anyone. Maybe he thinks I’m going to make him do all the work. You remember all of the fuss the first day of classes and things click.

“Wait, just how well known is he? Is that why people acted so wild on the first day?” If he’s getting hounded all the time or receives whispers every time he enters a room, you can see why he wouldn’t want to spend much time socializing. 

“Umm, well he’s pretty well known on campus. He completed one of his prior graduate programs here, so a lot of the professors are familiar with him.” Saito says. 

“And you’ve seen how handsome he is, so a lot of students know him too. He’s got kind of a reputation for being standoffish, but I was hoping you’d be able to get close to him with the project.” Kuzume frowns down at the grass.  

“God.” You lay back on the grass. At least you know more about your partner now- it should make working with him the rest of the term easier.

“No wonder he acts so weird.”

Kuzume and Saito laugh at that and the conversation drifts back to schoolwork. The workload of this particular program is more than any of you were really expecting, but the two girls beside you have made planning and studying bearable. You’re listening to your friends' complaints, but Gojo sits in the back of your mind like an itch you can’t quite reach. 

~*~

By the end of the week you are very ready for a break. 

You wake and go over your mental checklist for the weekend as you change and get ready. You’ve got to: finish another paper for Curriculum Design, read two more chapters in your Learning Theories class, and do an afternoon shift at the Eikaiwa school on Saturday. Sunday you've intentionally left unscheduled, hoping to catch some tv and let your brain rest. 

You trudge to class and gingerly slide into your usual seat next to Kuzume. Outside of the trip to the botanic gardens, you had reviewed course notes with her and Saito twice in the last week to keep abreast of all the assignments. She offers you a weak smile and you nod. You’re not the only one feeling drained from the weight of grad school responsibilities. 

Your professor enters and starts the lecture- today you’ll have a class discussion on workload expectations during the summer. It feels like an enormous topic to tackle on a Friday, and you hold in a sigh. 

Although there is a palpable tiredness in the room that wasn’t there at the beginning of the term, as you survey the room your classmates appear to be fully engaged in the professor’s description as she sets up the discussion. Gojo always seems to stand out. Besides his striking black outfits and ever-present shades, you've noticed he doesn't participate in class like your peers. He only shares if it's required, and neither lectures nor discussions seem to engage him. Not that you've been paying him any special attention.

You have noticed that he misses class a lot though. Besides being absent from half the first week, he's been gone from at least a class period the past two weeks as well. You're curious about how it will affect your project, even if you’re not writing with Gojo regularly. Usually schools don't allow this many absences. 

The professor concludes her introduction and gestures for the students of the class to share their experiences with summer homework. 

While extensive projects and assignments are commonplace during the short summer break in the Japanese school year, you rarely had anything to do over the summer except explore the neighborhood with your friends and wake up at 11am. Maybe you had a reading assignment due over the summer in high school, but it wasn’t really comparable to the in-depth learning common in the Japanese education system.

You’re likely the only one in the room who didn’t complete their high school in Japan.

Thankfully, your professor started on the opposite side of the classroom, so you have time to think. You comb your mind, trying to recall if there was ever a big, time intensive project you had to complete between grades. You're coming up blank. 

The first class you taught when you moved to Japan was during the summer. It's been years since you worked with that group, but you try to remember what students had said about their homework assignments. There had been complaints about book reports and worksheets. 

The man to your right just finished sharing his experience. You didn’t hear a word that he said and worse, you don’t have anything prepared for what you should say. The attention of the room has shifted to you already, so you’ll have to give it your best go. 

“Um, I don’t have personal experience with summer assignments. They aren’t very common in the United States between grades. Some parents do homeschooling, but most American students kind of take the summer off. It’s more play time than academic.”

Heat floods your cheeks. You can’t help but feel you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of the whole class. You swallow and turn to give your attention to Kuzume. She meets your eyes and gives you a small smile. It feels more like a lifeline. Her answer is an elegant recollection about a research project she completed in her third year of high school. 

The other students in the room finish sharing and your professor dives into details of the different kinds of assignments. You take some notes and resolve to ask Kuzume or Saito more about their experiences. The three of you had gotten close in these last few weeks.

Your mind is working, thinking about how else you can learn more about traditional summer assignments. You don’t even notice that Gojo’s gaze is stuck intently on you.

[chronicbeans]

Here's my Welcome Home OC: Pinkie Patience!

My self-imposed challenge was to design him using the pastel crayons and markers my bff bought me, so he looks like a little dork, and I love him! Also this is my first time trying to draw/design a puppet (besides Wally), so expect it to be poor- (feedback is always liked and welcomed OwO.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's a laid-back, chill neighbor who likes to play games with friends, relax, and eat delicious foods! Due to his disability/disabilities, which was/were never specifically named in the show, books, or any other media, he sometimes needs to take breaks or ask for others to accommodate for him to be able to join in on activities. While his condition or conditions were never named, some difficulties that have been mentioned or observed are difficulty swallowing, food allergies, joint pain, the use of leg braces and other mobility aids, and sensory issues, such as hypersensitivity to light and sounds.

He often worse glasses, which he mentioned helped with the bright light of the sun and lights inside his house, even though they were clear and not tinted. It is believed that the decision to keep his glasses clear was to allow children with poor eyesight to still be able to see his eyes well. His mobility aids were often bright and colorful. He also wore clothes that didn't quite match in colors, or was all one color. One instance, where he was asked about his clothing style, had him say "I dress more for comfort than appearance. I think my personality makes up for it, don't you?" He is also noted as the only character with colored eyebrows and that changed outfits often, regardless of weather conditions. He also has visible pink stubble on his chin, which a design note mentioned was to try to express being laid-back and relaxed in his physical design.

His segments usually included themes of patience, accommodation, and acceptance for peers with varying levels of ability. It tried to demystify some of the various aids that others may need, such as walkers, braces, wheelchairs and the likes to young kids, as well as show them some accomodations you might need to make to let them join in on activities. Pinkie also showed a very healthy level of self-confidence, mentioning how he sees his disabilities not as a burden, but as a little hurdle that he can and does overcome daily. In the rare times where he felt down about not being able to join what the others were doing, or feeling like he was ruining their fun by needing help, the others would cheer him up and tell him that he's always welcome to ask for help and that they would rather make the changes he needs to join in than exclude him. The others would also ask him for advice on what he needs, listening to it intently and doing everything that they can to help.

He was only shown in a couple of the episodes on television, mostly appearing in the books and other merchandise. There are a couple of theories as to why this could be. The main two are that changing out the various accessories, like his leg braces, which needed to be taken off when he was in a wheelchair and his wrist compression wraps which were only worn in episodes where he mentions having joint pain, was too taxing and difficult for the puppeteers, or that they were hard to puppeteer around. This could be because the accessories were usually made of plastic, while to puppet was felt and stuffing, which comes with the risk of ripping the puppet on a sharp, plastic edge.

The other theory was that parents felt that the themes of disability were too intense for the young target audience, so the channels they were broadcasting odd requested that he be taken out of the show. This stems from letters that were found, usually from the late 60s to early 70s, from angry parents upset by episodes including Pinkie, some even saying that him asking for accomodations was him bullying or bossing the others around and that he didn't actually need them. If this was true, the fact that he was still featured in books and merchandise could be the studio's way of still showing their support for people with disabilities, as well as making sure that children who connected with him didn't feel abandoned by his sudden disappearance from the show. Letters from children, most dated in the few months between his disappearance from the show and his slight higher presence in the books, mentioned how they missed Pinkie or related to him. Some even asked if he was okay or moved out of the neighborhood. It is possible the heightened presence of him in the merchandise could've been in response to the letters from those children.

[hdjamie]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 ! 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 // ~ 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 Jamie attends his formal interview …

Formal interview? The mere mention of formal has Jamie sweating. Nothing about Jamie is formal, or even can be formal. This sounds important though, so hoping it’s just a normal review of the evaluation, he puts on his barely worn, only slightly creased shirt and dress pants, brushes his hair, and arrives, surprisingly, right on time. He’s nervous, and it’s obvious in the way he can’t sit still in the few minutes he sits outside the interview room, waiting to be called. His knees bounce and he rubs his hands up and down his thighs, the repetitive feeling of mild burning as he creates friction between his palms and the material of his pants is surprisingly soothing. 

Then, after what feels like forever, Jamie’s called into the room and he takes his seat, making a very conscious and sustained effort to stop fidgeting. He plants his feet flat on the ground and wills them not to move for the entirety of the interview. The interview begins with a review of the group’s overall performance, and instantly Jamie relaxes. It all sounds better than he’d expected to hear, and he can’t keep the smile off his face. He’d enjoyed their performance—had genuinely felt like he was having fun throughout the entire thing, and he was glad that that energy had seeped out into those watching them. The more he’d practised the song, the more he wished he could debut with it, or a song like it. The upbeat sound just felt so right for him. He was filled to the brim with energy, and to be in a group that meant he could let it out like he’d been able to during Beatbox would be truly more than he could hope for. 

Yet that however kicks the smile off his face and reminds him where he is and what he’s here for. He nods, expression now much more serious as he listens intently. But, then the question is posed to him and Jamie stumbles over his thoughts for a moment, not expecting to be asked to speak. “Uh- I had a lot of fun with the performance, actually. It felt like a song that needed… genuine pep to get the energy across to the audience. But… there’s always room for improvement.” Jamie knows he’s nowhere near perfect, but he likes to think that that song had been the perfect fit for him to really show off what he’s good at. 

The individual results, however, leave Jamie stunned, mouth slightly open for a second, before he clamps it shut and swallows thickly, unsure of how he’s allowed to react. It’s hard not to smile, though he tries hard to bite it back, when his voice is complimented. If there’s one thing Jamie’s confident in, and proud of, it’s his voice. He’s put so much into honing his vocal abilities in the last two and half years, and it seems to be paying off. But then, they start talking about the survival show, and the pressure now on his shoulders. It’s good to know they think his efforts aren’t going to waste, but now, with eyes so focused on him, he can feel his stomach twist into nervous knots. 

We’re aware of your audition to Kiss Studios… Jamie feels just a tad feint at that, as if they’re about to scold him for disloyalty. But, the more he listens, the more clear it is that they’ll accept whatever decision he decides to make, and he’s almost certain that, through this conversation, and the assurance that they believe he’s doing well, he has potential, that he just needs to keep working hard, he’d made up his mind to stay at Wonder. His dream isn’t just to debut, he wants to debut with his best friend. He wants to debut with Mason, and if he decides not to stay at Wonder and partake in the survival show, then he’ll not debut with him. He’d known that auditioning may lead to him not debuting with Mason, but then he’d not been sure of his future at Wonder—if the higher ups there even saw potential in him. Now, though, he’s ready to fight to the death for a chance to debut with his best friend, as they’d always promised each other they would.

The anticipated evaluations marked a crucial moment to your character’s idol progression. Team A, B, and C, were slotted for the very first day of evaluations between over 30+ qualified trainees. With training reverting back to normal, your character, James Han, will receive an e-mail from Hydra Staff with the date and time for their formal interview. Dress code is business casual, and the interview place will take place in the Office Section of the building, led by Talent Consultant Jang Hei-ran and her team. They’ll be the ones relaying individual scores, remarks from personnel (CEOs, instructors, etc.), and as previously stated, providing next step strategies. It’s a hallmark moment that, admittedly, the company believes your character is ready for. The meeting will presumably last for half a hour or more, pending on dialogue.

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐀 will hear great remarks about the group’s teamwork, best overall within the six qualifying teams. “We were delighted to see a combined effort, the seven of you fit extremely well together. You were tasked with an upbeat hip-hop inspired track, and it was a uh, new genre our in-house producers were testing out. And there was a perfect synergy.” The compliment draws on and seems to be gearing towards that inevitable ‘but.’ “However, the overall mood should’ve been stronger in a lot of areas.” Heiran nods in agreement to her assistant’s words, having a few thoughts of her own and cuts in. “The team got us excited for the performance, and it showed you all were excited. How do you remember the performance?” The woman’s voice was pointed, yet her curled grin made her look pleasant at face value. A dichotomy between genuinely curiosity to know the trainee’s point of view, and accusatory, goading a response that could be neither right or wrong. “Hmm, let’s move forward to your independent results.”  

“The first impression we received was your energy level was very high, you were a secret weapon / component to your group. Vetted judges were especially pleased by the smoothness/consistency of your vocal range.” Heiran seems to conclude her thoughts by leaning back into her chair, so her assistant stepped in, “Your results means many things; first, being your eligibility for the upcoming survival show and personal vouch for your attendance. Wonder Nation believes in your potential within this project. We will comment on honing your skillset, the pressure will double now knowing the strengths of your vocal abilities; make sure to show your best sides. Now,” they flip over a few papers to the trainee’s Global Audition notes. “We are aware of your audition to Kiss Studios, and we’re not here to sway your choices. We want to assure you that you’ll be able to choose wisely between the two — however, we’ll need a final answer in a week from today. You can contact our Consultant Team for any and all inquiries. We sincerely wish you the best luck.”

This tasks is for James Han! Formal Interviews traditionally go over more overview notes (skillset critique), and the extended trainee contract to highlight the need for discrepancy. Your character is now a Debut Candidate under 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and will have access on to the backdoor entrance of the company building, allowed mostly for artists and staff. In order to complete the Debut Preparation Task, players will have to:

SOLO: Write a complete thread (300+ words) about your character’s second interview. Take into account the fact the results, potential debut news, feelings about meeting fellow contestants, potential label changes, and having to be on their best behavior. The interview will be between your character and two Hydra personnel in a private training studio located on the lower floors of Hydra’s main building. Earn 25 POINTSto increase any skill on their point page or choose to collect.

Be sure to tag threads with #hd:tasks & #hd:eval! The deadline for threads/point submissions is February 14, 2023. Please, do not post mod submission until thread is completed. The thread should be placed above the divider and under a ‘read more’ if not already placed.

[embbarnes]

Uh kind of a long reblog LOL I just had to go in depth with this one. So commentary under the cut!!

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, I suggest shutting the fuck up.” “He’s had a record number of seizures so far this week,” Caliban implores. “You’re barely standing upright. There’s a chance that she could help you both.” “She’s out of the question,” Logan spits before storming past him. He yanks the door open and slams it closed behind him as he steps into the late evening Mexico sun.

I can see this so vividly, this is such an in-character thing for Logan.

“If I exert too much energy at once, I feel the effects of it. Not enough to really hurt me, just.. leave me feeling like I need to sleep for a week,” you explain with a weak chuckle. Logan’s eyes are fixated on the way that your thumb soothes over the skin of the boy’s hand. “A gift that comes with a price,” Logan murmurs. “I know how that feels. Though it sometimes feels more like a curse in my case.” He instinctively glances down at his knuckles, his claws sheathed away. “I can see how it would feel that way,” you agree, glancing up at him with a soft expression. “But it’s not what your power is that determines whether it’s a curse or a gift. It’s what you do with it. And these kids are alive because of you. A lot of people are, because you choose to use it for good. I’d say that makes it a gift.”

This entire flashback was so good and builds the depth and past between the reader and Wolvie so well. Adds to the tension! I also like how you wrote the power instead of making it OP. Abilities with limitations are always more interesting to me imo.

“You dream of her just as she dreams of you,” Charles whimpers through labored breaths. “What?” Logan snaps, glaring at Charles from his position on the dirty floor. His ears must still be ringing from the effects of the seizure, because he can’t have heard him right. “Quit reading my mind.” “Your thoughts are always loud when you think of her,” Charles murmurs, turning his attention back to the movie on the screen in front of him as if nothing had happened.

Crying omg. Charles is on it tho lmaoo

Logan begins rifling through the drawers of the dresser that looks to be as old as he is, containing all of the clothing that he owns. It doesn’t take but a few seconds until he recognizes the feeling of the worn leather against his fingertips. He brings the jacket up to his nose, inhaling where your skin and hair had rest against the collar. He breathes in deep, concentrating on the scent that transports him back to before his life was completely uprooted and turned upside down. With his eyes closed, it’s easy for him to let himself believe he’s standing in the kitchen of the mansion with your arms around his neck. It’s faint. If he didn’t have enhanced senses, he may not have been able to detect it at all. But it’s there – familiar and nostalgic and unmistakably you.

I really loved this bit too. The leather jacket, the smell, the memories with it. Ugh, so sweet and heartbreaking because I know how he feels.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you in a cautious voice. He stays planted where he’s at, waiting for you to respond before coming any closer to the front porch steps. He swears he watches you go through all five stages of grief in under a minute. Confusion fades to shock, shock turns to denial, and denial morphs into anger before you’re left with a blank expression.

Girl same 😭

You turn away from him again, reaching into a cabinet to grab two bowls. Logan watches as you ladle some kind of soup or stew into the bowls and pull two spoons from a drawer. You place one bowl in front of him, and the other at a chair across from him before retrieving a bottle of dark colored wine and two glasses. “It’s only been a year since I last saw you but you look about ten years older,” you finally answer as you uncork the bottle and fill the two glasses. You push one across the small table. “Sorry. I haven’t had much of a reason to keep any whiskey on hand.”

She's better than me LMAO I wouldn't be as accepting but I get where she's coming from. I love the soup and wine combo <3

“No one asked you to do that, Logan. I would have helped you if you had given me the chance. I would have followed you any–” “I know,” Logan cuts you off. “I know you would have. But I had just watched almost everyone that I love die. I couldn’t risk it, letting you get hurt too. Staying away from you for the last year, it’s.. it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I did it because I knew it would mean you’re safe.”

Ah, the tragedy Logan's life is. Classic and angsty, builds the best tension which is something I love in Logan fics.

His heart swells when he sees the way that your expression softens. You’re too good, too forgiving and understanding. The fact that you let him into your home, served him dinner, and packed up your entire life into a few boxes and came here after a year of no contact proves it.

My thoughts exactly but that's just me! I think he needs a reader like this. Someone understanding and gentle, besides he's been through enough.

He feels your hand wrap around his wrist as he starts to take another step, stopping him in place. He hangs his head, still refusing to look at you. He doesn’t think he can handle the concern and worry that is undoubtedly written on your face. “If you were anyone else on the planet, I might believe that.” You stand up next to him, and your grip on his wrist only tightens. His face heats up; a side effect of your questioning stare and close proximity. “But I’ve seen you get impaled with a crow bar before. It healed before I even had time to fret over you. So what’s really going on?”

I love the interaction here. Reader's intuition, Logan's reaction to her concern, I love how unnatural it feels. Logan so unused to discomfort like that, you can feel it when reading this part and I love that.

“Of course I remember her,” Charles retorts after he’s taken the pills. “As if I could ever forget with how often I see her face appear in your mind.” “Could you do me a favor and not mention that, maybe?” Logan grumbles. He doesn’t doubt that it’s true, but he’d prefer Charles to not mention it within the first five minutes of seeing you.

Charles is cheeky af when he's older I can totally see him mentioning that.

“I’ve missed you guys, too,” you say, your eyes flickering between him and Logan. “I’m glad to be here. I’m going to be using my powers to try to get your seizures under control. Is that okay with you?” “Anything sounds better than these two cramming pills down my throat like clockwork,” he grunts with a glare at Logan and Caliban.

SASSY.

“You sure do seem to be getting around well for someone who could barely walk yesterday,” Caliban says in a faux casual voice as he tugs the balaclava style mask off of his head as soon as he is out of the sunlight. Logan sighs and curses under his breath, already knowing the direction that this conversation is headed. “Now that I’m thinking about it, I also didn’t hear you having any nightmares all the way from the water tower last night. Must have had a good night’s sleep.” “What’s your point?” Logan snaps. He yanks the fridge open, scanning the scarce shelves for something to eat. He really needs to go to the grocery store once you’ve finished up with Charles. And buy you an actual bed. And stock back up on Charles’ medications – “No point,” Caliban continues, “Just glad to see that you changed your mind about telling her about your condition is all. Even if you did threaten me within an inch of my life to not tell her right before you left for Colorado.”

Caliban is fucking hilarious too, I love how you write him.

“But if I’m going to be staying here for any amount of time, the food situation is going to have to improve. How do you live like this?” He sighs, remembering the current state of the fridge and cabinets. He ended up settling on an overripe banana for breakfast. He normally reserves grocery shopping for his off days – Mondays or Tuesdays – but those days had been occupied with traveling to and from Colorado this week.

Our days off are the same lmao. She does have a point though, I'd stock that fridge.

“For some reason the limo smelled like a Christmas tree farm exploded in it,” you say nonchalantly. “But the driver insisted on taking me out for all you can eat pancakes so I’m still going to leave him a good review.” “I’m sure he had a perfectly good reason for his limo smelling like that,” he retorts in mock defense. “But he probably should try to take care of that before he goes back to work tonight,” he adds, making a mental note to pick up some air freshener at the store.

I love their chemistry sm, it's so fun to read.

He thinks he feels like a fucking teenager with the way that a few harmless, borderline flirtatious text messages from you has him imagining what it would be like to really share the bed with you. His jeans begin to feel uncomfortably tight. He clicks the phone off and tosses it in the empty passenger seat beside him, before he says something that crosses a line that he can’t uncross.

Oh Logan...she did that on purpose.

He maneuvers onto his side, facing you. You copy his position, your faces inches away from each other’s on a shared pillow. “Now close your eyes,” you whisper. He does as you ask, and then feels your palm rest against the thick stubble of his jaw. Your thumb grazes across the skin of his cheekbone. He melts into your touch before you’ve even started using your powers. “Is this okay?” you murmur.

Aaaaa omg. PLEASE. I lovee the slow build but godddd let them be together!!

This evening – Christmas eve – Logan sits on his bed and stares at the gift that he’d gotten you while you finish preparing the dinner that you’d been working on for the last few hours. He feels silly. There hadn’t been any discussion on getting each other gifts and he worries that it’ll make you feel weird.

I feel this way every time I get someone a gift. The uneasy gut feeling because you're nervous, ugh poor Lo. He's so sweet.

“Smells great,” Logan compliments as he grabs a beer out of the fridge. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, as if you hadn’t all but shooed him out of the kitchen just an hour ago. You place the casserole dish on a trivet before grabbing one of the plates that Caliban had set out. “Yes, actually,” you say, surprising him. You hand him the plate with a small smirk. “You can make Charles a plate.” “Oh, can I?” He takes a step closer to you, taking the plate and grinning down at you. “Are you sure you trust me to do that?” “Hey, it’s not my fault that you’ve been alive two hundred years and haven’t taken the time to learn to cook.” “Well, I guess I’ll just have to have you teach me-“ “Would you two stop flirting and get me some ham?” Charles voice booms over the television and silences you both.

The parts with Charles are so funny I can seriously see this being in the movie or something. It's so perfect for their characters and I adore how you are able to capture that.

“What are you thinking about?” He murmurs into the side of your hand. You open your eyes, your pupils dilated. “Same thing I’ve been thinking about for years now,” you whisper as you lean forward, pulling his face to you. You capture his lips in yours, opening up for him without hesitation. He slips his tongue into your mouth, the sensation simultaneously feeling brand new and like you’ve done this dance a hundred times before.

YESSS FINALLY.

It’s years of pent up desire and longing that you pour into each other. You drag your teeth along the swell of his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth, resisting the urge to buck his hips up against your center. He knew you looked sweet, smelled sweet – but never would he have guessed that you’d taste even sweeter. Even if it weren’t for the faint hint of cinnamon and apples from the pie you’d nibbled on, he’d think you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. You grind down against the uncomfortable bulge contained by his jeans and whimper – the prettiest sound he’s ever fucking heard and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You pull back, your chest heaving from lack of air.

Ugh this part made my stomach flutter because I can see it. The need is swelling and aaa I can't wait to continue.

“Tell me what you want, honey.” You let out a low whimper at the pet name and drag your fingers through his hair. He toys with the waistband of your pajamas pants, popping the elastic band lightly against your skin. “Your mouth,” you say, the words somewhere between a whine and a plea. “I wanna feel your mouth on me.” He groans at the bluntness of your words. Hearing you say that you want his mouth on you has his cock throbbing in his pants.

YUM.

You straddle his chest, your back to his face. He helps you inch backwards until your pussy hovers directly over his mouth. He pauses for a moment, spreading your thighs apart with his hands to give him a clear view of your already dripping cunt before yanking you the rest of the way down to his mouth. You moan as soon as his tongue slides through your wet folds, bracing your hands on the defined planes of his chest. The sweet and salty tang of you fills his mouth and he has to resist moaning goddamn, I love you into your cunt. He could get drunk off of the flavor of you.

Holy fucking shit. Please, this is so hot and ughhh I love how you describe it.

He helps pull you into a sitting position, and then lays you down in his place. Your tits heave as you try to regain control of your breathing. He’s on his knees, fisting himself in his hand as he nudges your knees open. Your eyes are locked on his cock, a look of half excitement and half terror. “You can take it, honey. I know you can,” he coos. He slaps the tip against your clit, then glides it up and down your wet length. Not entering you quite yet, but coating himself in your slick. He looks down at himself next to your pretty, wet cunt and imagines how it’ll be to see it sliding in and out of you.

Good god this is killing me. His encouragement and gesture after UGH.

“You know, this new bed of yours is a whole lot comfier than mine,” he comments casually. “Hmm,” you hum and tilt your head to look up at him. “You should probably sleep here tonight. For your back, of course.” He laughs, sleep threatening to overtake him at any second. He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere without you, honey.”

Crying. This was so beautifully written and oh my GOD. One of my all time favorites for sure. You did such an incredible job, I didn't want it to end. The story was just beautiful. You should be so proud of yourself, it was so so good.

for always and ever is always for you

old man!logan x healer!reader

word count: 15.2k

summary: logan is getting sicker by the day, and charles' seizures are occurring more and more frequently. logan didn't think he'd ever see you again - but desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, descriptions of blood and illness, angst, logan's pov, reader is afab, language, slow burn as far as one-shots go, no use of y/n, caliban being sassy, mutual pining, friends to lovers, unprotected p in v, oral (m&f receiving), face sitting, cream pie, some dirty talk and pet names

author's note: thank you @embbarnes for reading this and letting me rant about it and assuring me that it's worth posting 🫶🏻 this took me an embarrassing amount of time and i have to say i am pretty proud of it. flashbacks are in italics

divider by @saradika-graphics!

“This is the third time in the last week, you know.”

Logan stares down at the deep red splatters of blood that creep towards the drain. The skin of his knuckles begin to turn white from how harshly he grips the edges of the sink – he’s surprised the ceramic doesn’t shatter. He turns the faucet on, lowering his lips to the weak stream to collect enough water to rinse the taste of iron from his mouth.

“I know that,” Logan spits the now pink tinged water into the bowl and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t think I fuckin’ know that? I’m the one hacking my lungs up here.” He shoves past Caliban, exiting the small bathroom.

Logan doesn’t want to snap at him – hates that it happens as often as it does. But right now he’s late for work and the last thing he needs is to hear Caliban harping on about this again while he scrambles to find his car keys.

“You know I hate to keep bringing this up,” Caliban continues as he follows Logan into the makeshift kitchen of the abandoned smelting plant.

“I find that hard to believe,” Logan mumbles under his breath. He finds his keys hidden under some junk mail and shoves them in his coat pocket before pouring himself some coffee to take with him to work. It’s day old and not as strong as he’d like for it to be, but he’ll be glad that he has it when midnight rolls around.

“Charles,” Caliban continues. “The medications are doing very little to help him anymore. We’re having to give him twice as much as we were a month ago, which means we are running out twice as fast. He’s getting worse. You both are. We need to find a… specialist that can help with both of our problems.”

Logan snorts in response, practically able to feel Caliban’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

“There ain’t a thing that any doctor can do for me and you know it.”

Maybe Logan hasn’t had the flu, or strep throat, or even the common cold in two hundred odd years, but he knows there’s no prescription that any physician can write that would stop his very bones from poisoning him.

“Let me rephrase that, then. Not a doctor. You need to see a healer.”

Logan freezes, his posture going rigid.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, I suggest shutting the fuck up.”

“He’s had a record number of seizures so far this week,” Caliban implores. “You’re barely standing upright. There’s a chance that she could help you both.”

“She’s out of the question,” Logan spits before storming past him. He yanks the door open and slams it closed behind him as he steps into the late evening Mexico sun.

How does Caliban even know about you? Some of Charles’ rambling in his rare moments of lucidity, no doubt.

It doesn’t matter if you can help or not.

For a lot of reasons, it doesn’t matter.

The most obvious one being he hasn’t talked to you in over a year and doesn’t know where the fuck you’re at.

••••••

“You don’t have to stay back there, you know. You can come closer. You’re not in my way.”

There’s no hint of condescension in your voice. Only patience, and reassurance. Still, Logan doesn’t budge from his position in the corner of the mansion’s infirmary.

You don’t press him any further.

He had lost track of how long he’d been standing here, just watching in complete silence as you tend to the young mutant’s injuries.

Logan doesn’t even know the kid’s name. He doesn’t know any of their names. But he’d been the one to find all five of them in a locked cell on today’s mission, and he isn’t going to leave this room until he knows that they are all okay.

You’d already taken care of four out of the five. They now rest peacefully in individual beds, no doubt the warmest and safest they’ve been in God knows how long.

Your hands hover a few inches above a young boy’s chest, emitting a pale purple glow as you wave them over his torso, letting your powers radiate from your palms into his body.

Logan notices the color of your power isn’t as vibrant as it was when you’d healed the first child’s injuries, or the second, or third. Originally a bright violet, it’s now a lackluster lavender.

He also doesn't miss the way that you suddenly close your eyes with furrowed brows, but he remains in the corner, watching you carefully. You dig your teeth into the flesh of your bottom lip in concentration, causing Logan to take an involuntary step forward at the pained expression on your face.

Your hands drop down to the railing of the bed that the boy lays in, clutching the bars to keep you from falling over as the energy you’d been emitting fades away.

“Shit,” you huff, out of breath. A thin layer of perspiration glistens on your forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asks as he moves closer to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding as you look up at him. You give him a forced smile that does very little to reassure him. “I’m fine. It’s just been a while since I’ve had to use so much of my powers in such a short amount of time.”

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute, yeah?” Logan looks around the infirmary, walking a few feet away to grab a chair for you. He places it next to the bed that you’re still using for support.

“I’ll be as good as new soon,” you assure him as you take a seat. “This happens occasionally.”

Logan stands beside you, awkwardly leaning against the edge of an empty bed next to the boy’s. He watches as you lean forward, taking the kid’s small hand in your own. There’s no resurgence of purple – you’re simply holding it. The boy is sound asleep, so the act makes Logan wonder if it’s for his comfort or your own.

“If I exert too much energy at once, I feel the effects of it. Not enough to really hurt me, just.. leave me feeling like I need to sleep for a week,” you explain with a weak chuckle. Logan’s eyes are fixated on the way that your thumb soothes over the skin of the boy’s hand.

“A gift that comes with a price,” Logan murmurs. “I know how that feels. Though it sometimes feels more like a curse in my case.” He instinctively glances down at his knuckles, his claws sheathed away.

“I can see how it would feel that way,” you agree, glancing up at him with a soft expression. “But it’s not what your power is that determines whether it’s a curse or a gift. It’s what you do with it. And these kids are alive because of you. A lot of people are, because you choose to use it for good. I’d say that makes it a gift.”

“I guess I should try to look at it that way more often,” he hums.

“Plus, having the ability to heal yourself has gotta be pretty neat. I think you’re the only person here who would never have to ask me for my help.” You glance back up at him, a hint of a smirk ghosting your lips.

They’re pretty, he thinks – your lips. He mentally scolds himself, knowing now isn’t the time or place to be thinking about your lips.

“You can count on that, bub.”

When Logan wakes, he doesn’t have the chance to mourn the memory he’d found himself reliving in his sleep.

He does find himself on the floor by his bed with the breath knocked from his lungs. His hands come to shield his ears, attempting to block out the high-pitched shrieking that makes his ear canals feel as if they are filling with blood.

Judging by the sunlight streaming into his room through the thin, tattered curtains covering his windows, he guesses that it’s mid-afternoon. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours – meaning it also couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he had given Charles his most recent dose of medicine.

With the world shaking around him, a half empty bottle of liquor and an old coffee mug both shatter as they fall off of his bedside table and hit the ground.

Logan and Caliban had recently cleared off all shelves in the smelting plant, moving anything that could potentially fall and break during one of Charles’ episodes closer to the ground, but after a long night of driving around drunk assholes, it’s easy to forget that even a ceramic cup on a small table is a hazard.

He can tell by the way that the air around him feels as if it weighs ten tons that Charles has to be close by. He musters all of his strength to force himself to his feet. Each movement feels as if he’s in slow motion as he fights against the psionic energy that works to keep him frozen in place.

As slow as if he has hundred pound weights attached to each of his feet, he makes his way from his bedroom and to the common area. When he turns the corner, he first sees Caliban, still as a statue with his facial features contorted in agony and his typically alabaster skin turning redder by the second from the pain. He’s less than a foot away from where Charles sits in his wheelchair, where he appears to have been watching a movie.

Logan frantically looks around the room, searching for where he had placed the bag of injections and pills when he’d forced Charles into swallowing his last dose just a few hours ago.

He finds it on what is used as a dining room table. It’s sheer good luck that Logan had thought to prepare an emergency dose of the injection earlier that day, most likely thanks to Caliban’s lecture from yesterday evening still looming in the back of his mind.

After what feels like hours, Logan finally reaches Charles with the injection and plunges the needle into his chest. The second that the medication enters his system, the seizure ceases.

Caliban and Logan both collapse to the ground in relief. Logan clutches his chest, trying to steady his heartbeat and regulate his breathing.

“You dream of her just as she dreams of you,” Charles whimpers through labored breaths.

“What?” Logan snaps, glaring at Charles from his position on the dirty floor. His ears must still be ringing from the effects of the seizure, because he can’t have heard him right. “Quit reading my mind.”

“Your thoughts are always loud when you think of her,” Charles murmurs, turning his attention back to the movie on the screen in front of him as if nothing had happened.

It's the first time, Logan realizes, that Charles has mentioned you since the day of his first seizure. Even without specifically saying your name, Logan knows exactly who he’s referring to.

“Make that four incidents this week,” Caliban grumbles as he jerks the plastic bag filled with medication out of Logan’s hand. He digs through it, pulling out a pill bottle and dumping two into his palm. “He’s averaging an episode per day, and each one feels stronger than the last. It’s only a matter of time before he kills–”

“Do you know where she’s at? Can you track her?” Logan interrupts him. Caliban pauses to look at him, visibly annoyed.

“Oh, so it’s a good idea now that he–” he jabs a finger in Charles’ direction, “mentions her once, is it?” He stomps over to where Charles watches the television, seemingly oblivious to the conversation happening right beside him.

“Take these. Both of them.” He shoves them into Charles’ palm and then storms past Logan.

“Didn’t say anything about it being a good idea,” Logan grunts, following him into the kitchen. “But you seem to think it is and I don’t know what else to do. So can you find her or not?”

“Of course I can,” Caliban retorts defensively. “As long as you have something with her scent on it.”

Logan throws his hands up in frustration, and then rakes one hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year. Why would I have anything that smells like her?”

“It doesn’t have to be dosed in her favorite perfume,” Caliban huffs. “But I can’t track anyone without some amount of their scent to go off of.”

“Goddammit,” Logan groans between gritted teeth. He turns in the opposite direction, heading back to his bedroom.

He thinks back to the last time that he saw you – the last time that his life had any sense of normalcy. The day of Charles’ first seizure, the day that he saw seven of his friends die, you weren’t there. By some miracle, you had been out of town.

But a few days before that – it had been snowing. It was the first snow of winter and you had taken a group of younger students to play outside in the middle of class.

Logan was called over by a few of the kids who begged him to help make a snowman. You kept to the sidelines, watching him with the students, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself to keep your cardigan pulled securely around your chest.

He remembers pausing what he was doing to run over to you and insist that you take his jacket until you were all back inside. He remembers how much he liked seeing you wear it, and how silly he felt when he didn’t like that you remembered to give it back.

He remembers being enveloped in the smell of honey and cream when he shrugged the jacket back onto his own shoulders. Less than a week later, he found himself in Mexico with no need to wear such a heavy leather jacket.

It's now been over a year since he’s so much as touched it.

Logan begins rifling through the drawers of the dresser that looks to be as old as he is, containing all of the clothing that he owns. It doesn’t take but a few seconds until he recognizes the feeling of the worn leather against his fingertips.

He brings the jacket up to his nose, inhaling where your skin and hair had rest against the collar. He breathes in deep, concentrating on the scent that transports him back to before his life was completely uprooted and turned upside down. With his eyes closed, it’s easy for him to let himself believe he’s standing in the kitchen of the mansion with your arms around his neck.

It's faint. If he didn’t have enhanced senses, he may not have been able to detect it at all. But it’s there – familiar and nostalgic and unmistakably you.

••••••

It takes Caliban all of sixty seconds to pinpoint your location.

Logan doesn’t quite know how to feel about learning that there’s only one state in-between the two of you. He wasn’t sure where he expected you to be, really – it doesn’t surprise him that you didn’t stay in the state of New York, and he didn’t think you would return to your hometown, but knowing that you’ve possibly been just a half day’s drive away from him this entire time makes a lot of emotions surface that he’s been trying to push down for the last year.

He begins the drive just after six in the morning. By the time the sun starts to set that evening, he enters the city limits of Silverton, Colorado.

Nestled in the snow-capped Rockies, the small town couldn’t be more polar opposite of where he has resided for the last thirteen months. The stark differences nearly cause him to turn his limousine around and head back to the smelting plant without even bothering you – if you’d chosen somewhere like this to live, there’s no way you’d be content with the brutal, dry heat of northern Mexico.

But this is the closest he’s been to you in nearly four hundred days, and despite the fact that he’s spent the last ten hours of this car ride thinking about what he’s going to say to you and still doesn’t fucking know, he can’t bring himself to go back to Mexico without trying.

Without at least seeing your face. Without at least seeing for himself that you’re doing okay.

He knows it’s selfish. He knows he made his choice when he took Charles to Mexico without even letting you know that they were alive. It doesn’t matter that he had his reasons for doing so, it doesn’t matter how much it killed him inside – he made his choice and he should have to live with it, without disturbing your peace and asking any of this of you.

He justifies it by telling himself that it’s for Charles, and Caliban. Maybe it’s his pride, but he refuses to make his ailing health your responsibility. Asking you to help with Charles is already asking too much.

He turns down a dirt road, following the approximate – not exact – instructions that Caliban had provided. Thankfully, it’s a small town in both size and population, so it doesn’t take him too long to find the neighborhood that Caliban had described.

He knows he has found the right house when he sees your car. He recognizes it instantly due to the cracked rear bumper that you still have yet to have replaced and its unique sage green color that peaks through the light dusting of snow.

He pulls into your driveway, parking his limousine next to your vehicle and turns off the engine. He takes in the appearance of your home – a small, cozy cabin with smoke erupting from the chimney. All of your curtains are pulled closed but there’s enough light peaking through them for him to know that you’re inside.

The thought occurs to him that he might not find you alone. It’s been over a year – you could have found someone to build a life with. They could pull into this very driveway at any moment. Hell, you could have a baby for all he knows. He might be seconds away from learning that you have a whole family of your own–

His thoughts only stop spiraling when he sees your front door swing open, your face peeking around the frame a second later. Confusion is etched across your features as you notice the limousine parked in front of your porch.

You don’t yet know that it’s him due to the limousine’s tinted windows, he realizes.

You exit the house, stepping onto your front porch with your arms crossed over your chest as you wait for the driver of the vehicle to make themselves known.

You haven’t aged a day. Your hair being longer than the last time he saw you is the only physical proof that any time has passed at all.

Logan attempts to clear his face of all of the emotions coursing through him and opens the driver’s side door, stepping out of the vehicle.

Thanks to the adamantium poisoning his body, his eyesight has started to decline over the last few months. But Logan doesn’t need to have his glasses on to know that you look like you’re seeing a ghost.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you in a cautious voice. He stays planted where he’s at, waiting for you to respond before coming any closer to the front porch steps.

He swears he watches you go through all five stages of grief in under a minute. Confusion fades to shock, shock turns to denial, and denial morphs into anger before you’re left with a blank expression.

“I know I’ve got a lotta explaining to do,” Logan starts. “If you’ll let me, I’ll answer every question you have. I’m just asking you to hear me out.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that he possesses to not walk up the steps of your porch and wrap you in his arms. He may be standing just a few feet away from you, but it doesn’t feel real. He’s convinced that at any moment, he’ll wake up back in his pathetic excuse of a bedroom in the smelting plant.

You take a few small, tentative steps forward. Your eyes never leave his, an unreadable expression on your face. Logan can’t tell if you’re trying to decide if he’s real, if you’re about to jump into his arms, or if you’re about to yell at him to get the fuck out of here.

You come to a stop on the bottom porch step.

“What’s the deal with the limousine?” You nod towards the vehicle behind him.

“I’m uh – I’m a limousine driver,” he answers lamely.

“A limousine driver,” you repeat with raised brows, though it doesn’t sound like a question. “You know, there have been a lot of nights that I’ve laid awake wondering where you’re at and what you’re doing. Of all the possibilities, I never considered limo driver.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but quickly shuts it again when you turn on your heel, walking back up the steps and to the front door. You pause before you cross the entryway, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“Take your shoes off at the door. Don’t be tracking snow into my house.”

Logan watches you retreat into the house, his body frozen in place. As far as initial reactions go, he supposes that could have been significantly worse – but he knows he isn’t out of the woods yet.

He follows you inside, kicking his boots off at the door and closing it behind him.

The inside of your house is warm, thanks to the gentle fire going in the fireplace in your den. It’s cozy – you’ve decorated for the approaching holidays. Garland and twinkling lights adorn your mantle, and in the corner of the living room is an elaborately decorated tree. The whole place smells like a mixture of the candle burning on your coffee table and whatever you have cooking in the kitchen.

It's not just cozy, he thinks. It’s homey. And he’s about to ask you to leave it all for a dirty, grimy, old smelting plant.

He follows you into the small kitchen, where you stir something in a giant pot on your stove.

“Do I even want to know how you found me?”

He can tell that you’re trying to maintain a level tone, but he doesn’t miss the way that your voice shakes and rises an octave on the last word.

He clears his throat, pulling out a chair for himself at your dining room table.

“His name is Caliban. He’s a mutant who can track other mutants. I asked him to find you.”

You hum in response, continuing to tend to the food in the pot with your back turned to him. Logan knows that telling you he asked Caliban to track you down is just the tip of the iceberg here, but he doesn’t want to throw too much at you at once. So he watches as you grab a variety of seasonings from the cabinet above you, and lets you take your time with questioning him further.

“And why did you ask him to find me?”

“For Charles,” Logan answers. “I didn’t want to disturb you after all this time. I know you’re probably angry and you have every right to be but.. his seizures. They’re getting worse. The medications that I give him aren’t helping like they used to.”

You cover the pot with a lid, and turn the dial on the stove down to low before turning to face him. You lean up against the counter, your arms once again crossed over your chest – a telltale sign that you’re on edge, Logan remembers well.

“You mean the seizures that killed a bunch of our friends and have caused the United States government to classify his brain as a weapon of mass destruction?”

Logan gives you a curt nod. “Yeah. Those seizures. We’ve been living in an abandoned smelting plant just south of the border in Mexico. He mostly stays inside an old water tower. The metal it's made from helps keep the seizures contained to the immediate area around us, but.. they’re getting stronger. Happening more frequently.”

You chew on your lower lip, a passive expression on your face as you take in Logan’s words. You don’t meet his gaze, your stare fixated on something on the other side of the room.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Logan counters.

You turn away from him again, reaching into a cabinet to grab two bowls. Logan watches as you ladle some kind of soup or stew into the bowls and pull two spoons from a drawer.

You place one bowl in front of him, and the other at a chair across from him before retrieving a bottle of dark colored wine and two glasses.

“It’s only been a year since I last saw you but you look about ten years older,” you finally answer as you uncork the bottle and fill the two glasses. You push one across the small table. “Sorry. I haven’t had much of a reason to keep any whiskey on hand.”

Logan’s not surprised by the observation – you’re not wrong. He knows the adamantium poisoning his body has taken a toll on his physical appearance. His hair and beard have started to gray, his skin appears more leathered, his under eyes more crinkled.

After barely aging a day in decades, the difference between a year ago and today must look drastic to you.

But that isn’t why he’s here. He can handle some aches and pains, some coughing fits, and all of the other ailments that come with typical aging. He can hide it all from you – he won’t make that your burden to bear in addition to asking you to help with Charles.

“Yeah, well,” Logan starts, staring down at the stew in front of him to avoid your gaze. “That’s what working night shifts and taking care of a ninety-seven year old disabled psychic with Alzheimer’s induced mega seizures does to a person.”

“No one asked you to do that, Logan. I would have helped you if you had given me the chance. I would have followed you any–”

“I know,” Logan cuts you off. “I know you would have. But I had just watched almost everyone that I love die. I couldn’t risk it, letting you get hurt too. Staying away from you for the last year, it’s.. it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I did it because I knew it would mean you’re safe.”

You’re silent. Your lips quiver, and Logan loses his appetite at the way your eyes begin to gloss over with unshed tears.

“Did you at least think about reaching out?”

If your watery eyes make Logan lose his appetite, the brokenness in your voice makes him feel sick with himself.

“Every single day.”

He doesn’t tell you that you frequent his dreams, or that he thinks of you every time a Pink Floyd song comes on the radio, or that he hears your voice in the back of his mind telling him to drink more water when all he’s had that day is coffee and bourbon.

He wants to. But he doesn’t.

You give a small nod to his answer, but otherwise say nothing. You pick up your spoon and take a small, unenthusiastic bite of the food in front of you. Logan forces his attention to his own stew, not really wanting to eat but knowing that he needs to – he had only stopped for gas and a bathroom break once during the drive here. He hasn’t eaten anything since he choked down a stale granola bar before leaving Mexico early this morning.

The two of you sit in a loaded silence. Despite how heavy it feels, he can’t help but feel more relaxed in your presence than he has in a long, long time.

Your spoon clinks against the empty bowl when you finish eating. Logan looks up to see you gulping down the last of your wine.

You sigh. A long, exaggerated sigh.

“Why couldn’t you have shown up yesterday, before I put up all of my Christmas decorations?”

••••••

Logan thinks that the interior of his limousine will smell like a Christmas tree threw up in it for the next few months.

Not that he’s complaining. The sickeningly sweet scent of balsam is a small price to pay for you agreeing to come to Mexico.

He knows he probably shouldn’t feel as relieved as he does – he doesn’t even know if your powers will be effective in helping with Charles’ seizures.

But he can't lie to himself. The entire time he spent the better part of the night helping you pack your things into totes to load into your car and his limousine, he was on edge – afraid that you'd change your mind at any moment.

Of course he felt relieved when he watched your car pull out of your driveway after typing the smelting plant’s address into your GPS early this morning.

Approximately eleven hours later, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to be in Mexico. The drive to Colorado, packing for hours into the night and then getting a few hours of shut eye on your couch, and then the drive back to the smelting plant has taken a toll on him.

His hips ache from sitting for so long and he’s experiencing what has to be a pinched nerve in his lower back.

That’s a first for him.

When he arrives back home, he’s relieved to find that he got here before you. Maybe he’ll have enough time to take a long, hot shower and let some max strength ibuprofen go into effect before you can notice the way that he hobbles inside.

“Oh, thank God,” Caliban exhales when he sees the door open and Logan limps inside. “You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts. Did you even think to check if I was alive? He could have had a seiz—”

“Sorry,” Logan grunts, walking past him to retrieve the bottle of painkillers from a cupboard in the kitchen. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, trying to get back here as soon as possible and what not.”

He tosses back four pills dry and then turns to face him again. “And I knew you weren’t dead. You blew up my phone enough to assure me of that.”

“Well, a reply or two keeping me updated would have been nice. Tracking you only tells me so much.”

Logan rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“She’s on her way here now. How’s that for an update?” He pushes past Caliban, just wanting to go stand under a painfully hot stream of water.

“You actually managed to get her to agree to come here?”

“I’m as surprised as you are.” Logan grabs a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter and starts walking towards his room. “And get the spare room cleaned up for her.”

••••••

“I know it isn’t much, but I’m gonna get you a better mattress tomorrow.”

A few hours later, long after Caliban and Charles have retired to the old water tower for the night, Logan stands in front of where you perch on the edge of the twin sized cot in your bedroom – if it can even be called that right now.

Aside from the sad excuse of a bed, the only other things in the room are a small bedside table with a lamp, and several storage totes containing your belongings that Caliban had brought in from Logan’s limousine.

If he’d had more time to prepare, he would’ve done more, but just forty-eight hours ago he never would have guessed that you would actually be sitting here in front of him.

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “It’ll be better once I have some of my things unpacked.”

“Right,” Logan nods. “Well, I'll leave you to that then. Just.. let me know if you need anything.”

He turns to exit the room, but freezes when he grabs the doorknob. He turns back around, and finds you looking at him expectantly – almost hopeful.

“I appreciate it. You coming here. You don’t owe me anything after the way I just ran off without any explanation. But I'm really glad that you’re here.”

His heart swells when he sees the way that your expression softens. You’re too good, too forgiving and understanding. The fact that you let him into your home, served him dinner, and packed up your entire life into a few boxes and came here after a year of no contact proves it.

He takes a step closer to you, trying his hardest to ignore the sharp burn that radiates from his lower back as he forces his body forward. Despite how hard he tries to hide the discomfort, you seem to notice that something is bothering him – he can tell by the way your brows furrow together and your mouth sets in a harsh line. You scoot back a few inches on the cot mattress, making room for him to take a seat next to you.

“And I just want you to know that I’m sorry,” he continues, cutting you off before you can even ask if he’s okay.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to hear me say it. I’m sorry for the way I handled things. It wasn’t fair to you. I was just scared shitless and wanted to do what I could to keep you safe. Getting as far away from you as possible seemed like the best way to do that at the time.”

Logan internally curses his rambling. Typically a man of few words, he can’t help but feel silly at the sentiment. You’d always had a way of drawing a level of vulnerability from him that no one else ever had. He still feels that effect today.

“I understand why you did what you did, Logan,” you start. You look at him with such understanding that he feels himself physically relax at your words.

“It just… hurt.” You give a small shrug, bringing your hands together to dig your nails into your palms. “I lost my friends too, you know? You and Charles included. I know that you and I, we were never…” you trail off, but he knows what you mean without saying it.

Together. Never truly together.

A million almosts that never amounted to what he truly wanted run through his mind. He’d long ago accepted that you and him would never be more than an unspoken thing but the reminder of it still stings, coming from your lips.

“Anyway,” you shake your head. He wonders if you’re thinking of the same memories that he is – the seemingly small ones.

The ones that he wouldn’t have expected to stick with him, but ended up haunting him. Having a drink in the mansion’s courtyard together after particularly exhausting missions – or even just particularly exhausting days of teaching children. Walking into the kitchen to find you making lunch – and you just so happened to have made enough for him, too. You, on the back of his motorcycle with your arms secured around his stomach, your bodies pressed as close together as they ever had been.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still hurt over it. But the truth is, I was too relieved to find you standing in my driveway to tell you to leave. And I missed you too much to not come back here with you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper by the time you finish speaking. A singular tear leaks from the corner of your eye, which you hastily wipe away.

“Just don't fucking do that again, okay? I definitely wouldn’t be as forgiving if it happened a second time.”

“I wouldn't forgive myself if it happened a second time,” Logan tells you – and he means it. He still doesn’t know if he can forgive himself as is. But you seem to forgive him, and that's enough for him for the time being. “I promise. M’not going anywhere.”

“Good,” you murmur with a small smile, seemingly content with his reassurance. “So, about Charles… I was thinking, if the seizures are as bad as you've told me, I probably won't be much use if he's actively having one. I was thinking that starting tomorrow, I could try to work with him using my powers little bits throughout the day. Not too much at once so he doesn't get frustrated.”

You're right. There’s nothing that anyone can do once one of Charles’ seizures begins, except for Logan. It’s solely due to his healing factor that Logan is able to muster enough strength to administer one of Charles’ injections during a seizure. Humans – as well as mutants like you and Caliban – are rendered incapacitated.

“I’ll let him know that you’re here in the morning,” Logan nods in agreement. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. “I’ve missed him.”

As content as he’d be to sit here and talk to you all night, you’ve both had long days of driving and tomorrow brings a lot of uncertainty, so he knows that he should let you get some rest.

“We should probably try to get some sleep,” he says reluctantly. He starts to push himself off of the cot when the nerve in his lower back catches and causes him to hiss in pain. He tries to play it off, hoping you didn’t notice the way he visibly grimaced at the sudden sharp pain.

“Logan? What's wrong?” You ask, concern etched in your voice. He refuses to meet your gaze, knowing it'll be harder to lie to you if he looks you in the eyes. Instead he forces one foot in front of the other, and takes a slow step forward.

“It’s nothin’. Just stiff from driving so much is all.”

He feels your hand wrap around his wrist as he starts to take another step, stopping him in place. He hangs his head, still refusing to look at you. He doesn't think he can handle the concern and worry that is undoubtedly written on your face.

“If you were anyone else on the planet, I might believe that.” You stand up next to him, and your grip on his wrist only tightens. His face heats up; a side effect of your questioning stare and close proximity.

“But I’ve seen you get impaled with a crow bar before. It healed before I even had time to fret over you. So what’s really going on?”

It hits him how naïve he was to ever believe that he’d be able to easily conceal what’s been happening inside his body from you. The effects of the adamantium poisoning have been becoming more physically apparent for a while now, and you of all people – someone so familiar with not only illness and injury, but also him – were bound to pick up on the fact that something is very different than the last time you saw him.

He finally looks at you, your face every bit as concerned as expected.

“My healing factor has started to slow down,” he says delicately, trying to keep his tone even. The last thing he wants to do is freak you out even more.

“Slow down? How?”

“The shit my bones are made of seems to finally be aging me.” He chooses to forgo using the word poison, but still answers as honestly as he can bring himself to.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself with that, ‘kay? That’s not why you’re here. Some back pain isn’t anything that I can’t handle,” he quickly adds when distress distorts your features.

You purse your lips, leaving him wondering how you’re going to respond.

There’s a sudden sensation radiate from where the skin of your palm and fingers are wrapped around his wrist – it’s a soft vibration, soothing and serene. It starts at his hand and travels up his arm before expanding through his chest, back, and eventually down to the soles of his feet.

For a few moments, he feels like he’s floating. The weight of the adamantium bones disappear for the first time in decades, leaving him feeling feather light. The feeling fades away as gradually as it appeared, and with it subsides the pinching in his lower back.

He realizes that he’s looking at you as if you grew a second head. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken off guard – he’s seen your powers first hand before. He just never imagined there would be a time that he’d actually learn how it feels to be on the receiving end of them.

He glances down at where you finally release your hold on his hand. When you pull away, he sees the remnants of a purple glow emanating from your palm.

“I figured you would have said no if I had asked beforehand. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admits in a gruff tone. “Guess not.”

“Well? How does your back feel now?” You look at him with raised brows, as if you don’t already know the answer.

“Better. But don’t make a habit out of that. I want you saving your energy for Charles.”

Truthfully, he physically feels the best that he has in months. In addition to his back being free of the sharp pinching sensation, the chronic stiffness that has plagued his body is gone. Even his eyesight seems clearer.

But he thinks back to one of his earliest memories of you – the one that had presented itself in his most recent dream. He remembers the vibrancy of your power gradually dimming as you grew more tired and the way that your forehead glistened with sweat when you were worn out from excessive use of your powers.

You roll your eyes and plop back down on the edge of your cot.

“I’m more than capable of helping you and Charles both. Do you think I’d really let you suffer, knowing you’re in discomfort?”

He knows that trying to fight you on this is as about as useful as arguing with a brick wall.

“I don't doubt your capability,” he tells you gently as he eases towards the door to your room. “But I'm not the priority here. Now get some rest, alright?”

Your response is a brief nod that tells him he hasn’t heard the last of this conversation.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Just down the hallway, he traces the tips of his fingers over where your hand had been wrapped around his until he falls into the most peaceful and comfortable sleep he’s had in over a year.

••••••

“She’s a healer. She worked at the school as a nurse and teacher. You remember her, yeah? She’s here to see if she can help us out some.”

Logan hands Charles a double dose of pills and watches until he’s swallowed them. They are already running low on the seizure suppressants as is, but he makes him double up anyway. He’d rather be on the safe side, since you are going to be working with Charles this morning.

“Of course I remember her,” Charles retorts after he’s taken the pills. “As if I could ever forget with how often I see her face appear in your mind.”

“Could you do me a favor and not mention that, maybe?” Logan grumbles. He doesn’t doubt that it’s true, but he’d prefer Charles to not mention it within the first five minutes of seeing you.

The door to the old water tower creaks open, allowing midday sun to infiltrate the dim space as you come inside. Caliban enters behind you.

“Hi, Charles,” you greet him cheerfully “It's so nice to see you.”

Your voice doesn’t give it away, but Logan notices the nervousness in your gait – in the way that your posture is rigid and your footsteps are shorter and quicker than normal as you walk over to them.

Charles gives you a smile – the first genuine smile that Logan has seen from him in as long as he can remember.

“Hello, my dear,” he beams at you. “We’ve missed you.”

You return his smile with a bashful one of your own, and wring your hands together in front of you.

“I’ve missed you guys, too,” you say, your eyes flickering between him and Logan. “I’m glad to be here. I’m going to be using my powers to try to get your seizures under control. Is that okay with you?”

“Anything sounds better than these two cramming pills down my throat like clockwork,” he grunts with a glare at Logan and Caliban.

“It’s not exactly fun for us either, you know,” Caliban scoffs.

“Enough, you two,” Logan interjects when Charles opens his mouth to respond. “We—” he motions to himself and Caliban, “are going to give them some privacy.”

He'd be lying if he said the thought of leaving you alone with Charles during what will undoubtedly be a vulnerable time didn’t make him nervous. But he doesn’t want to overcrowd and overwhelm him, either.

Though a large majority of Charles’ seizures are random, many have been brought on by a state of a emotional distress, too.

He knows that he doesn’t exactly possess a natural aura of peace like you do.

A hint of anxiety flashes across your features before you quickly compose yourself. Logan starts to follow Caliban’s lead to the door, but stops when he's directly in front of you.

He reaches out and almost puts a hand on your waist before he thinks twice of it. His fingers linger awkwardly at your hip for a moment before he drops the hand back down to his side.

“I'll be close by, okay? If you need anything,” he says to you lowly. He glances over his shoulder to see Charles now tending to his bonsai tree, not paying attention to anyone around him.

“I know,” you assure him with a smile and nod of your head. “Don’t worry. I won’t push him. If he starts to get agitated, frustrated, bored… I’ll stop immediately.”

Logan gives you one final, short nod before reluctantly following Caliban outside and back into the smelting plant.

“You sure do seem to be getting around well for someone who could barely walk yesterday,” Caliban says in a faux casual voice as he tugs the balaclava style mask off of his head as soon as he is out of the sunlight.

Logan sighs and curses under his breath, already knowing the direction that this conversation is headed.

“Now that I'm thinking about it, I also didn't hear you having any nightmares all the way from the water tower last night. Must have had a good night’s sleep.”

“What's your point?” Logan snaps. He yanks the fridge open, scanning the scarce shelves for something to eat.

He really needs to go to the grocery store once you've finished up with Charles. And buy you an actual bed. And stock back up on Charles’ medications –

“No point,” Caliban continues, “Just glad to see that you changed your mind about telling her about your condition is all. Even if you did threaten me within an inch of my life to not tell her right before you left for Colorado.”

“What can I say,” Logan grunts. “She isn't blind. She clocked it within an hour of being here.”

Logan spends the next hour alternating between pacing the floor of the smelting plant and smoking cigars outside of the water tower. He reminds himself repeatedly that everything must be going okay, because if it wasn't, he would know by now.

He also reminds himself of the intense feeling of tranquility that came over him when he felt the effects of your powers. He can’t imagine anyone not finding it euphoric – even Charles, in all of his stubbornness.

He's finishing up a cigar when you exit the water tower after what feels like an eternity. He immediately stubs it out, remembering how you used to tease him about getting cancer if he didn’t stop smoking.

It wouldn’t surprise him if that was an actual possibility for him these days.

“How’d it go?” he greets you. He tries to keep his voice neutral – doesn’t want to make it obvious how anxious he’s been for the last hour. “Did he do okay?”

“I guess we won’t really know until he either has a seizure or… doesn’t,” you sigh. “He did surprisingly well. But the damage that the Alzheimer’s has done to his brain is widespread. I doubt there’s much reversing it. My goals are to reduce the severity and frequency of the seizures and to stop the damage from progressing any further.”

The two of you walk side by side back to the smelting plant, where Logan opens the door for you.

“So that means that I might be staying here for quite some time.”

You ease past him through the small doorframe, your chest grazing against him ever so slightly. The familiar light scent of vanilla and honey lingers after you’re walking away.

Were you just smirking at him or is he hallucinating?

Scratch that, were you just flirting with him?

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that.”

He didn’t expect you to go back to Colorado anytime too soon, given how much you packed – and the fact that your fucking Christmas tree sits in the common area – but he can't ignore that hearing you imply that you have no intention of leaving in the immediate future brings him more comfort than it probably should.

With your back turned to him as you open the refrigerator, he’s unable to see your expression, but he hears you hum in response – a sound somewhere between amusement and contentment.

“But if I'm going to be staying here for any amount of time, the food situation is going to have to improve. How do you live like this?”

He sighs, remembering the current state of the fridge and cabinets. He ended up settling on an overripe banana for breakfast. He normally reserves grocery shopping for his off days – Mondays or Tuesdays – but those days had been occupied with traveling to and from Colorado this week.

“I’ve got some errands to run today,” he starts, feeling an inkling of nervousness settle in the pit of his stomach. “Get some groceries and refills on Charles’ medications… if you wanted to come with me.”

He tells himself that he invites you because it just makes sense – of course you need to familiarize yourself with the area that you're going to be living in, even if it's just temporary. It's important to know where the closest grocery store, and gas station, and pharmacy is.

And it also just makes sense that he would be the one who to show you around. Charles can't even go to the bathroom by himself and Caliban is allergic to the sun.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

“I could be persuaded to go with you,” you drawl. “If…” You trail off, leaving Logan to look at you with a cocked brow.

“If you let me ride in the backseat of your limousine?”

••••••

“Well? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Logan sits directly across from you in a small booth at a mom-and-pop diner. It’s nearly noon and you had yet to eat today, so Logan made the last minute decision to pull into the restaurant’s parking lot after acquiring Charles’ medications.

“What?” you question as you swallow a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes. It may not be breakfast time anymore, but he knew you would appreciate the fact that this place serves all day breakfast.

“Being chauffeured around in a limousine.”

“For some reason the limo smelled like a Christmas tree farm exploded in it,” you say nonchalantly. “But the driver insisted on taking me out for all you can eat pancakes so I’m still going to leave him a good review.”

“I’m sure he had a perfectly good reason for his limo smelling like that,” he retorts in mock defense. “But he probably should try to take care of that before he goes back to work tonight,” he adds, making a mental note to pick up some air freshener at the store.

A cheeky grin spreads across your face. You look like you’re about give him some kind of smart remark when the waitress walks over to the booth with a steaming pot of coffee.

“Good to see you in here with someone for a change,” the older woman, who Logan knows is named Lucille without having to look at her name tag, remarks as she tops off both of your mugs. “Did you finally take my advice?” She asks Logan.

“Every time he comes in here I tell him that he needs to get on one of those dating apps,” she says to you before he can answer.

You immediately cover your mouth to keep from spewing your coffee across the table.

Logan’s face heats up by ten degrees. He should have known better than to trust Lucille to be able to read the room.

“No,” he snaps. “I have not downloaded Tinder. Or Bumble, or Hinge. Maybe you should give them a try and stop worrying about my love life.”

He shoos her away, but she just cackles and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Honey, I’ve been married for forty-five years.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s your ring?” He asks, nodding towards her naked ring finger.

“We’re not allowed to wear jewelry on the clock, Nosey Nelly,” she jabs back. You sit silently, watching the interaction with pursed lips to keep from laughing.

“Nosey Nelly,” Logan grumbles under his breath as he fishes his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulls out his debit card and slaps it into her palm.

You finally release a snort of laughter when Lucille waddles away.

“I take it that’s your best friend?”

“Believe it or not, she’s an improvement from Caliban.”

The two of you finish your meal with easy flowing conversation. You tell him what led you to Colorado, and about how you worked part time at a veterinarian’s office and part time at a bookstore. He tells you about some of the drunk, unhinged customers that he's had in his limousine lately.

It’s easy for him to forget that less than forty-eight hours ago, he hadn’t seen you in over a year.

Before your lives were irrevocably altered, you had been one of the closest friends he had ever had. One of the most important people in his life. Sitting across from you now, it’s too easy for him to remember why that was.

••••••

Logan’s reluctant to go to work tonight.

And it’s not just because he fucking hates his job and isn’t in the mood to tolerate the bachelor party currently occupying his backseat.

To an extent, he’s always nervous to go to work. He works night shifts because Charles sleeps at night, and is therefore less likely to be triggered into a seizure during the nighttime hours. It’s the safest time for Logan to be away.

It hasn’t happened before, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t. And with you now at the smelting plant, he worries about it happening while he’s away even more than he typically would.

He arrives at the strip club that the groom had requested he drive to and parks. They all drunkenly stagger out of the back of the vehicle, leaving Logan to relish in the silence after the door slams shut.

He pulls his phone from his coat pocket and sees that he has no messages.

He’d told you to text him if you needed anything, so it’s a good thing that you haven’t, right?

It’s just before midnight, so you're most likely asleep. The lack of a text is probably not anything as drastic as the conclusions that his brain is jumping to.

Still, he can't stop his fingers as he types out a message and hits send.

How’s the new bed?

After your brunch date – Lucille's words, not his – the two of you bought enough groceries to feed four people for a week and then went to the only furniture store in town to find you an upgrade from the fold out cot that they'd happened to have on hand when you arrived.

His phone dings just a minute later. He releases the breath he’d been holding before even reading your response.

It’s a major improvement. You were right - not too soft, not too firm. Though it feels a whole lot bigger than it did in the store.

He reads over the text at least five times and thinks back to your time in the mattress store earlier that day.

The first couple mattresses you tested out were too soft, the next few too firm. Logan didn’t mind that you were being indecisive – really. He was secretly relieved to have an excuse to spend more time with you, away from Caliban and Charles.

He laid down on a mattress that you hadn’t checked out yet and instantly thought that it was significantly better than his personal mattress at the smelting plant.

“What about this one?” He asks, patting the empty space next to him on the queen sized bed. You walk over to the opposite side of the bed and crawl in beside him. With your arms down at your sides, one rests against his. The mattress is more than big enough for you, but with him next to you, it’s a cozy fit.

He types: Is that a good thing or a bad thing? and presses send before he can overthink it. His screen shows that you read the message right away, and he can’t help but imagine the smirk on your face as you lay tucked beneath the covers.

The words ‘What do you think?’ appear on his screen.

He thinks he feels like a fucking teenager with the way that a few harmless, borderline flirtatious text messages from you has him imagining what it would be like to really share the bed with you.

His jeans begin to feel uncomfortably tight. He clicks the phone off and tosses it in the empty passenger seat beside him, before he says something that crosses a line that he can’t uncross.

••••••

The relief that your powers had provided Logan had been blissful but short-lived.

By the time he gets home from work at around four in the morning, his back pain has returned with a vengeance.

Everyone is asleep when he gets in, of course. He hobbles to his room as quietly as he can. Caliban and Charles are in the water tower, but he doesn’t want to wake you up. He hopes that by the time that you’re both awake later today, the pain will have subsided in his sleep.

Two hours after he lies down, he realizes that sleeping it off is an impossibility with the amount of discomfort he’s in. He’s done nothing but toss and turn in a futile attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position, the extra strength ibuprofen and his heating pad only doing so much to ease the stabbing sensation at the base of his spine.

He knows the answer to his problem is just down the hallway.

But it's early – the sun is just now starting to rise and he has yet to hear you stir from your room. He can't bring himself to wake you up over some back pain, knowing that you'll need to use your powers to help Charles soon.

He sits up with a deep groan, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. If he already can't sleep, he may as well make something to eat and settle the rumbling in his stomach.

Taking slow, short strides, he walks back down the hallway to the kitchen as quietly as he can manage.

He comes to a halt when he sees your door open, your head popping out from around the frame.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, your voice huskier than normal with sleep.

“How’d you guess?”

You step into the hallway, still in a pair of plaid sleep pants and an oversized crewneck.

“Your bed creaks every time you move.” You cross your arms over your chest, standing less than half a foot away from him. There’s evident concern on your face when you take in his stiff posture. “This place has thin walls.”

“Sorry to keep you awake.” He looks down at the ground, embarrassed. “I’ll stay in the living roo—”

“Don’t be silly,” you stop him. You grab his hand in yours and begin to pull him back in the direction of his bedroom.

He thinks about protesting – part of him wants to tell you that you shouldn’t bother. He thinks he should tell you that he appreciates it, but he’s a lost cause, and the relief will only be temporary.

But your hand is too warm and your skin is too soft and in the end, he isn’t strong enough to deny himself the feeling of your touch, so he let’s you lead the way to his bed.

You drop his hand to position yourself on one side of the bed. You don’t get underneath the comforter, but you do pull it back on his side so that he can crawl beneath it.

His isn’t quite as big as your new bed – it’s only a full size mattress, so it’s even more cramped than when the two of you laid on the mattress in the store yesterday, but he isn’t complaining.

It's unchartered territory for you two, this type of intimacy. He doesn’t remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone, but if there’s one person on the planet that he trusts enough to allow next to him in such a vulnerable state, it’s you.

“Lay however is most comfortable for you,” you instruct him gently.

He maneuvers onto his side, facing you. You copy his position, your faces inches away from each other’s on a shared pillow.

“Now close your eyes,” you whisper.

He does as you ask, and then feels your palm rest against the thick stubble of his jaw. Your thumb grazes across the skin of his cheekbone. He melts into your touch before you’ve even started using your powers.

“Is this okay?” you murmur.

“Mm-hmm,” he sighs against your hand. “Could just lay like this for a while and I’d probably fall asleep. Don’t even need to use your powers.”

You snort and run the tips of your fingers through his beard.

“How about I do both? That okay?”

He nods, too tired to think about stopping you.

He falls asleep to the soft hum of your powers within minutes, and dreams of the color purple.

••••••

Over the next few weeks, everyone falls into a comfortable routine.

You continue to work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and then again in the evenings. Your powers help him more than Logan ever could have hoped for. Not only is this the longest he’s gone without having a seizure in months, but he’s also increasingly lucid and alert, and more like his old, spunky self than ever.

Most weeknights you cook dinner for everyone, and Tuesdays become the day that you join Logan in going to town for a weekly grocery restock and brunch at the same diner that he first took you to a few weeks ago.

He tries not to make it too obvious, but it quickly becomes one of the best parts of his week – even with Lucille’s relentless teasing about how there’s “no way you’re just friends” and Logan would be “the biggest idiot on the planet to not lock you down”.

Neither of you ever put much energy into disagreeing with her.

The other best parts of his week occur early in the mornings, before daylight breaks and Charles and Caliban are still sound asleep. He gets home from work and you move from your bed and into his, relieving him of any physical discomfort he could be experiencing from hours of driving around and lulling him to sleep.

The first few nights, he’d wake hours later to find that you had escaped back to your own room after he’d fallen asleep. Then, one morning, when he woke up, he opened his eyes to find your face resting against his shoulder.

You stopped bothering to go back to your own room after that.

This evening – Christmas eve – Logan sits on his bed and stares at the gift that he’d gotten you while you finish preparing the dinner that you’d been working on for the last few hours.

He feels silly. There hadn’t been any discussion on getting each other gifts and he worries that it’ll make you feel weird.

It’s an espresso machine – nothing too fancy, but it’ll get the job done. You had recently mentioned how much you miss the espresso machine that you had in Colorado. The house you had been renting came furnished, which included an espresso machine that you were unable to bring with you to Mexico.

He stopped by a Target before work a couple nights ago and picked it out. To top off how silly he feels, he’d completely forgotten to buy wrapping paper or even a gift bag, so he’ll just be handing it to you as is.

“Dinner is almost ready!” He hears your voice call from the kitchen.

The smell of honey glazed ham and fresh rolls wafts down the hallway. He places the box containing the espresso machine on the floor beside his bed, planning to give it to you after Charles and Caliban go to bed in a few hours.

When he rejoins everyone in the common area, Charles is watching Home Alone and Caliban is gathering plates and silverware for everyone while you remove a large dish of baked mac and cheese from the oven.

“Smells great,” Logan compliments as he grabs a beer out of the fridge. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, as if you hadn’t all but shooed him out of the kitchen just an hour ago.

You place the casserole dish on a trivet before grabbing one of the plates that Caliban had set out.

“Yes, actually,” you say, surprising him. You hand him the plate with a small smirk. “You can make Charles a plate.”

“Oh, can I?” He takes a step closer to you, taking the plate and grinning down at you. “Are you sure you trust me to do that?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you’ve been alive two hundred years and haven’t taken the time to learn to cook.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to have you teach me-"

“Would you two stop flirting and get me some ham?” Charles voice booms over the television and silences you both.

Logan notices you purse your lips to keep from smiling as you turn your attention back to the spread of food across the dining room table.

Soon, you’re all four sat around the dining room table with plates piled high with traditional holiday dishes. Logan is halfway through clearing his plate when Charles clears his throat to speak.

“This is wonderful,” he directs at you. “Thank you very much. You know, this all feels very familiar to me…” he trails off, glancing between you and Logan from across the table. The smile on his face fades, and in it’s place appears an expression of confusion.

From the corner of his eye, Logan sees your grip on your fork tighten.

“Thank you, Charles,” you tell him. You try to sound cheerful, but Logan doesn’t miss the nervous edge to your voice. He knows that you’re noticing the same thing as him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Yes, these candied sweet potatoes are delicious,” Caliban interjects in an obvious attempt to maintain easy conversation. “You'll have to give me your rec—”

“This feels so familiar,” Charles repeats and all three of you go silent.

In his gut, Logan fears that he knows what is coming. It always starts this way. One minute, everything will be perfect. The next, something triggers a memory, or a feeling, and Charles is hit with the weight of the past – with the weight of the trauma that his brain normally blocks out.

“This feels like… how Christmas used to feel. When we’d have dinner at the.. at the mansion. With all of our friends before I.. before I killed them—”

“Charles,” Logan says firmly, but Charles continues to stare into space. “It wasn't your fault. Okay? Let's enjoy this nice dinner. Do you want some more green beans—”

But he’s unable to finish his sentence before it begins. The exact thing he’s been the most terrified of since you arrived here weeks ago.

Across from him, Caliban's face is frozen in agony. Beside him, your mouth is open as if to scream, but no sound comes out. Every one around him is still, and his body suddenly feels a few hundred pounds heavier.

It's been weeks since Charles’ last seizure, but Logan knew it was too good to be true – knew that it was bound to happen again eventually. He'd planned for this, knowing the effects of the psionic energy would hurt you as they do Caliban.

Logan forces himself into a standing position by pushing off of the dining room table, and then takes as big of steps as he possibly can to get to the opposite side, where Caliban and Charles sit.

He ignores the blinding nerve pain all over his body, he ignores the intense ringing in his ears, he ignores the way it feels as if all of the air has been ripped from his lungs and reaches down to grab the bag of medication from the compartment beneath Charles’ wheelchair – where he's made sure to keep it, in case of this exact scenario.

Despite his shaking hands, he manages to retrieve an injection and uncap it. He jabs the tip of the needle into the flesh of Charles’ shoulder with as much force as he can muster, then collapses to the floor beside him.

Charles releases a grief stricken groan, realizing what had happened. Logan hears both you and Caliban gasping for air.

“I'm sorry,” Charles cries. “I'm so sorry..”

Logan pulls himself off of the ground using the edge of the table and instantly turns his attention to you. Your eyes are wide and your hands are visibly shaking in your lap, but you exhale the breath you'd been holding when your eyes meet Logan's.

You push your chair back, standing and closing the distance between the two of you. Your hands grip the tops of Logan's biceps. He instinctively rests his on the sides of your stomach.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your voice wobbly and several octaves higher than normal.

“I'm fine,” he assures you delicately. “Are you okay?”

You nod, hesitantly at first and then more confidently as you take him in and seem to realize that he really is alright.

“I'm fine too,” Caliban grunts from across the table. “Don’t worry yourselves with me.”

Logan and you both quickly retract your hands, breaking the embrace. You turn your attention to Charles, who seems to be in another world.

“Charles? Are you alright?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He hums as he glances up at you. “Oh, yes. I’m alright. I think.. I think I’d like to go to bed now,” he murmurs. Logan, you, and Caliban all exchange glances before Logan tosses the bag of medication to Caliban.

“Give him a double dose of the suppressants and some sleep medicine,” Logan instructs him. Caliban nods wordlessly and wheels Charles away from the dining room table, towards the smelting plant’s door.

Once they’ve left the building, Logan turns to you. You look visibly shaken, and he can’t blame you. He remembers all too well how frightening the effects of the seizure was the first time he experienced it. Even with this one being relatively short lived, he knows it had to have been more painful and scary for you than it was for him.

“I’ll clean all of this up, okay?” He says, gesturing towards the half eaten dinners and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “You go relax. Take a shower, lay down for a while—”

“Really, Logan. I'm okay, I prom—”

“Will you do that for me?”

To his surprise, you don't object any further. You give him a small nod, and a comforting squeeze to his hand as you walk past him.

He doesn't release the sigh of both relief and frustration that he’d been holding in until he hears the shower turn on a few moments later.

••••••

As soon as Logan finishes tidying up from dinner, he cuts two small slices of an apple pie you had baked and puts them on a plate for the two of you to share.

Your door is slightly cracked, the soft orange light from your table lamp spilling into the hallway. He knocks quietly and waits for you to tell him to come in.

You’re in your pajamas, tucked under a blanket with a book partially obscuring your face. You do little to acknowledge his presence, so he takes a seat on the edge of your bed and places the plate of pie beside him.

The room looks significantly different than it did just a few weeks ago. In addition to the new bed, you'd also acquired a vintage dresser and an area rug that you’d found for cheap at a thrift store. You have books in piles throughout the room, one of the things that you were most adamant about bringing with you from Colorado.

“Charles is alright,” he tells you gently. “He must have just been really tired. He didn’t nap much today. Caliban said he fell asleep really quickly after taking his medicine.”

“Except that wasn’t why he had a seizure,” you sigh, closing your book. Logan now has a better view of your face, and the first thing he notices is that your eyes look red-rimmed and watery. You sit up straight, and he inches closer to you on the bed.

“Hey, what’s going—”

“It was definitely my fault that he had a seizure,” you sniffle, looking at him with defeat.

“What? No,” Logan shakes his head. You have a blanket draped across your lap, but Logan places his hand on your knee over top of it. “What makes you say that?”

“I always work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and an hour in the afternoons,” you start, frustration evident in your voice. “But this afternoon, I cut our session short because he wasn’t really in the best mood and I wanted to get started on prep for dinner.”

You wipe underneath your eye with the sleeve of your shirt and look away from Logan’s gaze.

“Sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself for this,” he assures you as he rubs slow circles on your knee with his thumb. “He was having seizures almost every single day before you got here. You’re not the reason he had a seizure today. But you are the reason he’s been able to go weeks without having one.”

“Okay?” He prompts when you don’t respond. You finally look him in the eye again, and offer a small nod of agreement.

He hands you the plate of apple pie, earning a small smile from you.

“Wait here. I’ve got something for you,” he tells you as he stands up and begins walking towards your door.

“Something for me?” you question, but he’s already halfway down the hallway.

He grabs the espresso machine from beside his bed and heads back to your room. He still feels nervous to give it to you, but right now he’s just hoping that it will help cheer you up.

When he re-enters your room, you’re forking a bite of pie into your mouth and freeze when you see what he’s carrying. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, still holding the box. You sit the plate of pie on your bedside table and scoot closer to him.

“Logan, you didn’t have to,” you murmur. He hands you the box and you hug it to your chest, but only look at him. He thinks your eyes are starting to look watery again. “I feel so bad. I didn’t get you anything—”

He waves his hand in dismissal, not surprised at all by your reaction.

“I know I didn’t have to. Just wanted to. Is that okay?”

You inspect the espresso machine with a bashful grin. “Thank you. I love it,” you assure him with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “I just wish I had gotten you something, too.”

“That’s not necessary,” he says, staring down at where your hand holds his. “You give me everything I need just by being here.”

You go still at his words with a look he can’t quite read on your face. You pull your hand away from his before placing the espresso box on the floor next to your bed. The hand that previously held his comes to cradle his face, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. He turns his head ever so slightly to the side so that his lips graze against your palm. He kisses the skin once, then twice, and your eyes flutter closed.

His heightened senses don’t miss the way your heart rate picks up, or the way that you hold your breath as his lips linger on your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” He murmurs into the side of your hand. You open your eyes, your pupils dilated.

“Same thing I’ve been thinking about for years now,” you whisper as you lean forward, pulling his face to you.

You capture his lips in yours, opening up for him without hesitation. He slips his tongue into your mouth, the sensation simultaneously feeling brand new and like you’ve done this dance a hundred times before.

He scoots further back onto the mattress, away from the edge. He pulls you with him, guiding you onto his lap. You straddle him, his hands resting on your lower back. You fist your hands around the fabric of his flannel, pulling him flush against you.

It's years of pent up desire and longing that you pour into each other. You drag your teeth along the swell of his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth, resisting the urge to buck his hips up against your center.

He knew you looked sweet, smelled sweet – but never would he have guessed that you’d taste even sweeter. Even if it weren’t for the faint hint of cinnamon and apples from the pie you’d nibbled on, he’d think you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You grind down against the uncomfortable bulge contained by his jeans and whimper – the prettiest sound he’s ever fucking heard and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You pull back, your chest heaving from lack of air.

“Why didn’t we do that years ago?” you ask breathlessly. He reaches up to your face, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he answers quickly. His eyes lock on your kiss swollen lips and he thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now – staring down at him with puffy lips wet with his kiss. “But now that I’ve kissed you, I’m not gonna stop. Gonna kiss you for as long as you’ll let me.”

And to prove his point, he starts trailing wet, open mouth kisses along your jaw and down your throat. You throw your head back, giving him unhindered access to the skin of your neck. He alternates between kissing and nipping the tender flesh, leaving a damp trail across your skin.

You grab at the hem of your shirt and Logan pulls away to allow you to tug it over your head. You’re left naked from the waist up and Logan is left feeling like his cock is going to break through the zipper of his jeans.

With your tits directly in front of his face, he latches his mouth to one nipple and palms the other in his hand. You rock yourself against his erection, chasing the relief that the friction provides you.

“Logan,” you pant from above him. “Please—”

He pulls his mouth away from you with a wet pop, leaving your nipple glistening and taut.

“Tell me what you want, honey.”

You let out a low whimper at the pet name and drag your fingers through his hair. He toys with the waistband of your pajamas pants, popping the elastic band lightly against your skin.

“Your mouth,” you say, the words somewhere between a whine and a plea. “I wanna feel your mouth on me.”

He groans at the bluntness of your words. Hearing you say that you want his mouth on you has his cock throbbing in his pants.

“Yeah?” He taunts as he maneuvers you off of his lap. He quickly tugs his own shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his chest, your mouth slightly agape.

He tilts your head so that you’re looking at his face again and tugs at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

In that moment, he hopes you never stop looking at him like that.

“You gonna sit on my face?”

You nod, eagerly. You push your pajama pants down past your ass and thighs, and Logan helps pull them the rest of the way over your calves and ankles. You lean forward, reaching for the waistline of his jeans and fumbling with the button until it pops open.

He sees you completely naked before him and his brain goes momentarily blank. He can’t believe he actually gets to see you like this – bare for him and more perfect than he ever could have envisioned.

And believe him, he had tried. Nothing could have prepared him for how it actually feels to see you, touch you, taste you after years of yearning for you.

“Lay down for me?” You ask with a small laugh, snapping him out of his trance. He does as you ask, placing his head on one of your pillows.

You straddle his chest, your back to his face. He helps you inch backwards until your pussy hovers directly over his mouth. He pauses for a moment, spreading your thighs apart with his hands to give him a clear view of your already dripping cunt before yanking you the rest of the way down to his mouth.

You moan as soon as his tongue slides through your wet folds, bracing your hands on the defined planes of his chest. The sweet and salty tang of you fills his mouth and he has to resist moaning goddamn, I love you into your cunt.

He could get drunk off of the flavor of you.

You grind yourself against his face, your juices coating his beard and your inner thighs. He’s so focused on working you with his lips and tongue that he doesn’t even notice you pushing his jeans and boxers down until he feels his cock spring back and slap his lower belly.

“Fuck,” you moan at the sight of him. You pump him in your hand, smearing the pre-cum from his slit down his shaft. “You're so big. I don’t know how you’ll fit inside me.”

He hears you spit, then feels it drip across his tip. You smear the warm wetness down his length and press a kiss to the side of his cock before taking him in your mouth. The head nudges against the back of his throat before you pull back, then ease back in, slow and deep.

He’s always loved your lips, but right now he’s doesn’t think he could ever love them more. He wants to watch as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head along his length, but that’s going to have to wait for another time.

Right now, he’s right where he wants to be. He has your swollen clit locked between his lips, sucking on it to the point that your legs quiver around his head. You lean forward, pressing your chest against his stomach as you run your tongue down the entirety of his cock and stroke him in your hand.

“I’ve waited so long to taste you,” he grunts from beneath you. The vibrations of his voice making your pussy clench around the finger that he teases your hole. “This cunt’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

He eases his index finger past your entrance, your walls constricting around the digit. “And so fuckin’ tight,” he adds, pumping in and out of you as you begin to move forwards, then backwards, up, and then down – grinding against his finger.

“Logan, I'm gonna cum,” you cry and it makes his balls tighten. He feels it – the way you gush around his finger and the way your legs clench around his head.

You ride out your orgasm above him, and then collapses against his chest. Your skin is sticky with sweat against his, despite the fact that the current cold front has the smelting plant colder than normal tonight.

You roll off of him, falling onto the mattress next to him. Your slick glistens on your thighs in the soft glow of your lamplight. It's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, he thinks. You fucked out and delirious from your climax.

But he thinks he might fucking die if he has to spend one more second of his abnormally long life not knowing how it feels to be buried inside you.

He helps pull you into a sitting position, and then lays you down in his place. Your tits heave as you try to regain control of your breathing. He's on his knees, fisting himself in his hand as he nudges your knees open. Your eyes are locked on his cock, a look of half excitement and half terror.

“You can take it, honey. I know you can,” he coos.

He slaps the tip against your clit, then glides it up and down your wet length. Not entering you quite yet, but coating himself in your slick. He looks down at himself next to your pretty, wet cunt and imagines how it’ll be to see it sliding in and out of you.

“Just been a while, that’s all,” you say, pulling him down to the by the back of the neck. He lines himself up at your entrance, nudging just the tip in. Even that’s a stretch for you, he can tell by the way your mouth forms an O shape.

He goes still for a moment – for your sake, but for his own, as well. He has to adjust to the warm tightness of your pussy before he trusts himself to go any deeper.

“I know, baby. Been a while for me too. Been waiting for you for a long time.”

He slates his lips over yours, kissing you messy and deep as he slowly sheaths himself inside you. He stills again once he’s buried to the hilt, and breaks the kiss to look down at you.

“You okay?” He murmurs. He props himself up on one forearm by your head, and brings his free hand to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You give him another eager nod, and wrap your legs securely around his hips, hooking your ankles together just below his ass.

“Mm-hmm,” you sigh. “Need you to move now, Logan.”

With his cock throbbing inside you, he doesn’t make you tell him twice. His length drags along the soft, spongy interior of your walls as he pulls out and eases back in. He gives you a few languid, slow strokes to accommodate the newfound stretch before it's hard for him to hold back.

He gets lost in it all – in the wet, tight heat of your cunt, in the sounds that your bodies make as he repeatedly snaps into you, in every expression on your face and every noise that slips past your lips.

You snake your arms around his abdomen, your hands coming to rest on his lower back.

“H-how’s your back?” You stammer out as he continues to piston his hips forward.

“I've never been better,” Logan grunts, resting his sweat slicked forehead against yours.

It's the truth. He’s never felt better than he does right now, between your legs – even if he is feeling this in his back. He'll deal with any and all repercussions later, once he's felt you cum around his cock while you cry his name.

You smile up at him as if to say wanna bet?

You flatten your hands across his skin at the base of his spine, and he doesn’t have to be able to see it to know what you're doing. He's experienced the effects of your powers enough by now to recognize them instantly – the low vibration they emit and the immediate warmth that spreads throughout his body.

“Gonna make me cum, honey,” he warns you. “Feels too good.” He feels your walls constrict around him when he calls you honey.

“Kiss me and I’ll cum with you,” you tell him in a breathy voice that he could listen to talk in all fucking night.

He kisses you again, this time more hurried than anytime before as he chases both of your releases. He spills into you with a deep groan as your cunt spasms around him. You moan his name into his mouth until he stills inside you, the last ropes of his cum filling you up.

He isn’t sure how long the two of you stay like that – with him still tucked inside you, laying pressed against you with his face nuzzling the crook of your neck. You trail your fingers up and down his spine, the sensation the only thing grounding him to reality in his post orgasm haze.

Finally, he pulls back enough to look down at you.

“Stay here,” he says earnestly. “Stay with me. Don't go back to Colorado. One day, we’ll go anywhere you want to. Just the two of us. But right now, please stay—”

“Logan,” you shush him gently. “I wasn’t planning on going back to Colorado. Or anywhere without you.”

He exhales, and kisses you on the forehead before finally pulling out of you and plopping down beside you. He tucks you between his chest and his arm, your head resting just above his heart.

“You know, this new bed of yours is a whole lot comfier than mine,” he comments casually.

“Hmm,” you hum and tilt your head to look up at him. “You should probably sleep here tonight. For your back, of course.”

He laughs, sleep threatening to overtake him at any second. He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“I'm not going anywhere without you, honey.”

••••••

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Blue's Rose - Chapter 23 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Boys Will Fall

Blue Cavanaugh & Kulap 'Kool' Somboon

Thursday after meeting Kool for lunch, Blue headed back to the hotel.

With another four hours to kill before they could meet up again, he decided to spend the afternoon on the beach.

Over the past week he spent every lunch hour with Kool and had then gone off galivanting like a typical tourist choosing places Kool recommended.

Today he didn't feel like doing much extra and decided the beach suited his mood more.

Sitting in the taxi, Blue wrinkled his nose as he recalled that particular conversation just a few minute ago.

"Any particular place you want to visit today?" Kulap had asked.

Blue, with his elbows on the cream colored table cloth of the upper-class restaurant, leant forward, his chin resting in the V of his joined hands, pursed his lips as if in contemplation before replying.

"Nowhere. I'm pretty drained. Just the beach today, I think."

Kool had sat back comfortably in his chair, his lean form dressed once again in his habitual black except for a bright splash of summery color, the silk fabric of a pink tie that looked particularly good on him.

He had noticed every day this week that Kool wasn't sticking to his customary dress code of all black.

The previous days he had worn different conservative colored suits with one colorful accessory, his tie.

Each day a new tie shined a new light on Kool.

Even wearing mostly black today, the slash of pink across his chest was enough to make his eyes shine brighter, a naughty twinkle making them almost impossible for Blue to look away.

Like right now.

As soon as Blue had said he was beat a mischievous spark had flared to life in Kool's almond shaped eyes and Blue found himself both dreading and looking forward to whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

"Drained?" Kool had drawled out with heavy emphasis on the first word.

"Hmm?"

Blue had chuckled back.

"Mmm hmm," Blue nodded with a light smile.

"Sapped," he added, the corner of his lips tilting up, transforming his smile into more of a smirk.

"Ahh," Kulap replied back casually with his own nod.

"Sapped," he repeated back slowly.

Blue's smiled had widened then.

"I can keep going all day if you want," he had taunted.

Kulap leant forward on his elbow then, quickly glancing around at the other patrons who sat rather closely, before whispering sotto voice to Blue.

"Oh I know you can. I believe it's your ability to keep going and going that has left you 'drained' and 'sapped'."

**********

Sitting back in the taxi now, Blue remembered the teasing expression on Kulap's face, the dancing wickedness he didn't even try to hide.

Kool, Blue had learned, had a thing for sexual puns, innuendos and double-entendres, it was a bad habit he had, one Blue loved.

Just as they had in the restaurant, Kool's words alone could make him semi erect within seconds.

Kool had that affect on him, his beauty sucked Blue in, made his pulse speed up, his gut tighten, his dick harden pretty much without fail.

His mouth though and not just what he did with it and that was saying something but the words that could come flying out of it at any given moment could make him hard in seconds flat.

Everyday it was as if Kool was letting his walls down becoming bolder, feistier, raunchier and Blue couldn't help it, he loved it.

Seeing Kool so comfortable with him, letting his guard down, teasing and playful, it was Kool of four years ago, almost.

The inclusion of sex definitely changed the dynamic, made it more intense and sexier and it took their bond to a whole new level.

Blue spent the time during the day when he was away from Kool, literally thinking about him and what they had done and what they would do, the word obsessed came to mind.

Blue had never been so wrapped up in a person before, he had never felt so consumed about being with them, holding their hand, kissing them, touching them, loving them.

Blue sighed as the taxi pulled up to the hotel, he was thankful for the interruption of his thoughts because that was truly the crux of the matter, how he was feeling and he very much felt in love.

Making his way up to his hotel room, Blue quickly entered and changed into his bathing suit and slathered on some sunscreen, grabbed some water and a towel and headed right back out with his key-card and cell in the pocket of his trunks.

He wound his way back to his usual spot on the beach and flapped his towel on the soft sand, plopping down with a tired sigh.

Having been here almost two weeks now, his skin had turned a nice golden brown but he knew if he was not careful, he could still burn so he set the timer on his phone and sat up, whipping off his t-shirt before laying back down again to rest and think.

Love, it felt like the word was literally hovering over his body as he lay in the hot sun. It floated and tempted and teased, he was actually tired of dodging it.

He squinted open his eyes as if he actually expected to see a heart or bubbly red letters spelling the word 'love' bobbing over him like balloons but of course, he didn't and they weren't but that didn't make his feelings any less strong because he felt love, for Kool, he loved him, he really did.

It felt scary, voicing that even if only in his mind, admitting it, it didn't feel wrong or bad but it felt scary because what could become of it?

Now that he admitted it was more than just physical, was he now risking a chance of being really hurt?

Was this the right thing to do or was he setting himself up for pain?

But damnit, the way it felt being with Kool, how his body felt, his heart, his mind, God, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, it was damn near perfect, which is what made it so fucking scary.

Blue sat up, feeling antsy, covering his cell-phone and hotel key-card with the towel he stood up and took off at a jog towards the water, as tired as he was, he was agitated, too.

His physical feelings for Kool were intense but these new emotional gut churning, soul melding sensations he was starting to have were on a whole other level and the last few nights with Kool, when the strong fiery physical melted with these new deep and poignant sentiments it was frankly overwhelming.

Never would Blue have thought he was capable of experiencing such engulfing affections for another human being, he felt like a volcano that had erupted and he was now overflowing with sexual passion and emotional passion and just plain old all-consuming passion, like he had said, fucking scary.

Blue dove into the warmish-cool wave trying to distract himself, he didn't need a full-on erection while only wearing his swim trunks out on a public beach, he had been in a permanent state of arousal since their dance that first night.

Now free to indulge, it was as if his body were out of control, no longer just his to command but Kool's as well, it was heady, it was wonderful and it was horrible.

Blue slowly walked out of the water, ignoring the admiring looks from two girls strolling past him in revealing bikinis, their tiny bodies brown and by their gestures, inviting but Blue was indifferent.

Right now, he only had one person on his mind and it was a lean light skinned, dark haired, honey eyed, sensual lipped, insatiable, potty minded, uber rich, closeted 'engaged' gay lover, he was more than enough for Blue to deal with right now.

Blue dropped to his knees at the edge of his towel and leaned forward, his forearms catching his weight as he lay own with a tired sigh his mind straying once more back to that four-letter word.

Love, as painful as this was all most likely going to turn out, Blue knew what he was feeling was special, maybe even once in a life time, that thought hurt.

How was he supposed to exist for the rest of his life on only a few weeks of memories?

And what did he do with this love?

Did he express it?

Did he confess?

He imagined doing it, he couldn't and yes, partly because just the thought of confessing his love to anyone freaked him out.

He had never done it before.

He had never felt like this before but he knew deep inside, that if this had a real chance to grow, go somewhere, he would probably confess his feelings in a heartbeat but with everything hanging over them, was confessing even fair to do?

Was he seriously contemplating laying that burden on Kool?

Blue frowned, knowing he could not saddle him more pressure than he already had to contend with.

Kool's family loaded responsibility on him as if he were a pack mule.

Blue would never add to his already overloaded shoulders.

If that meant keeping his new found love to himself, he could, gladly, if he could help Kool walk his path with one less thing for him to worry about, he would, for Kool he would pretty much do anything.

He would keep this to himself. Injecting his feelings now could potentially spoil things, make Kool withdraw, despite what pain he knew was in store for him, Blue was still not willing to give up a second.

The fact that they had even found this connection was more that he could have hoped for.

Their time may be short but he wasn't going to waste a minute of it and when it was time to leave, he would do so with a smile for Kool, a kiss and a wink.

He wouldn't burden Kool with his deeper emotions, they weren't Kool's responsibility to carry, not to mention how happy Kool had seemed during this time with Blue, he smiled so much, he physically looked lighter, eyes brighter, lips softer.

Though Blue occasionally found shadows lurking in the depths of Kool's eyes he easily dispersed the darkness with hot passion that had them groping and grinding each other with unwavering inhibition.

Who was he to risk ruining that for either of him?

Other than obvious, being unable to love Kool freely forever, the only other real fly in Blue's ointment, was having to lay there, watching quietly as Kool got up and had to leave him every night, he hadn't stayed the full night since Saturday.

Blue knew he had to go to work so he never said anything but what he hated the most was that second when Kool, sighed, this very sad sounding exhalation that always alerted Blue to the fact their time for the day had ended.

Blue had a feeling his leaving had everything to do with his family, he even suspected something had happened Sunday night when Kool went home but he never said and Blue didn't ask, it was yet another one of those things that just was for Kool and Blue didn't feel like he had the right to infringe past his invisible barriers.

[kellyinverse]

Dear Djinn

It’s time to accept that never have you expressed a reason for me in your life

Despite my asking

It’s felt in our kiss, touch, but beyond that

- as a forensic rehashing has provided (based on facts only)

You’ve indulged me

My musings

And you enjoyed being the muse

A forty something Fabio

For my middle-aged fantasyland

I am grateful despite this epiphany,

My heart’s dismay.

Our paths intersected

When I stopped believing in love

Coming to terms with another toxic relationship

The shame I felt

How I tried to flippantly move on from my darkness

Trauma

Suffering from love bombers

And repeating the chase for attractive avoidance

ignoring the actions

Penning pieces begging for

Reactive lust

And after so many months

Even I have worn myself weary

…

The slow burn of getting to know someone

An infinite puzzle

Built on the flap of a butterfly’s wings

On what ifs,

the crux of any good story...

*

The art of escape

Your ability to keep so much hidden

Me fearing that if I pry you will disappear forever

Foolish really

I've no wish to grind you down

nor convince you I'm worthy

of something you don't wish to give me

I brave the night with strangers that could end me

And yet, I hide my curiosity from the one human I wish I knew more

So what now? Do I excuse myself and take a bow

Or do I keep guessing

Icing my bruised ego

Writing more to my own peril

Dissecting every moment until I break?

I wish I had the answers

But I don’t

I miss the warmth of him

You

Whoever that is

Accepting the idea that this

supernatural bliss is merely a fairy tale

I created to pacify my pain.

It's too small a town to just move on,

to free him from his obligatory weekly kindness

and the threadbare delayed responses

may be what's necessary

(in my innocence, I held hope that I mattered to him too)

What if this magician was the calm I needed

to embrace my fragility and find strength?

If only I put such efforts into other pursuits,

my journey.

But I see/saw him as part of that experience

a reason to be again.

In all fairness my mind does not operate like most people

I’ve been in survival mode since birth

I’m tired

But in my reluctance to see the truth

I hindered my chances to understand the man

By putting him in a bottle

With these words

I break the confines of my

curse

And

Set you free

Helping all and harming none

3x3x3

with love,

Kelly

(Context)

*It is not goodbye, but releasing the bare minimum expectations from you is what I need.

The silences hurt, despite me trying to explain them away. A real conversation would clear the air as I hope that we are friends regardless of the lack of part time touch. I miss it, there's been no-one else. That was my choice.

I won't make assumptions but maybe there is someone else and you're afraid to tell me just like not being able to open the songs.(I would’ve blindly added u to my account.)

Honesty is all I've wanted.

I am a lot and in my heart I found it miraculous that you've been here this long. I embraced the angst thinking it would make for better art.

The anguish is palpable and I know not why. I want to be celebrated by someone I rejoice in seeing and perhaps this is why it hurts. The imbalance of it all.

Your innocence in all things taboo has always been alluring and maybe we can explore those things in the future if it is just life keeping you at bay. It will require communication and preparation though.

p.s.

I'll be at Barzaare tonight, 7/8/2024.

The moment came and went.

There was a crowd and I was seen and heard but the only eyes I hoped to find were yours.

Like I’d done so many times before.

🖤

[moonrisecalamityretreat]

blunt not the heart || maxime || re: kazuo, mika, mio, hotaru

Like this-- without the careful planning that plagues every moment of Maxime's life, and acting freely-- his ability to think ahead feels... dulled. For that reason, as he watches Kazuo move, he can't think of any way to stop it. It's logical, that someone would go after Loic to get to him. But he feels like his movements are working on some sort of... input delay. He watches and opens his mouth, but can't stop Loic from being hit. It's only after that he speaks, teeth bared furiously.

"Bastard. Do you really think I believe that? You don't have it in you."

It's an undeniable fact that his actions have put Loic in danger, though. In more ways than one, even. Jinpachi had pointed it out earlier-- a mistrial with him as the killer places Loic in the pool of potential options. If he'd been thinking, he would have considered that, but he wasn't. That was the problem. Weeks of being trapped here, the stress of losing a friend, hunger and heat had all worn Maxime's decision-making abilities down to a single base instinct: he needed to get out.

And now he was getting out, and he needed to... think. As usual. He needed to think as he had earlier, about how best he can protect Loic. He straightens up, beckoning.

"Loic. Come over here."

As soon as Loic approaches, Maxime moves him to the side of his podium nearest Reimi's empty one, effectively placing himself between his brother and Ken, who he imagines is the next largest threat. He turns to a moment to face Loic, and for that moment he almost looks... maybe not normal, given that it's unsure what normal actually is for him now, but like the Maxime you've all come to know. He fusses, turning Loic's head to make sure his jaw isn't horribly broken. Once he's sure things are fine, he turns back to the group.

At least Mikazuki asks him questions he can answer. He's appreciated that about them, recently. They're always very straightforward about things. It makes it easier for him to be honest with them.

"...Ten years, almost."

He answers almost dully, until anger leaks back into his expression. Or maybe frustration.

"Ten years of trying-- trying to live normally. I was managing it. I have been managing it. Can you imagine what it feels like? Having to-- you can't-- feel anything."

In the entire time he's been here, only one or two people have heard Maxime speak as emotively as he is now. His frustration, for once, is palpable.

"You think I wanted this? Of course I didn't! I would have happily continued living the way I was, but this fucking place--"

His hand clenches.

"I couldn't--"

And unclenches.

"Do it anymore."

He looks up at Mika again, furious. But there's something else in his expression... less angry. Desperate, maybe? But that can't be.

"I couldn't hold it anymore. So I did what I had to do. If you think I'm happy with leaving Loic with you people, though..."

Maxime's usually carefully-constructed sentences fall apart with the struggle to express feelings he ordinarily can't. But he laughs, painfully.

"...If you think I'm a good brother, I've truly fooled you. I've always been a miserable one. But... if I leave now, I can-- come back."

Now he turns to look at Loic again. The struggle to ignore the fury he feels from the trial is evident on his face, as he tries again to push it into neutrality.

"I'll find help and come back. I promise, I'm not going to leave you here. You just need to stay alive for a bit longer, and I'll-- I'll find a way to get you out."

I'll make up for everything, he fails to say. It would be a lie, since he's realized over the course of being here that he really can't. The most he can do, after his worst mistake yet, is this one thing that he's not even sure is possible.

"...By the way," this is addressed to the group at large, from how he raises his voice. "All of that shit you got angry about, this entire time... that's all been me, of course. Do you really think he could come up with things like that on his own? I'm the one who strategized this whole trial, after all. Loic does whatever I ask of him, really.

With that in mind... if I come back. And Loic isn't well. I don't see any need to rescue most of you. I'll ensure you don't make it out, in fact. Clearly I'm capable of it."

This is said with an easy coldness. Maxime is the villain here.

Most of you, though-- that part is important. Because now he looks at Mio, and his expression... is unreadable. It's a perfectly understandable reaction, really. Maxime has irrevocably betrayed them. He expects another similar one will be coming from a different direction, that he doesn't want to see just as much. And it...

It hurts. Something else he doesn't ordinarily allow himself to feel. But it's his fault, so it's not right that he does now.

Though, thanks to people like Mio, he's realized that it would be nice if he could feel those things. Happiness and friendship and sadness and such. It's a shame it's too late for any of it.

He forces his expression to neutral again, reining in whatever horrible uncontrollable reaction is building. It makes his eye twitch with the subsequent stab of pain in his head, but he manages a second of normality.

"...That's alright, Mio." He finally says. "You're right. It's not your problem, so... I think you'll be just fine not bothering with me. It's for the best, even."

He'd come back to get her too, with the same sentiment he'd offered Loic... but he imagines saying that to it right now wouldn't be advisable. He imagines for a second, as well, appealing again that he had wholly been the one at fault. But he imagines it feels just as betrayed by Loic. In the following second of normality, he chooses to stay quiet, as usual.

And then it's back to his wide-eyed, slightly manic energy as he releases the feelings he'd momentarily roped in. He smiles at Hotaru.

"...What, no anger? The broadcast is off, you know. You can go ahead. I really won't mind-- won't care, either, but you know how it is."

His hand continues to clench on his podium the entire while he speaks.

[flamebringer0]

This is true, but I think it's mostly because the Darkstalker apologists have gone away or been worn down while the critics have stuck around. If you look at older discussions it's more even. After thinking about this for a while I've decided It makes sense, and it also makes more sense of the whole debate around him.

The impression I got of Darkstalker, as someone who read the whole story after it was complete, is that he's pretty obviously just a bad guy. Not a totally unsympathetic bad guy, mind you, but someone whose actions can't be excused or ameliorated in any reasonable way. This seemed obvious enough that I was quite surprised to hear there even was a contingent of people who take him to be some sort of misunderstood hero.

But what I took away from reading the whole arc as a unit isn't representative of the experience a serial reader would have in, say, 2015. In Moon Rising, released in 2014 December, Darkstalker is genuinely a pretty sympathetic character! What you know about him after reading that book is that he helps Moon with her abilities and saves her life, he was trapped in a state of horrible torture for months, and he's extremely lonely because everyone he's ever known is dead. It remains an open question why helped Moon and why his old friends decided to trap him. I don't think it's hard to see how someone with only Moon Rising for reference would like Darkstalker and therefore come to believe that he really did care about Moon and didn't deserve what happened to him.

After Moon Rising, Darkstalker's own voice completely goes out of the story because Winter can't speak to him, and you don't get any real information about him until Escaping Peril in 2015 December. With a whole year to think about it without any new information, people whose read on Darkstalker is that he's just misunderstood would have plenty of time to get invested in that idea. The arc is continuing to come out, though, and each new book after Escaping Peril has more and more reasons to reject the hero Darkstalker read. I guess at that point a lot of people double down, and from there there's an obvious path to "well you have to cut him some slack, his father was abusive!", and other silly and inadequate fig leaves. None of these arguments are compelling, but I can believe that someone who had already concluded that he's not such a bad guy would be motivated to make them.

After Darkness of Dragons, Darkstalker's story is over aside from a couple throwaway jokes. A new reader at this point can reckon with things like Darkstalker's attempted genocide, his regular use of mind control, and his abuse of even those he considers his best friends, more or less simultaneously with first encountering him. This makes them much less likely to come to the conclusion that he's misunderstood, and therefore much less likely to end up in the apologist camp. At that point the supply of potential Darkstalker critics is growing, and the supply of apologists is fixed, or probably even dwindling as people get tired of the fandom and leave it. But fans who stick around still remember how things were, and so it becomes a truism that there are a lot of people who think genocide boy did nothing wrong, even though when you actually look for such people there's not many to find.

I see more people complaining about supposed Darkstalker apologists than actual apologists

And no, liking a character doesn't mean you condone their actions

.