#sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do

[thisweknow]

I very much understand your frustration with the "you! are! valid!" Tumblr culture from the mid-2010s, that was something that honestly made me feel so isolated as a teenager. I hated hearing "it gets better!" and watching my life fall further and further apart with everyone telling me that it would all be fine one day. It felt hypocritical. It WAS hypocritical—to tell me my feelings and my experiences were valid and then to just absolutely steamroll me when I expressed my frustrations and fears.

I started to favor the phrase "everything changes" around the time I turned 16. I liked the idea of neutrality, it was something I'd seen as a suggestion relating to body positivity, which I struggle(d) with greatly. The basic premise was that if you couldn't say anything positive, try saying something neutral. Everything changes is neutral. It's not saying it'll get better necessarily, but not that it would be worse, either. It felt like the closest to a truth I could have. What I was dealing with in any given moment wouldn't last forever. Everything changes, my circumstances today are entirely different than my circumstances tomorrow, even if it doesn't always feel like it.

I've let that phrase carry me for years. In the bad moments I remind myself that everything changes, and the world parts that suck won't suck so immediately forever. In the good moments I remind myself that everything changes, and I should hold on to those and savor them for what they are, even if they're peppered in with the worst moments.

It's not to say that I don't remember the bad moments now—I very much do. I can remember a lot of the trauma of my childhood and if I let myself sit with it for too long I can feel what it was like to sit awake at 3 AM sobbing in my room wishing that I was no longer here. I don't think I will ever truly forget that. I can say that those parts aren't the part on my mind anymore. When I look back at my life I tend to look with rose colored glasses at the parts that were good. The moments I spent with my friends, the nights I'd sneak out to ride my bike in the peace and silence of the small town I lived in, the rehearsals for plays that I dreaded going to but loved being in, the way my dog would curl up at my feet and sleep there all night when I was sad—the list goes on. The bad parts are still very much remembered and acknowledged, but the good parts are the ones I think about and the ones I miss.

I know that I struggled for a long time with feeling guilty about having moments I looked back on that I didn't hate. This was especially true after leaving an abusive relationship. I knew the person I had left had been abusive and had done horrible things to me, that I had sustained damages that I wasn't sure I could recover from. Yet I still had moments I looked back on fondly. Moments where I had genuinely cared for my abuser, moments of sweetness and moments of joy, moments of calm and peace that I hadn't had with anyone else. I felt like looking at those moments somewhat fondly cheapened my experiences, as if it was somehow an admission of fraud to acknowledge that even the worst thing that had ever happened to me had its silver linings. It took years of therapy and dedicated self work to finally understand that abuse doesn't happen in a vacuum and that it's okay to miss those good moments, however many there might be, even when we know the overall situation was awful.

It's okay to savor the good things when they come your way. A journal entry from when I was about 17 sums it up really well: I don't want to be happy all of the time. If I was happy all of the time I wouldn't really feel happy anymore, would I? It would just be my normal, my neutral. I want to feel positive at least 75% of the time, that's my goal. I want to feel sad sometimes, too. I want to feel angry and hurt, I want to feel excited and happy and in love, too. I want to experience every emotion life has to offer, even the sucky ones. I don't think I would appreciate happiness if I didn't experience everything else, yknow?

btw you will miss this in 5 or 10 years. memory will smooth these circumstances down like a river stone, and you will find yourself longing for a shade of light or a moment of this particular innocence. you don't know about what happens next, and one day that will be the most alluring thing of all. don't leave it all for nostalgia. have a nice night now, whatever night it happens to be.

[hoshifighting]

Hi. I've been here for 2 years but it's the first time I've sent a request, idkw. 1. I love your new theme. 2. I love u. 3. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, ignore me if it does. 4. I'm curious about how svt vs body hair are like. Are they hairy or do they shave? How do you like your s/o, waxed or hairy? Idk. Let me know your thoughts.

a/n: welcome anon! thank you sooo much! i love you too! ❤️ and I think this is actually interesting? I've never really thought ab it, but we're just playing out there, nothing serious

seventeen + body hair

WARNINGS: shaving and ... body hair? [all i can think about, is chan with his shaving machine]

seungcheol: trims neatly but doesn’t fuss over it. for him, it’s more about feeling comfortable than appearances. if he’s in a long-term relationship, he might even ask what his partner prefers

jeonghan: jeonghan strikes me as someone who could go either way, depending on his mood. he might keep it completely shaved for that super smooth, or let it grow out

joshua: probably shave it all off? i would even risk to say that he might wax. prob shaves like everything bc he just doesn’t like the feeling of hair

junhui: keeps it natural but pays attention to it occasionally. he doesn’t obsess over grooming but will trim or clean up when he feels it’s necessary

hoshi: i see him doing fun shapes 😭 you just never know with him... but definitely a "leave a lil line" kinda guy bc he thinks it’s tasteful. tries to do cute lil designs sometimes but always messes it up and ends up shaving it all off

wonwoo: neat but natural. wonwoo seems like the kind of guy who trims enough to keep things comfortable but wouldn’t bother shaving it all off. it’s more about maintenance than aesthetics for him

woozi: trims everything neat. might even shave in certain spots bc he knows he thinks he looks good smooth there, and it’s about aesthetics for him. but he’s not doing it daily.

minghao: trims out of pure aesthetics. like, he doesn’t mind some hair, but it’s gotta be controlled. probably uses fancy-ass scissors for precision.

mingyu: trims, but only bc someone roasted him for not doing it once (def a svt member). now he keeps it neat out of spite. he’s not overly hairy, so it’s not a huge job, but he does it like he’s clocking into work.

seokmin: probs trims bc it’s just easier for him to move around???, but he doesn’t stress about it. lowkey asks you to help sometimes bc he’s scared of nicking himself.

seungkwan: not fully shaved bc he thinks it looks like a naked mole rat (his words), but he keeps it clean. manscaped but not bald

vernon: trims, but he doesn’t stress about it. like, if he remembers, cool. if not? “it’s winter, who’s gonna see it?” he probably doesn’t have much body hair to begin with

chan: shaves EVERYTHING. no hair except for his eyebrows and the hair on his head. if you asked why, he’d just shrug and be like “it’s efficient.” smooth like a damn wax figure down there, and somehow, it’s extremely on-brand for him.

[souljahwwitch]

MY LIVING LEGEND! 𓂃⋆.˚

𓂃⋆.˚ hc’s about thanos x dancer! reader who has a big crush on him >_< (slightly angsty)

(no squid game here!) (mentioned that the reader is very pretty (because ya’ll are!!!!)) (drugs mentioned)

𓂃⋆.˚ being thanos’s main dancer was—exhilarating to say the least, going on tours with him, being on every spot, even sometimes get interviewed because of your otherworldly beauty

𓂃⋆.˚ thanos tolerated you, he usually doesn’t get involved with the dancers but you were a different story—he got more successful because of you and your beauty, and you were just timd, so he liked having conversations with you (not the one where he tried molly with you..that was a slip-up, a mistake he promised never would happen again.)

𓂃⋆.˚ you thought thanos was blind, because how couldn’t he saw the way you look at him, as if he had the whole world in his hands, everytime he even much as passed by you—you felt like you were starstruck.

𓂃⋆.˚ you two had many slip ups, as in trying stuff together and both of you waking up confused and..half naked. but he never wanted to talk about it—never. he’d always just call his private driver to drive you home, and when dance practice came—he had to touch you, because of the choreography. and it was damn near infuriating

𓂃⋆.˚ you couldn’t even count the times you cried to your friends—cried alone even, because of him. but you couldn’t be mad either, your relationship should’ve been purely professional, right?

“you gotta stop looking at me like that, angel.” he’d hiss, making you blush—but you’d just brush it off

“likeeee what, thanos?” you’d say, smiling prettily, and as mad as he is at himself for wanting you as much as you wanted him (though he was completely blind to your feelings towards him) he couldn’t help but crack a smirk.

𓂃⋆.˚ you noticed thanos taking those little pills from his cross before every performance, and once, unfortunately, you had to say something.

“you don’t need those, you’re already great.” you mumbled and he looked at you—angrily?

“you don’t know shit about what i need or not, just dance and look ethereal like you always do, got it?” ouch.

𓂃⋆.˚ it was positively awkward between you two after that, which was strange—he shouldn’t feel awkward with you, not when you’re the only one keeping him fucking sane.

𓂃⋆.˚ he’d catch you crying because of him, and he knew—he fucking knew it was because of him, but he’d just look at you, not having the words or the courage to say something—until now

“don’t waste your tears over me, sweetheart. s’not worth it.” he mumbled, sitting beside you as his tattooed hand reached for your cheek.

“you-you don’t understand.” you said between hiccups, blushing even now at the smallest contact

“then make me—make me understand and we’ll figure something out, yeah? like we always do, sweet girl.”

[silentheiss]

Shen Yuan is not a parent. He’s lazy, he’s a shut-in, he barely has a job. His parents pay for everything he owns. Plus, he’s not even thirty! Children can’t raise children!

All of this, though, doesn’t change the fact that there’s a mean little six year old sleeping in his apartment at least four nights a week.

“Yuan-ge, did you know young children sometimes die of hunger? Like, in poor countries. They don’t have food, so they die. Of hunger.” Shi Hai says, blinking up at him from where she’s sitting on the floor by the low table, dragging her chopsticks through the noodles in her take out container.

“Yes.” Shen Yuan answers distractedly. They’re watching the second episode of Love Game in Eastern Fantasy, and it’s kind of good. “Why?”

“I think I might chose that over this stink.”

“Ay, don’t be rude!” Shen Yuan gasps, turning to look at the girl fully. Her bangs are getting too long, falling past her eyebrows. They’ll have to get it cut soon. “I thought you liked that?”

“It’s better than beer.” Shi Hai shrugs. “But I’d maybe like a vegetable.”

Shen Yuan swears internally. He’s not equipped to do that. He should call Child Protection Services or something. They will contact the police, arrest Shi Wen, for some time at least, until her father gets her out of jail and back into the big, alcohol-filled apartment. And they will find a better home for Shi Hai. The one with actual adults, who can feed a child. Yes, he should do that.

He will.

“There’s a bell pepper in your noodles.” Shen Yuan mumbles. “Finish up, it’s time for a bath. You have school tomorrow.”

Shi Hai sighs.

“No.” Shen Yuan says, knowing well where this is going.

“Yuan-ge. School is ass.”

“Stop that. Kids don’t talk like that. Be cute.” Shen Yuan grumbles, turning back to the screen.

“This book is shit.” Shi Hai says in a low voice, clearly copying him. “What dumbass thought it’s worth my time. Idiot author.”

Shen Yuan throws a pillow at her.

“I don’t swear that much.” He says to himself.

“Uh-huh, Yuan-ge.” Shi Hai smiles. “Will you curl my hair before I go to bed? With the sock?”

“If you actually wash your hair, and not just stick your head under the water.” Shen Yuan says.

“Ugh.” Shi Hai groans. She puts her container back on the table and stomps away in the direction of the bathroom. Shen Yuan pauses his drama and gets up, too, to clean up. He’s been scolded by a child enough for one evening.

He throws away the trash, wipes the table and once he can hear the water running, he steps out of the apartment to knock on the next door to the right.

“Come on, Shi Wen.” He mumbles, when there’s no answer. “Don’t you care at all?”

Shen Yuan knocks again, louder. And again.

“I don’t think anyone’s home.”

Shen Yuan turns sharply and comes face to face with a man who, by all accounts, shouldn’t be real. He’s tall, exceedingly handsome, with long flowing hair and- he is holding a box filled with books as if it weighs nothing at all.

“She’s home.” Shen Yuan says dumbly.

The man smiles at him. Shen Yuan knocks on the door again, just for something to do.

“Neighborly visit?” The man asks, looking quite pointedly at his sweatpants and bare feet.

“Something like that.” Shen Yuan nods. “You’re moving in?”

“Yes. Luo Binghe.” The man says. “Got an apartment just down the hall.”

“Oh. Welcome, then. I’m Shen Yuan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Shen Yuan.” Luo Binghe says. His smile is a little distracting. It looks soft, but actually isn’t.

“Nice to meet you.” Shen Yuan nods. “I-

“Yuan-ge!” Shi Hai yells. “I forgot my towel.”

“Gotta go!” Shen Yuan smiles and rushes back to his apartment.

He fetches Shi Hai’s towel, her pajamas and soft slippers. Next hour or so is spent combing her hair, oiling it and curling it onto a sock roll. If it turns out pretty, maybe she won’t make a fuss about going to school tomorrow.

Shen Yuan gets Shi Hai into his bed, reads one of his more kid-friendly novels outloud for half an hour to get her to actually fall asleep, and then goes to the guest bedroom to sleep. He tried to appoint the guest bedroom for Shi Hai, but she wouldn’t have it, and he is, apparently, a pushover when it comes to bratty kids.

Shen Yuan doesn’t think about Luo Binghe until the next morning when he drags protesting Shi Hai through the door.

“Come on, Hai Hai, the taxi is waiting.” He says.

“Schools is-”

“No! Stop that!”

“Shit, ass, poop!” Shi Hai yells.

“Fucking- Shi Hai!”

“Good morning, neighbors.” Comes a bemused voice comes from somewhere behind his back.

“Good my ass.” Shen Yuan grumbles, still tugging on Shi Hai’s hand. He turns his head briefly to see who’s day they’re ruining. “Oh, hi, Luo Binghe.”

“Yuan-ge.” Luo Binghe smiles slowly. He’s dressed in all black, leather pants and silk shirt. He looks like a model.

“He’s my Yuan-ge.” Shi Hai grunts, gripping Shen Yuan’s hand tighter. At least she’s not swearing anymore.

“You don’t seem to respect him very much, do you?” Luo Binghe asks.

“What do you know.” Shi Hai says. “Ugly.”

Luo Binghe opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. Shen Yuan feels like all of his blood has flown into his cheeks. Shi Hai’s looking down at the floor, clearly embarrassed but no, too little too late, little one.

“Shi Hai.” He says sternly. “I’m very disappointed right now.”

He then looks at Luo Binghe, still gaping at them.

“Luo Binghe, I’m sorry. You’re very pretty.” Shen Yuan knows his attempt at damage control is faulty, but he’s not a parent. He doesn’t know how to do that.

He sighs, locks his apartment door, and walks away with a very docile child. They’ll talk in the car, he decides.

[paverage-blog]

As someone who is relatively new to fanfics, I have to say I don’t really understand some of these interactive processes. To me, a fic is like a home cooked meal. I may taste something and decide it’s not for me or I may go back for thirds — but my ability to consume or enjoy it at all is due to the person who created it. As I would never sit down and eat a meal someone cooked without saying thanks (and gushing about what I loved most), I can’t really fathom reading and just walking away without saying thanks. In all but a very few instances I hit the kudos button because it cost me $0.00. Even if I didn’t think it was the greatest thing I’ve ever read, I’m at least saying “thanks, you did the damn thing and kudos to you for putting it out there.”

It seems like a level of rudeness I can’t fathom to not say how much I enjoyed a story if I did (to the point that I’ve been mulling over a fic I read last night all and it’s bothered me I didn’t leave a comment and only a kudo - I will be fixing that when I log in tonight because even if the fic is “old” or other people already said it, the author deserves to know the story haunted me all day and that I enjoyed it.) You’re privileged enough to enjoy someone’s art (which sometimes is a huge investment of their time and efforts) for free. It feels like the least I can do is acknowledge (again, for free!) that I enjoyed it or that I want to show the author support to keep writing.

As a writer, I admit that I spend a lot of time squinting at hits vs. kudos and trying to extrapolate if people enjoyed. I assume that if my work has hits but not kudos that someone read (or attempted it) and decided they didn’t like it/it wasn’t for them and that it was so bad they didn’t want to even give me a thumbs up for making an effort. I assume this, because I assume other people consume fic like I do. Reading OP’s story really makes me scratch my head… like people may pull up a chair to my table where I’ve spent weeks “cooking up” something, enjoy it, and walk off without even saying thanks…and then go tell other people how great it was? No disrespect to people who don’t kudo/comment on everything they enjoy, but I guess I’m just stunned people wouldn’t even bother to click a button to say thanks if they thought it was a worthwhile effort.

Idk, I gotta go log in and tell someone how much I enjoyed something I read yesterday and keep being an outlier, I guess, lol.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[zombieewrites]

smoking w logan...

logan howlett x reader, friends to lovers

summary: the stress of being a new professor at this school is catching up to you. luckily, you have a good friend to help you take that stress away, in more ways than one.

warnings: weed usage, fem compliments, illusions to sex

word count: 2, 574

I’m fairly new to this school. About 4 months had passed since I had first gotten my invitation from Charles. Which, of course, I happily accepted, excited at the thought of teaching my favorite subjects to people like me. I get the opportunity to share my love of literature through my teachings. The class seems to like me so far, and there’s always a few students straggling behind after class to share a laugh. Being able to connect to my students like this is a treat, and working at this school is just the cherry on top.

The classroom I teach in just so happens to be right across from Professor Howlett's room. His creaky wooden door opens and closes in between classes every period. Being right across from each other means that he and I frequently see each other. Logan often takes advantage of this opportunity to visit the classroom. He’ll do things like bring me coffee, give me papers that I copied off the printer, or just have a little chat. Sometimes, when he's on missions, I'll often sub for his class. It fills me with content to know that Logan trusts me with the care of his class. Being new to the school, I’m highly afraid of what the other professors think of me, but these small interactions with Logan take all of my insecurities away.

“There’s my favorite literature teacher right there!” Logan says with a smile, interrupting my lesson. Interactions like this were common between Logan and I, but every time they happened, the classroom went ballistic. The nosy students love to engage in Logan’s and I's friendship.

“I’m the only literature teacher here, Logan.” I respond with a blank stare, trying to hide my laugh.

“You’ll always be my favorite, though!” The man tells me with a wink before entering his own classroom to return to his teachings. I try to hide my smile and attempt to quickly pull the attention back to my lesson. This interaction made my whole class gasp and snicker.

“Ooo your boyfriend says that you're his favorite!” A student yells, resulting in the whole class to chuckle.

I giggle at their immaturity. “Alright, alright, there's no need for that. Let's get back to Pride and Prejudice now, please?”

Before I know it, the day is done. I stayed behind grading like usual. Lately, I've been so behind in my classwork that I haven't had any time to myself. As a new teacher, I feel as though I have so much to prove, and I have a strong fear of letting everyone down.

A red pen marks a check across my paper as I continue to grade another assignment. My ears are met with the sound of a knock on my door.

“What are you up to here, pretty? It's 7:45 and the sun set hours ago. All the kids are probably just about finished with dinner. You need to get your ass outta here.” Logan tells me as he leans against the doorframe.

I take a quick break from grading to look at the clock on the wall of my class. “Its 7 already? Shit I didn't even notice. I'm just grading some things right now, like always. Seems like that's all I ever do.” I respond with a chuckle, not even lifting my head up to look at him.

Logan comes behind me and begins to rub small circles on my shoulders, massaging out any tension in my body. His presence alone fills me with comfort. The knots in my back loosen with every soft touch.

“Pride and Prejudice, huh?” Logan says as he notices the papers on my desk.

“Yeah I bet your old ass was there when it was written.”

“Haha. You're very funny.” He replies in a sarcastic tone. “Damn with all these knots in your back, I gotta ask if you've been sleeping on a pile of rocks? Who's stressing you out like this?”

A sigh escapes my lips, “I don't wanna sound like I'm complaining or anything because I'm more than happy that I get to work here…it's just…all these papers are really stacking up on me…”

He continues to break up the knots in my back. Another red X on my paper. Then I feel Logan leaning down to whisper something into my ear. “Y'know with all this stress… I think you deserve a little somethin’. Lucky for you, I just went to town and restocked for us.”

I finally take a break from hunching over my papers and turn to him with a smile, already knowing what he had planned. “You don't say, Professor Howlett?”

“Yes ma’am. Got it right in my room. How bout we roll up and then after I'll help you with your papers? We can get 'em all done, even if it takes all night I'll stay here and finish for you. Promise.”

The gesture warms my heart. “That sounds perfect,” a groan leaves my lips, the stress escaping with it, “I appreciate that so much you don't even understand.”

“Yeah yeah, now c'mon and go roll cause you know I'm shit.”

We make our way down the long dimly lit halls to his room and quickly close the door behind us. Logan and I have been smoking together ever since he found me alone with a joint late at night, during one of the first weeks I was here. I'm surprised he even found me because I was hiding out on the roof of the school. Knowing him, he must've sniffed me out, hoping to get some. He told me he wouldn't snitch to Charles if he could smoke with me. I know that he wouldn't have told me either way, but I happily invited his company, especially since I wasn't familiar with anyone here yet.

These late night smoke sessions made our relationship grow stronger. We would hop from topic to topic as the smoke left our lips. Sometimes, covering our childhood, our favorite shows, war stories, gossip, and then laughing to the point of tears the next moment. He found out where I buy from, and ever since that day, he has refused to let me buy my own weed. I tried to tell him that he didn't have to do that, and he said that as long as I rolled for him, then he didn't mind.

He told me that the singular time he attempted to roll it was to impress this girl. He ended up unsuccessful, to say the least. The joint ended up covered in spit with half of the weed on the floor. By the time he told me the end of that story, my face was covered in tears of laughter. This is when I knew that this would be the beginning of a genuine friendship.

The joint is finally finished as I seal it with my tongue. Logan and I only smoke together when it's late at night and everyone is in their own respective spaces. Sneaking around like I'm a kid hiding the fact that they smoke from their parents is honestly kind of fun. It fills me up with just the right amount of adrenaline, and I'm happy that Logan is the one beside me.

We make our way to the roof, and the bright moon greets us. The night sky is clear and filled with gorgeous constellations. The chilling breeze of the night tickles my skin as I take a seat. Of course I forgot to bring a jacket. I try to hide my shiver and lessen the sound of my chattering teeth, but Logan quickly notices. He shifts to take off his brown leather jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The warmth of his body heat was still trapped in the jacket, and it quickly comforted my senses.

“Logan, you're gonna be cold.” I pleaded.

“ I'll be just fine. Can't have you freezing to death now. Then I won't have anyone to roll for me.” He jokes.

I let out a chuckle as I took the joint out of his coat. Logan holds the lighter to the joint and cups his hands in order to hide the wind from the fire. The lighter makes a clink sound and sparks. The comforting scent fills up my nose as I take a huff. I release the smoke with a happy sigh.

“God, I needed this so much you wouldn't even understand.” I responded. My attention rests on the beautiful night stars.

I passed it to him after a few more hits. Our fingers touch, the feeling heats me up. No matter how cold it is, Logan always manages to stay hot. The joint gives me the courage to rest my head on Logan’s shoulder. The joint lets out a small sizzle as he takes a big inhale.

“Trust me, I know, sweetheart. You've been frantic all week, and I notice it even though you're damn good at hiding it.” He takes another hit in between sentences. “Plus,” Logan then suddenly takes my cold hands and intertwines my fingers with his own, “you bite your nails like crazy when you get stressed.” I look down at our joined hands in shock, trying to contain how much this is affecting me. I quickly bring my attention back to the stars in an attempt to hide my emotions. Logan and I have always shared these small touches but nothing as romantic or intimate as this before, and definitely not for this long. The tension between us has always been there, but it's easier to ignore it than shed a light on it.

The smoke leaves his lips before he passes it to me again. “Yeah I know. It's always been a bad habit of mine when I get a little anxious.” I take the j up to my lips with a long drag. With each hit, I hope that it will make my nerves melt away.

Suddenly, a soft peck is laid on my hand. This action draws my attention away from the shimmering constellations. I'm greeted with kind hazel eyes staring back at me. Logan's gaze is intense as he pays attention to my reaction. “You can't keep doing that. You know it's bad for you.” He gently tells me. Logan’s lips attach to my hand as he lays another peck. He does this as if he could take my stress away with a single kiss.

My attention is drawn to his lips as I watch him slowly drop our hands. His red glassy eyes never left my own, which were magnetized to his lips like magnets. He has me right where he wants me, and I'm more than happy to be here. I have him right where I need him. Logan’s passionate gaze leaves my breath shaky and my body fuzzy. The air is thick, and the nerves aren't going away.

“You're babysitting the joint. Are you gonna hit it or just keep holding it, darling?” He asks me, breaking me out of my thoughts. Logan always looks good, but he especially looks good when he stares at me with those low hanging glossy eyes.

“What? Oh yeah! Sorry about that, here.” I let out a breathy giggle as I passed him the joint.

He simply responds with a laugh before inhaling the smoke. Logan knows what he's doing to me. He's pulling my strings like a puppet, and I'm loving every minute of it.

In an attempt to break up the tension, I turn to Logan. “Enough about me. How are your classes going? It must get tough balancing missions and classes sometimes. I don't know how you do it, to be honest.”

“Yeah it can get you worked up a little. I've been doing it for a while now, though, so it's definitely less of a hassle than it used to be. Some missions still knock you out, though.”

“Yeah I can only imagine how that must be. Some of the missions you've told me about are absolutely insane. Can't believe you come back from all that and still teach, too."

“Well it helps when you have a pretty literature teacher holding it down while you're gone.”

I smile up at him as a laugh escapes my lips. “My God, Logan, what is up with you tonight! You got a little crush on me or something?”

“Pshhh. Don't get a big head now. You're a cocky little thing, aren't you?”

“I might be cocky but you're the one adding fuel to the fire.” I responded. The effects of the weed are hitting me strongly. My relaxation brings me the confidence to take his hand and hold the joint up to my lips. I keep eye contact with him as I draw in the smoke. He smirks down at me as a result of the action.

“Y'know I've been thinking…”

I cut him off, “Oh no, that's never good”

He looks at me with a face of fake annoyance. “With all of this stress you've got going on, it would be nice to escape for a bit. Get away from these kids for a day and hit the town on the weekend. Maybe even get some dinner.”

“Wait a minute…are you asking me out, Professor?’ I ask him with a smile on my face.

“That depends on your answer, Professor.”

“I think I can fit some time in my very busy calendar for little ‘ol Logan.”

“Aww how sweet of you.” He jokes back.

He holds the joint up to my lips and watches as I breathe in the smoke. Any kind of anxiety I had before is gone now. The air shifts and is now filled with a different kind of tension. Stars reflect in Logan’s red eyes. I stare back at him as his eyes follow my lips. I'm filled with happiness to know that he wants this just as much as me. A soft hand cups my jaw as he brings his head closer to mine. My nose is filled with the scent of Logan and weed. Our warm breaths entangle each other in the cold night.

“Gimme some.” He tells me.

I release the smoke from my lips, and he quickly attaches his lips to mine. He inhales my smoke and quickly unlocks his lips from mine, exhaling the smoke.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Anytime.” I whisper back. My heart is beating out of my chest. Everything he does to me heats up my soul. That familiar fuzzy feeling greets me in between my thighs. Logan is getting tired of restraining himself, and it's easy to tell. I'm sure he can hear the way my heart erupts for him. I love this game he's playing.

Just then, he takes his hand and guides it to the back of my neck. Looking into my eyes for reassurance, I respond with a nod. Just like that, he kisses me. The kiss is strong and concentrated. Everything about the way he moves tells me that he's been wanting this for a while. His kisses are sloppy in all the right ways. Logan flicks the joint off the roof without a second thought, knowing that he has something much more valuable in his hands. He gladly explores my body and groans into my mouth with pleasure.

Logan and I most definitely didn't get around to grading those papers that night.

[ellesthots]

iiiii have a one shot prompt!! (if that’s okay)

Bruce and reader in a long term relationship and one day they hit him with “I want a baby” and scare the living Christ out of him?? (the idea came to me in a dream)

u don’t gotta write it if you don’t wanna I jsut thought I’d try to suggest :)

“with you”

bruce wayne x reader

words: 1.3k

“I want to have a baby.”

The statement fell out after feeling Bruce’s gentle hands on you as he maneuvered to the cutlery, his soft laugh lilting in your ear. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You’d already almost cracked the night before when he opened a new box of condoms. Your words echoed across the suddenly silent kitchen, and his hands dropped from your waist.

The only indication he’d heard you—or that he hadn’t disappeared—was the breathy, nearly inaudible “What?” a foot behind. You turned to look and he took a step back. His face was ghostly pale, eyes wide. In four years together he’d never looked so petrified, let alone of you.

He prayed he hadn’t heard you correctly. He never prayed. Maybe you wanted to start babysitting, simply have babies around. Surely you didn’t mean…

You cleared your throat, wondering if he truly hadn’t comprehended it. “I want to have a baby with you.”

You’d anticipated some apprehension, sure, it was why you’d wanted to wait until after dinner when you were both relaxed. But Bruce loved kids, and kids loved him. Every holiday with your family all the little cousins, nieces, and nephews flocked to him like a shiny new toy, pouting when he’d have to leave. On your second date (after realizing he was more than just a pretty face—and damn was it pretty), you’d asked the usual questions to filter out mismatches.

“Do you want kids?” You crossed your fingers under the table, conjuring the power of the universe to make this perfect, perfect man be in total alignment.

“Someday, yes. Absolutely.” He smiled, directed the question to you (‘Yes’, and by this point you were absolutely swooning), and the date continued without a hitch.

Now he stared at you like you’d asked him to bury a body.

The pit in your stomach morphed into a boulder as he stumbled out of the kitchen toward the hall. “I need a minute.”

He didn’t hear you say anything else, so he took off down the hallway. Then turned back around, his body buzzing. You stared limply at the bags of groceries adorning the countertops, your eyes flickering up to his in surprise.

“A baby?” The words felt foreign on his tongue. Already the responsibility tore at him, making the edges of his vision white out.

“You said you wanted kids.” Your eyes narrowed when you noticed the shallow heave of his chest. Was he scared?

He wheezed a nervous laugh and leaned against the hallway entrance. He had no clue how to articulate that it was still true with the wind knocked out of him. Not in any way that would be convincing. But so soon? Four years was… not nothing, but he suddenly felt like a helpless child.

He had panic attacks sometimes, and this looked like the beginning of one. As you left the kitchen to close the distance between you, you ached to think that you wanting to start a family would induce such a state. Your voice was softer, tentative. “Do you not want to have one with me?”

Your somber gaze met his like a caress. “Of course I do.” Your face, your eyes, your heart… he couldn’t imagine starting a family with anyone else. The thought was outright blasphemy. He’d thought he wanted kids—no, he knew he wanted kids, but the way you said it made it not only feel real, but within reach. It brought all his fears to the surface.

‘Of course I do’, but he looked devastated, frozen. His hand was quivering when you took it, and when your fingers interlaced, he squeezed. Staring at you with unblinking, timid eyes that broke your heart. His mouth opened but nothing came out. You released his hand, upset you’d even brought it up. “Let’s make dinner, okay?”

Ten minutes prior, the kitchen was full of whistles, jokes, and the crunch of snacking on groceries. At present, the hollow sound of knives slapping wood cutting boards filled the space. You lamented on the terrible timing of your ask, kicking yourself for not taking greater care. Talking about getting pregnant, about having and raising a child, starting a family, it wasn’t something you could be so flippant about. No wonder he’d reacted like that.

Dinner was tense. You ate in silence, punctuated only by an occasional scrape of metal on ceramic. Bruce was so kind, probably preparing how to let you down easily. Ask to push it back a few years. Promise to be ready by then, apologizing for making you wait.

He got up abruptly, leaving to where you could only imagine was the Batcave. You put your head in your hands. Or he’d changed his mind, and was about to break things off with you. You shoved your plate away, tears springing to your eyes. You knew it was too good to last. It would always end up here eventually.

Bruce didn’t come back for hours. You tried to distract by vegging out on the couch to a show, but your stomach swam with tight, jumbled knots. On a constant loop were memories you’d never experience again. Last holidays together, last nights sleeping in the same bed, soon to be last hugs. Hopefully he’d at least give you a kiss goodbye. You pulled a blanket over you as a chill swept your bones. It didn’t warm you.

By the time you heard movement in the house, you’d migrated to your shared bedroom and tucked under the covers. How would you explain it to your parents? That the man you loved more than anything in the world would now be relegated to pictures stowed in their attic? His footsteps drew closer. You held your breath. This is it.

He stood in the doorframe, illuminated in the night by a single bedside lamp. You’d miss this. You’d miss him. So much.

You spoke at the same time. “I’ll get my stuff.”

“Let’s do it.”

Your ‘what’s stacked atop each other. His brow furrowed as he stepped into the room, crouching beside the bed. The air had been removed from your lungs. “I thought…” You searched his face, dizzy. “With the way you were acting,”

He shook his head, horrified he’d left you like this so long. “I’m so sorry,” he took your hand and drew reassuring circles along your palm. He’d come up as quickly as he could get a reign on himself, get his body to stop shaking and his mind to stop racing. He’d wanted to ensure this moment would be a good one, not ruined by his anxieties.

“It made it feel tangible when you said it, and…” he trailed off, thoughts swirling again. He swallowed hard. “I was nervous. I am nervous. I don’t have experience with it, of even being parented.” The rumination he’d tried to leave in the cave came back to him. “What if something happened to us, or something happened to them?” He struggled to blink away the sting in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

And everything clicked into place. You cupped his cheek with your cold, clammy hand, soothed by the heat off his skin and the roughness of his stubble. He leaned into your touch. For a minute you both sat in the tenderness, soft waves of wondering how you could convince him he had nothing to worry about. That even if he did mess up, or something did happen, he was persevering, loving, and everything good in the world.

“But I want to try." As his panic had subsided, he'd been left with a thought so hopeful and persuasive it threatened a sob: he didn't want the possibility of tragedy to stop him from living.

"I’d do anything with you. I want this.” He wore his earnestness on his sleeve, his words mushy and saccharine, if a little shaky. Looking into your glowing, radiant face, imagining it mirrored. A small smile tugged up his lips. “As long as they have your eyes.”

a/n: this was such a cute idea!! i can imagine him becoming overwhelmed almost thinking he's a living curse, down there freaking out about potentially traumatizing someone like he'd been traumatized, or the fear of having his heart walking around outside of his body. thanks so much for the prompt!!! <3

[wandering-pirate]

Headcannon: controlling jimmy like your evil little dog. Is he lowkey a psychopath? Yes. Will he do literally anything for you? Also yes

a/n: To the lovely anon who sent this, mwah, chef's kiss🤌🏻 you’ve unleashed something unholy. be warned tho, this entire thing? no thoughts, no logic, just pure, unfiltered degeneracy for our co-pilot (sometimes you just gotta let the intrusive thoughts write the headcanon, y’know?)

So enjoy the ride—you sicko. (cause girl, same.)

Jimmy x Reader

Jimmy Zane is one peculiar man, and somehow, he became your boyfriend. How'd that happen? You better blame your slasher-film obsession as a kid.

Your Human Guard Dog

The man acts like you're gonna get snatched from him 24/7. Imagine being in public with him. Scaring some, unnerving many.

Some guy accidentally brushes past you, and Jimmy’s already stepping up with a cold smirk

“Apologize. Or don't. Been looking for an excuse today.”

You have to grab and drag him away (not helping that the man's built like log) before he ruins a face for the second time this month. “Baby, please, we’re here for snacks.”

But the moment you give him a subtle signal, tho? Oh, it's game over.

Some creep starts chatting you up with a repulsive smile, and Jimmy doesn’t even raise his voice when he appears behind you. Just leans in, looking them dead in the eye:

“You wanna keep those teeth or should I start counting them out.”

You casually mentioned being annoyed at your co-worker for being too yappy and Jimmy?

Yeah, already halfway out the door

“Say no more, princess.”

Physically stopping him was impossible and you wagered with the pervert, all night letting off his steam through you

Your Unhinged Yes-Man

After the restaurant's reception was rude on your friends' night out. You texted him

“Ugh, I’d love to see this place burn to the ground.”

No replies from him, but 5 minutes later, you nearly drenched your friends with the wine you're drinking when you saw him outside, holding a can of gasoline

One time, you complained about someone’s annoying laugh. Jimmy didn’t say anything, just calmly glanced your way with that familiar glint in his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it,”

“What? I didn’t say anything, love.”

Later that night, he casually asked

“How much do you hate that laugh? Want me to rip their throat out? No more ha-ha’s ever again.”

“STOP TRYING TO SOLVE EVERYTHING WITH VIOLENCE!”

The man's pride was more hurt than his face when the pillow landed, you paid for it tho ;)

Your Deranged Liaison

Want something without spending a dime? You can get it by the magic effect of compliments!

"Oh, I love your jacket!" Boom, appeared in your closet the next day, suspiciously smelling like someone else’s perfume

"That scarf’s so cute!" Already folded on your pillow the week after, and you’re 90% sure you saw a TikTok about it missing

“Jimmy, why is there a name tag stitched into this shirt?”

“Souvenirs are better with backstories.”

"Is-- is this blood?"

You finally confront Jimmy: “Isn’t this… someone else’s?”

He just shrugs, smiling sweetly (unnervingly wide) “Not anymore.”

[lyricwritesprose]

Also, kids aren't just sweet.

I mean, they are sweet. Ridiculously sweet. They are capable of absolutely staggering love and generosity. They will do it from a point of view that everyone likes what they like and responds the way they do, so you have to keep that in mind, but still, it is very comforting, when you are on a bad phone call and getting emotional, to have your three year old put their toy bear in your lap to hug. (It is a little less comforting when they try to maneuver their pacifier into your face to calm you down, because, I mean, first of all you have to talk on the phone, and second that thing has been dropped on the floor at least three times on its way to you.)

But they are also approaching the world from the viewpoint of an utterly naive chaos gremlin with the energy of a small locomotive, and that puts a spin on things. One moment, they may be telling you that they love you more than pizza, but the next moment they may be in a state of utter rage because they tried to put one of their boogers up your nose and you refused this.

And you just gotta learn to roll with that. But the point, for writers, is that it helps to sometimes look at a situation and think, what would a Crime Goblin do in this instance to keep from being bored?

It becomes very very evident when an author has never interacted with small children before. PLEASE stop writing 4 year olds with baby voices, I promise you they do not answer in short sentences the way a baby might. They can and Will start monologing

[centrally-unplanned]

Anyway I wanted to write something a little more serious about the politics of the day - a trend many noticed in the 2024 election, and its aftermath, is all of these notable non-politicians jumping onto the Trump ship. You have certainly noticed the big ones doing it, the Musk-types. What I have also seen is the middle-road types - the podcasts slotting the admin into their current healthcare fad, the policy bloggers being like "Dear Trump, this is how to truly reform the government - my pet idea" and offering support. A sort of opportunistic bandwagoning. This does happen every election to some extent, but it is notable that it happened way, way less when Biden was elected.

Some view this through the lens of fear, of Trump's open willingness to tax or prosecute those who don't bend the knee. That is part of it, for sure. But the other part is that Trump doesn't really believe in all that much - and that is actually a pretty big asset in politics. If you are a "Progress Studies" blogger or a union rep or a tech CEO, does Trump disagree with any of your key issues? He might not! You can just "convince" him, that is actually on the table, and he might take up your cause. And the Republican Party - not always, absolutely not always, but sometimes - will be browbeaten into going along with his whims even if they contradict their previous ideology. If you are ambitious and play your cards right, the structure of the Trump admin can very much reward people along the lines of these pet issues.

This is something the Democratic party could not do. All policy from the Biden admin came from a decade+ process of being discussed within the party. There were absolutely, 100%, "factions" jockeying for influence, but it was insiders, pre-established orgs along known lines, who were doing that jockeying. Is there any big policy that the Biden admin pursued that truly surprised you? That you were like, "woah, where the fuck did Biden get this idea from?" Not really, right? Because the admin was in so many ways an extension of the party.

Now this can be a real strength when your political parties are strong. When the locus of politics is within parties, then naturally they should be informing directions, and your goal as an admin is to court them. But that is pretty much the opposite of the current US political landscape - political parties have never been weaker. Voters hate political insiders, primaries are completely open and people who openly oppose the party sometimes sweep them, voters don't get their political opinion or w/e from politicians or party orgs. Parties are downstream of where more and more political influence comes from (though ofc they are by no means powerless, this is all trendlines). If you are one of these political outsider types, the Joe Rogans or Progress Studies bloggers or crypto coalitions or whatever, the Democratic party is just not going to work with you? You will be "heard", but if you want influence you gotta put your decade+ into the party first.

But Trump? You just gotta show up and kiss the ring. For talented people, this is actually a much better deal. It probably won't work, but the odds are still better than the alternative. And the biggest looming wrinkle is that this strategy is being hamstrung by Trump being a total idiot and backstabbing asshole - imagine how effective these strategies would be if someone competent was doing it. His left-field ideas are not only "annexing Greenland", but also doing it in the most hamfisted way imaginable. The core idea here isn't that crazy btw! Greenland is pushing for greater independence from Denmark, but gets a ton of subsidies so is loath to lose them if they go solo. You can see how an intelligent operator charting some soft power politics here could maybe make something happen, but Trump is a fucking nob and can't do that. So he is often a bad vessel for your niche ideas. But at least he shows up to the game!

People sometimes really want politics to be ideological. They want a coherent political party with a unitary philosophy to implement a cohesive agenda. I get this appeal, but this just isn't how US politics, or democratic politics more widely, works. It is an endless process of factional recruitment for one-off reforms, and otherwise managerial policy (in)competence. Ideology is not elected, a "mandate" does not run for office. Some individual people win and then they invent a mandate afterwards. Democracy does not reveal consensus, it manufactures it. And the US is moving more towards that direction, not less.

My fear is Democrats, in "widening the tent", will focus too much on that internal party process, on trying to make the Democratic Party "coherently" something that is more appealing to the median voter. Valuable work, to be sure, but the other side is you need to make it more appealing to people of influence or talent. As others have commented, it is kind of baffling how the Biden administration committed itself to a policy of green electrification and banning foreign car imports, and somehow made an enemy of America's biggest domestic green electric car manufacturer. You need to be, on the margins, less committed to any specific ideology at all, and instead open to actually winning support from diverse factions. Otherwise the other side will always be more appealing to anyone not of your ideology, because they kind of don't care about ideology. The Dems are already the "bigger tent" party, this should be their wheelhouse. They just need to update their tactics for the modern era.

[ragingbookdragon]

Ain't No Sense In Closing The Gate

Tyler Owens x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: My mom made me watch Twisters and all I know is that I want to bang Glen Powell like a door in a tornado. Enjoy.

**********************************************************************

She sat at the bar, nursing the glass of brandy that seemed to mock her with every swirl of amber. Laughter and conversation flowed behind her, but she sat with her back to it, more focused on the lull of liquid. She tugged her hat down lower over her furrowed brows, a stemming anger and yearning ache in her chest that seemed to rise like bile in her throat every time she heard his laughter echo from the pool table. She’d been so stupid. So foolish to spend all this time chasing him when he’d never even noticed, hell, she hadn’t even noticed until he’d found greener pastures.

“Can I sit with you?”

She looked up, barely managing to suppress the scowl when she saw Kate standing there.

“Yeah,” she muttered, gesturing vaguely to the stool beside her, and watched as Kate sat down and ordered a gin and tonic.

They sat in silence for a few moments, neither really wanting to engage with each other until Kate cleared her throat and admitted, “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“It’s not for a lack of trying,” she replied, taking a sip of her brandy, then sat her drink down. “I don’t like you,” she added. “But not for the reasons you think I do.”

Kate’s brows furrowed. “Did I do something to you that made you not like me?”

“No.”

“…then why?”

Laughter peeled from the pool table and they both looked over, watching as Tyler put Boone in a headlock and noogied him. It suddenly hit Kate at that moment and she looked down at the bar.

“Oh…” was all she murmured.

It made her blood boil.

“Don’t do that shit,” she scowled. “God, it’s so fucking annoying when—just,” she inhaled and exhaled. “It’s fine. He deserves to be happy. You both do.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Kate,” she interrupted and looked at her beneath that big Texas brim. “I’ve spent my entire life chasing Tyler Owen’s heart. I’ve done everything I ever thought would make him look at me the way it took you literal days to make him look at you.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t hate you. But I can’t say I’m fond of you either.”

Kate pursed her lips and nodded. “For what it’s worth…I think the two of you would be beautiful together.”

“Thanks,” she muttered with a sardonic smile. “But I’d rather him be with you.”

“Why?” she asked. “I thought…”

“I do, but I also recognize when a man’s heart is truly set on something. And…” she looked at Kate, really looked at her, the way her eyes were gentle, nothing like her own, hardened from years of chasing storms and steering cattle. “He needs a woman like you.” She sipped her brandy again. “I know when a horse needs to run. Ain’t no reason in closing the gate.”

Kate felt her own heart ache for the woman’s heartbreak. “I don’t know if it makes a difference, but I would like to be friends with you.” She didn’t let the woman’s arched brow and seemingly look of disgust deter her. “You’re amazing. And gorgeous. And funny, and—”

“Careful, Kate,” she murmured. “Making me think you’re into me too.”

Kate’s laughter bubbled from her without realizing it as her cheeks dusted pink.

She smiled tightly. “Keep him in line, yeah?” she asked, sliding a twenty on the bar before she downed the rest of her brandy and stood from the bar.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Kate replied, turning on the stool. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Nah,” she said. “I’ve gotta go home.”

Kate’s expression saddened. “I don’t want you to leave because of me,” she expressed. “Really, I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not,” she answered. “But…I’m getting to old to be chasing storms, men…” she reached out and placed a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Sometimes, it’s best to listen when home is calling.”

As she pulled away, Kate hurriedly reached out and took her hand. “Will you ever come back?” she tried for a hopeful smile. “We’ll…we’ll all miss you.”

She nodded. “Maybe a visit or two in a few years, yeah?”

Kate nodded and let her hand go, watching as she weaved through the patrons of the bar, not stopping to say goodbye to the others as she disappeared through the wooden doors and into the parking lot.

***

She re-adjusted the duffel bag in the back of her black Dodge, setting it snugly behind her seat before she pushed the front back, dropped her hat in the driver’s seat, and stood straight. Her eyes drifted up to the stars above in the Oklahoma sky. It was practically the same clear view she saw back South, no clouds, no pollution, just bright stars blinking back at her.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?”

His voice startled her and she jumped a bit as she looked back, watching Tyler walk over to her.

“Road’s long to the mountains,” she said, tugging on the Carhart sweatshirt over her head.

Tyler smiled at her. “That it is. Ten hours, right?”

She looked at him. “What do you want, Tyler?”

His gaze turned solemn and he stepped up to her. “You’re leaving because of me.”

“Now that’s the most egotistical BS I’ve ever heard you say,” she laughed. “And I’ve heard you be egotistical before.”

“Pretty girl,” he started lowly, and she felt her insides melt before she inhaled sharply.

“Tyler, stop.”

“No, I want—”

“It doesn’t matter, okay,” she said. “It’s okay.”

He frowned, feet shifting in the dirt of the parking lot. “I didn’t know.”

“You did,” she replied. “You just…wished you didn’t.”

His gaze met hers. “I never meant to hurt you, pretty girl.” He reached up, knuckles gently grazing her cheek and she knew in her heart this was the only love she’d ever get from the man in the way she wanted.

She blinked furiously at the tears in her eyes and, unable to stop herself, leaned into his touch. “I know,” she whispered, throat tight with unspoken affection and desire.

Tyler took another step towards her, cupping her cheek in his hand.

“Tyler,” she stressed and he let out a low hum deep in his throat as he brushed his nose against hers.

“Let me,” he whispered in that smooth drawl. “Let me make it better.”

“Please, don’t,” she begged. “Tyler, please,” tears dampened her lashes. “Don’t do this to me.” She felt his lips almost brush against hers. “Tyler, I’m not…I won’t be strong enough to let go if you do.”

His jaw tightened, muscle twitching as he pressed his forehead into hers, and exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, pretty girl.” He pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his own a mix of regret and pain. “Text me when you get home?”

She swallowed hard and nodded, every fiber in her screaming as she pulled herself away from him. “I will.”

He watched as she climbed into her truck, the window rolled down and he stepped up to it. “Will you ever come back?” he smiled sadly. “Awfully lonely without you chasing with us.”

With me.

Her eyes met his once more as she roared the engine to life. “So long, cowboy,” she mused and rolled the window up, leaving him in a whirl of dust.

[speed-world]

Hello!! If it's not too much to ask, can you write a cookie run kingdom au where y/n is a traveler? I just think that's the most logical way to somehow get them involved into stories and meet different cookies altogether. Maybe a few scenarios in which involve their encounters with the ancients before the main plot of crk?

A cookie stood with his sheep, observing the lands before him in silence as the winds howled and blew beside him. He was making his last few preparations before his journey, but as he turned around, he saw an unfamiliar face that appeared to be in awe of the lands much like he was…

“Oh, pardon me, but I’ve never seen a cookie like you before. You look so incredibly well and unbothered, may I ask if you have a secret to keeping your dough so healthy?”

“Oh, me? Hehe, I don’t think I have any ‘secret’ to my healthy or anything like that. I’m simply a traveler wandering Earthbread.”

“Really? So am I! I’ll be taking a pilgrimage to the Sugar-Free Road, and complete its 12 trials. What about you, where are you headed?”

“Wherever the earth and winds take me, I suppose. I don’t have a destination in mind, per se, but I’m so interested in exploring the marvelous depths across every corner of Earthbread! But, if you don’t mind me asking, what makes you want to venture to the Sugar-Free Road alone? Surely those trials can’t be the only reason.”

“You sound like you’ve been there before, is there something I should be aware of before I go?”

“Yeah, maybe don’t go by yourself. It’s a treacherous path that’ll leave you wishing you never went. I myself turned back when I was there because of how worn out I was. I would want to go back sometime, especially since I feel more accustomed to traveling to do so, but doing so alone is not something I’m doing again.”

“I see…well to answer your question, I strive to find the truth as to why cookies - those crumbling, incomplete, and not-so-sweet - all must suffer so. I wish for all beings of dough to be happy, and that is I will accept those trials. Hopefully I’ll find the answers I’m looking for at the end of the path.”

“That’s…that’s actually really nice! I respect that a lot, and I kinda feel the same way; wanting everyone to not suffer. But you won’t do well by yourself, would you mind if I tag along?”

“Really? Are you sure my goals won’t get in the way of yours?”

“Nah, of course not! You get to complete the trials and, hopefully, find your answers, while I get to see everything of the Sugar-Free Road and document it! Plus, I get to make a new friend too!”

“New friend..? Ahaha, I’m honored to call you friend too! My name is Pure Vanilla Cookie, and you are?”

“Y/N Cookie, a pleasure to meet ya Pure Vanilla Cookie!”

“Likewise, Y/N Cookie. I’m glad we’ll take this journey together!”

————————————————————————

The screeching roar of a dragon fills the air as it gradually got more distant. The dragon’s pursuer was aggravated, but still determined…

“Huff…huff…darn that dragon getting away, again!! I think I’m starting to loose count, is this the 80th time? No, it can’t have been that much…..argghh—! No matter, I’ll keep hunting it down and—!”

The bushes ahead of Hollyberry Cookie rustle as an astonished cookie stepped out, and looked to the sky where the dragon flew off. They were completely in awe and wanted to get a better look at the majestic creature.

“Woah!! Was that a dragon just now? I’ve seen glimpses of them on my travels, but that one was so close!! This could be a chance to really meet a dragon, maybe even feel its scales!! Hahaha, I gotta go now and—“

“Hey, hold it right there!”

“Huh? Oh, hey there! Are you after the dragon too?”

“That’s one way to put it; I’m hunting that dragon. I need to defeat it for the trouble its caused the Hollyberry Kingdom!”

“Oh my, I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s quite alright, that dragon won’t escape me so easily! But, what brings you out here? And why do you want to see that dragon?”

“Ah, well I’m a traveler, you see? I want to explore every neat corner of Earthbread and all the specialties in between!”

“Really now? Interesting, it’s been awhile since I’ve met such an adventurous cookie like myself! I’m Hollyberry Cookie, pleased to meet you friend!”

“Y/N Cookie, the pleasure is all mine Hollyberry Cookie!”

“Well Y/N Cookie, what do you say we go hunting this dragon together? It’s always more fun to travel with a partner, and I’ll promise you to see every bit of the dragon up close!”

“For real?! Awesome!! Ohohoho, this is gonna be fun, I can’t wait to go!”

“Why don’t you tell me about your travels on the way? I’ll, of course, share you many of my own! I’ll even treat you to the finest berry juice my kingdom has to offer when it’s over!”

“Why thank you! I’ve never had berry juice from the Hollyberry Kingdom before, I can’t wait!!”

“It will be the finest you’ve ever had, you wouldn’t want any other! This is already becoming a fine adventure, hahaha!!”

————————————————————————

Black lightning and dark clouds...What's next, a blizzard that freezes your very breath? The scale of the anomalies is growing. The Cookies in the Frozen Snowfield are perishing one by one. While it seems logical for any cookie to avoid venturing out to such an extreme treacherous environment, two cookies were individually hiking up anyways. Although for their own reasons, their ambitions may align with one another’s….

“Hmm? Oh hey there, I wasn’t expecting any company here!”

“Neither was I…are you a cookie from one of villages affected by the blizzards?”

“Me? Oh no, I’m just a traveler passing by to witness something spectacular!! Here, listen closely—“

“Grrrrrr…..”

“Hhrrrrrraaaaaahh…..”

“The growls of not one, but two dragons-in one place!! I wonder what it is here that could’ve brought them here; ooohh I’ve got to see them up close!”

“You’re here for…sightseeing dragons? How strange.”

“You sound disappointed, is everything alright bud?”

“No. I am here to know more of the weather anomalies occurring through this continent. This harsh weather has caused cookies to suffer and crumble, and I refuse to let it endure another minute.”

“Oh my, I had no idea that was happening. I’m so sorry…”

“Pick your head up, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Ah, r-right. *ahem*…let me help you.”

“What? No, I’m afraid I can’t. These cookies have suffered for too long, and I can’t risk another getting in the way and—“

“I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll help aid those cookies with you; I have plenty of supplies to offer some kind of help, be it food or water or anything in between.”

“Hmm…very well then. I believe our interests might be more in common than I realize. Let’s not waste any more time and be on our way.”

“Of course! I’m Y/N Cookie, by the way, pleasure to meet you sir.”

“Dark Cacao Cookie, don’t mention it. Let us do our absolute best for the cookies!”

————————————————————————

Under the intense, near-intolerable heat of the desert sun, two cookies traverse the sands bearing wide smiles of determination. Both hold their own greedy ambitions, yet aren’t driven apart by each other’s desires.

“Hah, you know, I’m still amazed as to why you’re traveling with me to the old ruins. I was wandering the desert to find this marvelous treasure, but you just want to look at them, document them, and that’s it! Why go through such risks if all you want to do is go sight seeing?”

“Hehe, well I guess you could say that’s the treasure I’m hunting for. To see all the wonders of Earthbread, its beauties in its dangers, the uniqueness of every continent, I want to capture all of it and learn everything about it! Plus, it’s super fun to meet all kinds of desserts along the way, especially one as dynamic as you!”

“So interesting, you almost make me want to share the treasure I find with you; almost, of course.”

“I don’t blame you, heh. You wandered all this way for it, it’s only fair that it all belongs to you.”

“Right? I would’ve heard if someone on Earthbread had laid their hands on it first. But then again…I want to show my gratitude for your help. This journey would’ve been boring and perhaps fruitless if not for you; what is your name?”

“Y/N Cookie, a pleasure!”

“Y/N Cookie, I am Golden Cheese Cookie. I shall never forget all you’ve done for me! Your greed for the world is something to admire for eons; nearly as great as my greed for my treasure. You and I together shall be legendary!”

————————————————————————

Somewhere, in a secluded area relatively distant from the nearest cookie civilization, a lone cookie was weeping as she was suffering from a nightmare. A passerby cookie heard her cries, and wanted to know what troubled her so…

“E-Excuse me, hello? Are you okay ma’am?”

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I… Oh…it was that same dream again. I’m sorry, I didn’t know another cookie was here…”

“No no, it’s alright, you didn’t bother me. I was just traveling by, venturing out to find some incredible things about Earthbread!”

“You were…traveling? Just freely and…eagerly going about across Earthbread alone? …..why?”

“Ehehe, I suppose why not? There’s so many incredible marvels about this world that I wanna see and experience for myself! There’s just so many things and secrets that I want to know about, how could I not be eager to see it all, ahaha!”

“….s-so carefree and curious…they’re just—“

“Hmm, you say something?”

“N-no, I was just muttering to myself…”

“….Hey, you hungry?”

“What? How’d you…—“

“You have crumbs falling from your hands, how long have you been without something to eat?”

“I…I do not know. I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve eaten something. Maybe I’m getting too lost in my thoughts…”

You pulled out a lot of food from your bags and laid it out in front of the cookie.

“T-that’s so much food! Shouldn’t you keep some for yourself if you’re traveling?”

“I got plenty more, don’t you worry. But if you were here resting from traveling, then it looks like you weren’t fully prepared. Is there any reason why you’re traveling out here?”

“Yes…I want to know the truth.”

“….the truth about, what?”

“Why were we, the cookies, created? Why were we brought into this world? Why were we created so small and fragile? If only all cookies were born strong, unbreakable. If only then…I…”

“Shhh, calm down, alright? Take a break for now, eat up. You can tell me more when we’re back out on the road.”

“I-we?! What do you mean, ‘we?’ I’d get in your way with whatever it is you’re after.”

“I’m not after anything in particular, remember? I wanna traverse and see all of Earthbread, and from the sounds of what answers you’re after, it seems like we may be going down similar paths.”

“….Perhaps you’re right. Okay then, I’ll go with you, to find the answers I’m seeking. …Who are you, exactly…?”

“I’m Y/N Cookie!”

“I’m White Lily Cookie. I’m…thankful for you, Y/N Cookie. I never thought I’d have anyone to help me with this, I figured I’d just burden someone else with my struggles…”

“Don’t mention it, I’m perfectly fine with it! No one should really be alone for a long journey; especially for the one you want to take. I’m more than happy to go with you, White Lily Cookie.”

“Thank you, Y/N Cookie…I will never forget your kindness.”

[eowynstwin]

Omg that last addition to the AC 141 was so cute!!! It just makes me wonder how badly they would freak out when their human misses when trying to catch a tarantula or scorpion and passes out from the sting… high risk high reward

previous

Soap rushes to the museum cafe when it happens, and finds the old lion at a corner table enjoying a cappuccino to some smooth jazz.

“Captain,” he pants, hands on his knees, “the human got stung.”

Price is unperturbed. He blows a little stream of cool air over his mug, eyes closed with pleasure. “Happened before, Soap. Just needs a little medicine, remember? They’ll be fine.”

“No, sir,” Soap gasps, “scorpion.”

A beat. For a moment, he thinks Price won’t react. He remains completely still, expression totally neutral—

Suddenly the lion flings the mug away, splashing an arc of coffee across the table, and then he’s moving fast, sprinting past an indignant, sputtering Brewster, and it’s all Soap can do after his mad dash to the museum to keep up. He doesn’t know exactly how Price knows which direction to run, but he figures it has something to do with the smartphone Price gave you when you first arrived—it hardly matters. They come upon you quickly, on the south side of the island, lying facedown in the grass and attended by Ghost and Gaz.

“Captain!” Gaz barks, visibly panicking. “They won’t wake up!”

Ghost is less flustered than the young wolf but equally distressed. “Price, we gotta do somethin’ fast, humans don’t take well to venom.”

“How the bloody hell did this happen?” Price growls. He gets on his knees to turn you over; you’re out cold, but still breathing easily.

“They were…” Gaz trails, looking bemused.

“Chasing it,” Ghost finishes. “With a net.”

Price blinks several times. He looks between the bear and the lion, and then at the horse. Soap raises both hands.

“What, are we supposed to stop them?” he demands. “You said we gotta let humans be humans, boss, sometimes they’re—well, er, they’re…”

“Mortally stupid,” Price supplies, bushy brows lowering. “Alright. Help me get ‘em home. They should be comfortable at least, while we figure out what to do.”

He says it perfunctorily, as if he’s ambivalent to your life or death, but when Price lifts your shoulders it’s the gentlest any of the 141 have ever seen him touch another living being. Ghost gets a hold on your legs, and between the two of them, with the younger animals following behind, they make it to your front doorstep.

Then—the moment they reach your door, like magic, your eyes suddenly pop open. It startles everyone so badly, Gaz and Soap jump back with shock.

“Price?” you say, blinking. “Ghost?”

“We’re here,” says the lion. “How do you feel, kid?”

“I’m fine,” you say. “What’s going on?”

“You passed out,” Ghost says. “We saw it happen—don’t you remember the scorpion?”

“Gave us a bloody heart attack!” Gaz cries.

“Ohhhh yeah,” you say. “Oh, I’m okay, guys. It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

Dead silence. Soap’s mouth drops open. Price is as still as a statue.

Ghost lets your feet drop to the ground. “Bloody fuckin’ hell.”

He turns away and stalks off, muttering under his breath. If you’re shocked by the profanity (a violation of another of Price’s many rules), you don’t show it.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” you say, looking innocently up to the lion. “I wanted to change my outfit anyway.”

Wordlessly, Price sets you down. You wave to the three remaining animals, and disappear inside.

“My house,” the lion says wearily. He appears as though he’s aged ten years in five minutes. “Someone get Ghost. I’m breaking out the whisky.”

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Nine

TW: violence and harassment against women, police brutality, nsfw, pda

The week goes on, with no official news from the LAPD about your break in. Tom assures you it’s no great surprise. He’s running his own inquiries, and if you’ve lost your faith in the system, you believe in him. You clean up your apartment a little bit, and find a little optimism in the fact that this hotel room actually has bigger windows for your plants. 

Tom babies them, handling the delicate stems tenderly, watching and mimicking the soft way you arrange their leaves, carrying the pots as gently as he carries you. He catches you watching this with abject fascination and admiration, and grins as you look away, flushing, caught in the act of falling more in love with him. 

Needless to say, you are surprised when Tom asks you to go to a party on Friday. He’s laying on your tummy, using it as a pillow while you both giggle at a funny movie and mindlessly shove chocolate and popcorn into your faces. 

“It’s for my boss to meet you,” he says, “for the case.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask, not quite understanding. 

“Sometimes…we get jaded as cops. We shovel a lot of shit. But putting a face to a problem…it helps it get solved, sometimes.”

“Oh. Ok.” You understand all too well, how you start to guard yourself when you work an emotionally taxing job involving people at their worst, their most vulnerable. It does all start to run together, after a while. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it’s the human brain’s way of defending itself from the overload. 

“I think…” he goes on, playing with your hair. “It might help, if he sees what you mean to me. You’re the only girl I’ve been serious about, since…my wife.” 

You close your eyes at hearing that, as if you weren’t already head over heels enough for this man. All the love you feel for him stews with guilt for the thing you’re going to have to do on Saturday, and you can’t stop the welling of tears in the corners of your eyes. “Ok,” you agree again, somehow speaking past the lump in your throat. “We gotta put on a show or something?” 

Tom grins wickedly down at you, his light touch making its way down to trace the neckline of your shirt. It soothes you, somehow, makes the gnawing demon inside quiet down, even if just for a little while. It’s going to be ok, you tell yourself, even if deep down you know you’re lying.

“Nah, baby. All we gotta do is show up. The rest is obvious.” You take his paw of a hand, kissing his palm before holding it over your heart. 

It’s going to be ok, you tell yourself again. You’re going to get through this shitstorm, and then the two of you are going to live happily ever after…

You tell yourself this, because if you don’t, you’re going to start crying again and you’re not going to stop until they sedate you in an institution. 

***

Your first thought, when you snake up the winding mountain road to Captain Wander’s aerie of a hillside mansion looking out over the glittering lights of L.A., is ‘Goddam, do cops really make this kind of money?’ 

You know he’s management and all but Jesus Christ, you thought only movie stars and drug dealers could afford to live up here in the Hollywood Hills. 

The place is bumping, and a line of cars are parked outside, clogging the narrow road. The parking style looks amusingly familiar–you suppose Tom is not the only LEO who just puts his car wherever he wants. You wonder what Wander’s well-heeled neighbors think about all this. Maybe they know their complaints will be ignored tonight. 

He can tell you’re nervous, judging by the way he’s got his arm around your shoulders snugly and his side molded to your own. “You okay?” he whispers, leaning down to kiss the top of your ear. 

“Never been better…” There are a lot of people here, and they all seem to know each other…talking and laughing and hanging out on the back deck with the fancy string lights and the big metal tiki torches illuminating their celebration. 

You hobnob in, doing your best to mingle and shake hands and smile and let Tom lead you around to meet his coworkers and their plus ones. 

He pops you sparkling champagne and grabs himself a beer from the mini fridge, and you actually start to settle in a little bit with some liquid courage and the niceties of strangers. A nurse that works the third floor at your hospital is here, and that makes you feel ten times more welcome. Her husband is a senior detention officer in Tom’s office, and while you talk and laugh with his wife about healthcare antics, he and Tom awkwardly stare at each other and try to discuss work. 

“See?” Tom says, nudging your shoulder and handing you another tiny champagne bottle. “You’re doing just fine, pretty lady.” He leans on the back railing with you, looking absolutely long and delicious in denim and a silky button down, and once again you have to stop yourself from climbing him like a feral squirrel. 

Out for his nuts. 

The thought catches you off guard, and you choke on laughter. 

He raises his eyebrow at you. “I was right.”

“What?” You chuckle, hiccuping into the back of your hand. 

He gives your ass a covert squeeze, making you jump and gasp. “You are a little weirdo.” 

“Tom!” You slap his bicep, lightly, and he pulls you against him just a bit too close for social gathering standards, but you don’t care, because pressed against his hips with his arms around your waist, looking up at the light clogged night sky, is exactly where you ought to be. 

He grinds against you, and you stifle a moan-giggle into your arm. “Have another drink, y/n,“ he teases, mouth pressed against that thin piece of tender flesh behind your ear. 

“Shutup, meathead.” You grin up at him, twisting around to press your ass more firmly against his legs, heavily amused by the subtle flair of his nostrils and tightening of his fingers into your plush flesh. 

“I have half a mind to take you right back to my car and make you sit on my cock.” 

A delicious quiver runs through you, and like that cat in perpetual heat you’ve become, you lean back into him, giving up so easily, arching against his sturdy form. “What are you waiting for?” 

“Meet my boss, then we’ll talk about it.” 

Captain Wander is in the kitchen—if you can call it that. It’s massive, open and warm, with long polished granite counters and sleek appliances. Everything is spotless. Uncluttered. You overflow with envy for a moment, looking around at the high ceiling and neon beverage displays. 

Tom places a hand on the captain’s shoulder, grabbing his attention from the other guests at his expensive bar table. “Jack, this is my girlfriend, y/n.”

“Hi, I’m y/n,” you say, and then flush with the realization that Tom already introduced you and you’re embarrassing yourself in front of his boss of all people. 

However, Wander is gracious about it, smiling kindly at you and pressing your hand in his. You can't help but notice how soft his hands are compared to Tom’s. Manicured, well-kemp. He’s been behind a desk for a long time…

“It’s nice to meet you, y/n. You must have a high pain tolerance, if you’re into my boy Tom here.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he says it though, and Tom rolls his eyes with a sideways smile. You can tell by this downright deferential reaction (for Tom) that he looks up to Wander. 

“Nice to meet you too.” 

Wander grins. “Seriously though. You couldn’t be in better hands. Tom is a great guy.” He claps his subordinate on the shoulder, and fuck if Tom isn’t like a puppy rolling over to get his belly scratched. You’ve never seen anything like it–except maybe, with you. 

“Hey,” says the Captain, looking directly at you. “Can I steal my man for a second? We gotta talk some shop.”

Since that’s pretty much why Tom brought you over here, you nod agreeably. “Sure. Don’t keep him long though.” 

Wander winks at you before throwing an arm over Tom’s shoulders, leading him down a hallway where you suppose there might be an office or something. Tom looks over his shoulder at you, mouthing, You ok?

You nod, even though you hate navigating a crowd this big alone, and you miss him already. You decide to get some air, wandering out back to sit by the pool. The view is spectacular, the glittering lights of the city spread out below you. Plenty of people had the same idea as you, and you take a seat with your drink, trying not to look half as awkward as you feel without Tom’s steady presence at your side. 

Some of the other wives and girlfriends whose other halves have wandered off chat you up before drifting away. The lighted pool looks inviting, and you almost wish you’d brought your suit. 

“Oh shit, look who it is! You’re not still with that loser Ludlow, are you sweetheart? Come over here if you want a piece of a real man.” 

Your head turns as though on a swivel, disbelieving that this fucker would dare show his face here, and that he would have the guts to talk to you again. McCauley, the douchey detective from the bar on your first date with Tom, is seated on a lounger back in the shadows. You realize that everyone has pointedly been avoiding him. He’s clearly drunk, his speech slurred. When he stands he almost falls over, but somehow manages to stumble towards you. 

“Give it a rest, Kevin,” your newfound compatriot yells over, rolling her eyes at the drunken idiot.

You decide to ignore him and get closer to the other pool patrons, but his tough grip clamps your wrist before you can run, and instinctively you pull back and hit him in the face.

It’s not like you, to be physically violent, especially not with men twice your size who are stupendously drunk—after all, you know how that usually works out in the end—but over these past few weeks your inner cavewoman has been woken by Tom Ludlow, and then right after that, your inner scratching, biting, kicking, screaming, trapped child by Julian. 

You look at your hand in disbelief, then up at McCauley, his fingers delicately pressed to the blooming bright red handprint on the side of his head. His expression is surprise, then seething rage, and he yanks you forward just a little, tiny bit…but that’s all it takes to incite screams, to make you shield your face, to make you cower before him like a little bitch.

Ludlow is on him in a second, so fast you wonder, later, if he jumped off the porch deck just to get over to you, and he grabs him by the collar of his nice button up. You watch McCauley’s feet leave the ground, you hear a loud, blunt thunk, and then the drunkard is flying into the pool, splashing a chlorinated wave over you and the man now at your side with his warm hands on your face, protecting you from the outside world, from the people that otherwise would be seeing you cry. 

If they were paying attention to you, that is, and not losing their shit laughing at the groaning, bloody man surfacing from the water with his hand pressed over his nose. 

“You okay?” Tom asks, tucking your hair behind your ears and kissing your forehead, and if it wasn’t so heart warming you’d be embarrassed. 

You nod, wiping wetness from your cheeks. “He scared me, I hit him.” 

“That’s my girl,” Tom tells you, grinning wide, and you preen under his praise, smiling despite yourself.  

Tom pulls you against his side protectively, and addresses McCauley. “Either you get the fuck out of here,” he tells him, calmly, almost cordially, “or I throw you over the fence into the freeway next.” 

McCauley is all eyes, and you can tell by his expression, all rage, for you, but you stand your ground, chin raised, and you think of the chihuahua again, so brave when tucked behind its big bull mastiff guardian. You feel…good. Guilty about it, but good. Powerful, with this novel feminine energy pulsing through your blood. It’s so strange and melodramatic, to feel as if you’ve been possessed by Lilith herself for hitting some guy that touched you without your permission at a pool party. 

Your new friend loops her arm with your own. “Uh, you wanna transfer to med surge?” she teases.

Tom lets you go with her to talk and grab a drink while he makes sure McCauley gets to a taxi…safely. You’re much more relaxed, now, as if all the nervous energy transferred from your right hook into McCauley’s skull on impact, and you settle in to talk to Abby from medsurge and her cop wife friends, equipped with frosty Chardonnay bottles. 

Before long, and when the alcohol is really brushing your hackles down into soft fleece, Tom, Wander, and the cop husbands join you. You lean into your fierce protector, and he kisses your temple, like he can’t help but put his lips on you even if you’re surrounded by other people. 

It’s good here—better than you thought you’d ever get, especially in a place like LA—nestled by Tom Ludlow and laughing and drinking and talking. The stories that cops tell are wild, heart wrenching, hilarious. You’re gasping in horror as often as bursting out in laughter. 

Captain Wander—Jack—sets his beer down and commands the attention of his guests, a small wayward smile directed in Tom’s direction, and your tough detective bristles and squirms under the attention of his superior. You almost feel a little jealous of the way Wander subdues him. 

“Now Tom,” Jack says, looking directly at you. “I have some store-eees about Tom.”

Tom grumbles, and you push him playfully. “Oh yeah?” You ask, matching his grin. “Let me guess, he saved a toddler from a house fire and then went back in for their pet kitten?” 

This earns you a laugh around the table, even from embarrassed Tom. 

“Looks like she’s got your number, Luds,” one of his colleagues teases, patting his shoulder. 

Tom looks at you like you’ve got more than just that, and like when you get out of here he’s going to fuck you silly, but the problem with that is you want to be fucked stupid, so you continue, “okay, let’s hear it! I want all Tom’s stories, especially the really embarrassing ones.” 

You are in so much trouble, for egging this on, says his hand gripping your thigh firmly, sending a delicious, achy twang deep into your pussy. 

”Tom’s always the guy you call when you need to get shit done,” Jack starts, speaking directly to you. “Few years back, we had a big time dealer in holding. This guy was real scum of the earth—I’m talking famous among his kind. Every junkie from here to Sonoma had his number—“

“Sonoma?” You interrupt. “Is that far?”

A murmur of laughter ripples through Jack’s guests, and the Captain smiles at you as if he finds you endearing. 

“It’s about 400 miles away,” says Tom to you. Then, to Jack: “she’s from Kansas.” 

“Have you shown her around yet?” The Captain asks, and there is some underlying innuendo in his tone that you can’t quite decipher. 

“Yeah, a little bit.” You look up at Tom, and his jaw is clenched just a little too tight for your liking. To loosen him up, you grab just above his knee, in that sensitive alcove, and squeeze. 

This earns you a jump, and then a brutish grumble of annoyance. You want to ask him if he’s okay, because of his sudden change in demeanor, but Wander is already continuing with his tale. 

“Anyway, we had been trying to get this guy for years, and finally we had him in holding. Only problem was, without a confession, we couldn’t go forward with the conviction...and we had to let him go. That’s where Tom comes in.” 

“Like a human wrecking ball,” one of his coworkers chimes in. 

“Hey,” Wander shrugs, “that’s always been Tom. He’s the guy you call if you want shit done.“ He toasts to the ever-stiffening man beside you, and you grab two of his fingers, wrapping your palm around them in what you hope is a comforting gesture. 

“Anyway, we got that confession,” Jack says. “And then some.”

“At first I didn’t know what the hell he was gonna do with that 91 directory,” Tom’s colleague adds, patting him on the shoulder. 

“They had to screw that scumbag’s jaw back into place,” another says. 

“That’s why he’s the best of the best,” Wander tells you after a big gulp of beer. “You’ve got a good man here, y/n.”

“No doubt about it.” 

But doubt is a funny thing. It plants a seed deep inside your brain, and before you know it that seed has sprouted into wisteria vines and begun to wrap all around your squishy pink organ, binding its thoughts in chaos…

[spectral-phases]

Sometimes the writing is just the writer's barely disguised fetish, or thinly veiled bigotry, and you've just gotta ignore it for your own sanity.

Brought to you by:

Talia did not sleep with Jason Todd when he was a minor, or an adult either, but especially not as a minor (I will acknowledge it briefly for a "I fucked your mom" joke and then go back to pretending I do not see)

Tenta-Todd

Bruce Wayne does not hit his kids like that

Jason Todd threatening to strip Dickbats and Robin!Damian of their clothes on live broadcast

Talia did not drug/SA Bruce, Damian was conceived with consent. Morrison

Clark Kent does not hate Conner

Kon-El does not mean abomination

Bruce Wayne is not bigoted towards Roma people

Kory would not blame Dick for what happened with Mirage

Okay. That's all I can think of off the top of my head.

And if I said it shouldn’t count as ignoring canon if it was just poorly written?

-BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE FACT DICK GRAYSON WOULD NEVER CHEAT ON HIS PARTNER

Like EVER

Also despite the fact I am a Talia hater (this is a joke -I hate her the same way a 12 yr old hates their stepmom call me dick Grayson the absolutely unearned beef I have with this woman) the SHIT SHE DID TO DAMIAN IN MORRISONS RUN NO JUST NO

- BROUGHT TO YIU BY THE THIRD FACY THAT SELINA AND DICK NEVER DID ANYTHING AND SAYING THEY DID IS LYING NO DONT SHOW ME THE COMIC PANEL I HATE IT IK SHE WAS TRYING TO MAKE BRUCE JEALOUS NOT MY SELINA KYLE

- brought to you by the fact RAVEN WOULD NEVER MANIPULATE DICK THE WAY SHE DID IN NTT OKAY WE IGNORE IT AND MOVE ON

- brought to you by the fact that Roy and Dick… actually no these two have a degree at punching below the belt nothing is off limits they might actually be each others Roman empires

[areyouwell]

In Tuto Esse

Ch.4

Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <-

Warnings: None

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Word Count: 14k

A/N: so this was ready sooner than i thought it would be. but then again if i did everything i wanted to in this chapter it would probably be one of the longest ones i've ever written soooooo sometimes you just gotta snap the chapter plans in two <3

Taglist: @speeedybaby @ltristessedureratoujours @froggieeez @ayamenimthiriel @daddyslittlevillain @chubbyhedgehog @marifilue @galacticglitterglue @salemslostwitch @m1cky-y-y

What an absolute whirlwind the last few days had been. The last few weeks, Logan supposed as he fixed himself a strong cup of coffee, savouring the brief moment of silence, listening to the sound of boiling water sloshing into the mug, the comforting, burnt aroma rising like smoke from the beverage. He’d taken you back. Of course he had. How could he not? You’d taken a bullet for a child you didn’t even know. You’d saved her life at the expense of your own. Well, almost. That was still up for debate as you currently lay motionless beneath the school, hooked up to various machinery to make sure you didn’t actually give your life for little Wildling, despite Jean’s protests.

“How did you find us?” He asked frantically, cradling your limp body against his chest as he all but ran with you to the Blackbird, Wildling a few steps ahead, turning around now and then to make sure he was following. Jean had fallen into step next to him, glancing down from your pale form to Logan’s panic-stricken distraught with no small degree of suspicion. 

“Charles was keeping tabs on you, knew the moment everything went south. What were you trying to accomplish?” she asked savagely, ducking as she lunged up the ramp and into the hold, waving her hand to send various duffle bags and parafanalia flying to the sides. “And who’s this?” She continued, gesturing to the little girl running around the floor, pushing what she could to the side, as little as it was.

“No clue, we call her Wildling.” Logan panted, setting you down on the steel before instantly cradling the wound in your side. He was losing you. He could hear it in the weakness of your pulse, the frigid feeling of your skin, the pallour of your face. He was losing you.

“We? Who the hell is we?” 

“Us. Me and Alec. We don’t know the kid’s name and we don’t know if she can talk so we call her Wildling now please, help her.” He begged, finally looking from your fading visage up to Jean, his brows creasing in obvious fear. “Please…”

Jean hesitated, once again glancing between the two of you, before crouching down next to your dull hair, her hands hovering over your body and closing her eyes, grimacing slightly as she took in the state of your whittling life. 

“Logan…”

“Don’t.”

“She’s not gonna–”

“Just fuckin’ help her, Jean. Do whatever the hell it is you gotta do, but don’t let her die. Don’t you dare let her die.” He snapped, taking your cold hand in his own, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles as if it could bring you back. Grief wrapped its bony claws around his throat, lacerations of loss-borne barbed wire ensnared his heart. He could feel you slipping, like sand through his fingers, he could feel you ebbing away. Fuck.

“There’s a bullet lodged in her gut, and I don’t know if I can pull it out without causing more harm,” Jean explained, Wildling peering at her curiously before scrunching her nose up tightly and bounding over to be back by Logan’s side, looking down at you with hopeless prayers.

“Will she die if it’s left in?” Logan asked, still running his thumb over your knuckles.

“Likely yes. Even if she recovers from the wound, the lead poisoning would kill her.” The redhead continued, not even turning to look as Kitty turned back from her seat pilot’s seat, her eyes widening as she saw just what the hell was going on, too focussed on getting the Blackbird back in the air to listen to the conversation properly.

“Wait… is that–”

“It is,” Jean responded curtly before Kitty could even say your name. 

“And we’re trying to save her because…?”

“Ask Logan.” Once again her words were sharp, before she fell into deep concentration, her fingers flexing slightly as she tried to navigate the bullet from your body, while keeping your body functioning. Logan dully admitted how impressive it was, before his focus was entirely back to you, absently placing a comforting hand on Wildling’s shoulder. You didn’t know the effects you had on the people around you. It was clear to see how oblivious you were to it. And he’d be fucking damned if you died before he could tell you. 

He slowly, hesitantly looked up to where Kitty had placed the jet on autopilot, fully turning in her seat to face him, her gaze curiously expectant. Wildling looked between the two of them, her ears twitching slightly as she sensed the tension in the room. But he didn’t have an explanation for her. He really didn’t. How could he explain that after the last day or so, he’d completely changed his tune? He needed you alive. What for, he didn’t know, but he knew that letting you die here wasn’t an option.

He just didn’t know how to put that into words. 

A sickening crunch caught his attention, dragging his gaze from Kitty back to your wound, where, much to his alarm, incarnadine flowed from your side, swiftly followed by a slick, gore-coated bullet. He wished he could feel relieved. He wished he could feel anything other than deathly fear as the bullet floated from your body to the side, clinking against the ground. But it was out. It was out. Maybe you’d be okay. Maybe you’d survive this. 

Maybe…

“Shit… shit shit!” Jean exclaimed, her eyes screwed tight as she concentrated harder on maintaining your life. “Kitty how far out are we?!” She called back, Logan’s heart racing in his chest. 

“Five minutes, think you can hold her til then?” She shouted back, spinning back to face forward, taking back controls to push the Blackbird to its limits. Logan’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned over to cup the cold side of your neck, your pulse barely thumping against his fingertips. 

“C’mon freakshow, you got so much to do. Think of ‘em. Think of those kids, just like you. You gotta help ‘em. Don’t you fucking dare give up now. You gotta fight, Alec. You still got so much fight in you. Use it.” He urged, not particularly caring if you could hear him or not. He knew nothing got you more fired up than injustice. Than the bullshit the MSR put mutants through. If anything would keep you alive, keep you fighting, it was thinking about that. 

‘I’m so tired, Logan…’

Your words rang in his head, repeating like a broken record. You sounded shattered, fragile like glass in his arms, slicing his heart with your words. You’d done so much, suffered so much, and it still wasn’t enough for you. You were so scared of not making a difference that you were willing to risk it all, leave in the dead of night and track down hundreds of mutants alone. 

But you didn’t have to be alone. Not anymore. You’d come to him for help, and somehow you’d wriggled your way through his defences and nestled yourself in his chest. He couldn’t let you go. 

He wouldn’t.

“We’re nearly there. Just hold on for me. Just hold on,” He implored, whispering your name and smoothing your brow with his thumb, Wildling coming up next to him to clumsily repeat the gesture, careful of her claws against your skin. He would have found it endearing if he could focus on anything other than the fact you were dying. 

“Just hold on…”

That was three days ago, and your status has been up in the air ever since. Hank had helped Jean with your recovery, bandaging your wound and in true creepy scientist fashion, acquiring a vial of your blood for studying. Nobody had been permitted to see you, not even him, and it was driving him crazy. Knowing you were a few feet below him, fighting for your life, whilst he was up above, making himself cups of coffee and smoking himself into an early grave. At least, that’s what would happen, if he could die. He’d managed to distract himself well enough, keeping tabs on little Wildling as she settled into her new environment, calmly explaining why scratching up other kids is bad, and playing nicely with them was good. He understood her, possibly more than anyone else possibly could. She had the instincts of an animal, much like him, exhibiting cat-like behaviours when she believed she was being threatened, or someone went a little too far in whatever game they were playing. 

He’d learnt that she could retract her mutation too, but simply chose not to. He’d only seen her without her little ginger tail and pointed canines once, and that was after a fight with one of the other kids where she’d quite badly harmed them. Her guilt forced her to retreat into her new room, pushing down her instincts and hiding her mutation before Logan had to borderline break down the door to get to her. Why oh why the kids’ rooms had locks on them, he’d never understand, but it was heartbreaking in and of itself that she knew how to use it, and understood that it would make her feel safe. How many times had she had to do that in her life?

How many times had you?

“You’re up early…” 

A honeyed voice broke the silence, and Logan looked up from where he’d been staring into his coffee. He turned to the doorway where Jean stood, her hand braced on the wooden frame, looking at him with a gaze softer than he’d ever experienced before. It made his insides twist. 

“Yeah, well, couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged, offering no further explanation. He knew how she felt about having you here, and it didn’t seem to matter how well he retold the story of what happened that night, she never seemed to understand why he’d bring you here. It was a frustrating, repetitive conversation that drove him mad. 

“You haven’t been sleeping at all, Logan. Not since you got back.” She prodded lightly, taking a few steps further into the kitchen, a hand braced loosely on her hip. “What’s going on?”

He shrugged again. “Nothin’ much. Never was a good sleeper.”

Jean narrowed her eyes, sighing heavily. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out because my opinion differs from yours. She’s dangerous, Logan. Extremely dangerous. Did you forget why we went after her in the first place? Did you forget the scenes of those murders? The savagery?” She attempted to explain gently, but her light tone only fuelled his frustration further, his hand tightening around his mug. 

“If she’s so damn dangerous then why did she throw herself in the path of a bullet to save a kid she barely knew?” He countered with gritted teeth. “You don’t know her, Jean. You know what was on that slideshow and that’s it, you don’t–”

“Neither do you. I know it probably feels like you do, but you don’t. You don’t know somebody after spending twenty-four hours with them.” Her brows pinched in infuriating understanding, and not so long ago he would have fallen at her feet with just one of those looks. Now it made him want to punch through walls. 

“We’re not having this conversation again.” He stated curtly, tensing his jaw to stop himself from lashing out. Jean sighed again, tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear. 

“You know she can’t stay.” Though her words were quiet, they were laced with more venom than he’d expect from her. “She’s a killer, Logan ––a serial killer, in fact. And you brought her to the school. With kids. You brought a serial killer here and expect us to help her out?” He could tell she was getting irate, her tone pitching at the end of her question, leaning both hands against the table as if she could implant the very idea into his brain.

Actually, she probably could. 

“I was a killer too and you took me in.” He stated flatly, and Jean blinked, any frustration in her face ebbing away as she skirted around the table, placing a hand on his arm.

“You were different. You were helping Marie when we found you.”

“Alecto was helping Wildling. How is it different?” He countered, fighting the urge to swipe her hand off his arm, her touch cold, calculated. Almost manipulative. 

“You called her something different on the jet. Her name isn’t Alecto, is it?” She asked, raising a thin brow as she caught him out. 

“The hell does it matter?” He hissed, defensive walls erecting in his mind, cautious of her prodding and poking around his brain. You’d told him your name in confidence ––a whispered word in the dark, like a lover’s farewell. You’d told him your story. Perhaps not all of it, but you’d still found enough trust in him to divulge what you could. He’d be damned if he’d betray your trust like that. 

“It doesn’t, I’m just curious.” Her eyes hardened as she stepped back, removing her hand from his arm. Had she seen? Had she seen what had happened between you? The shared passion beneath the blanket of loneliness. A bubble of secure pleasure created by the yearning to not just survive but to live. Could she sense his shift? The sudden wholeness of his heart. The new protective nature simmering just beneath his calm façade. And if she could, why did she look like she despised it?

“Good. Stay curious. And stay the hell outta my head, Jean. I mean it. Don’t wanna have to tell you again.” He growled, and Jean drew up slightly, her jaw tense, gaze fiery.

“Is that a threat?”

“Does it have to be?” He retorted, blood pumping in his veins as if he was ready to jump into a fight. Never did he imagine having to fight Jean. Never did he think there would be a time when he didn’t crave her attention. When he couldn’t stand being around her. The flip gave him whiplash, and he exhaled all the tension in his bones, raking a hand through his hair. “Sorry, ‘m just real tired. I’ll be alright in a few days.” He breathed, leaning against the counter. 

The tension fled from the room as Jean’s eyes softened, her lips pulling into an understanding smile. “I get it. But don’t take too long. I miss the old you.” She whispered, and Logan’s heart reluctantly skipped a beat. Fuck, he was so confused. He thought he was over this. Thought he’d moved on from her, but now she wasn’t trying to pry into his mind, and it didn’t seem like she was playing games with him. The look in her eyes was one of genuine loss, and it messed with his head. Her hand returned to his arm, and he didn’t feel that same urge to pull away when she squeezed slightly, before turning away to leave him to his thoughts. 

‘I miss the old you.’

The old him. He thought she didn’t like the old him. The version of him that would skip town at a moment’s notice. The version of him that pined after her like a lost puppy, begging for any scrap of attention she’d throw his way. Was it him she missed, or the way he made her feel wanted? The way he made her feel desirable. Was she being genuine, or was she just really fucking good at lying? Christ, this was a nightmare. 

And on top of everything else, he still didn’t know just what the hell was going on with you and him. Because that was still a conversation that needed to be had. Was that just sex? Or was there something more there? You were extremely hard to read, your guarded expression a constant mask, he never knew what you were thinking. Did you feel what he was feeling? The slight pull at his heart whenever you were near. The gentle curiosity that maybe this could be something? Was that even possible? Could there be something?

Too many questions. Too many damn questions for seven in the morning. The sun had barely risen and his head had already been fucked with. Usually, the ‘old him’ would have just left. Stolen Scott’s bike and headed out god knows where for god knows how long. The freedom that came with not giving a damn. But now he did. And it scared the fuck out of him. But wasn’t that the him that Jean missed? 

Logan groaned against the oncoming headache throbbing just behind his eyes. This was too complicated. Everything was too damn complicated. Why did you have to waltz into his life? With your endless fire and snippy attitude. Your yearning for freedom born of tragedy. Why oh why did you have to go ask him for help? Couldn’t you have asked Scott? Or Ororo? Why did it have to be him? Why did you get him mixed up in this twisted web of blood-soaked passion? Because he was well and truly stuck, and he couldn’t find the willpower to struggle. 

And like a light in the darkness, Wildling came bounding through the door, leaping onto the table, her tail swishing like a metronome, eyes wide as saucers as she tracked every micro-movement he made. Just like that, his turmoil was shoved to the side, lips quirking in a fond smile as the kid’s ears flickered, her claws scratching into the table’s wooden surface. What did Marie call it? Zoomies? As if this kid didn’t have enough energy, every now and then she’d race through the mansion, bouncing off furniture, ducking and diving under tables and between chair-legs like she was chasing a rat. Usually in the middle of the night, when the rest of the occupants were dead asleep. He’d usually be the one to emerge from his room at the shattering of a vase or breaking of a glass, picking up the pieces and taking her out into the gardens so she could work off some of that energy. 

It was exhausting but adorable, so he did it anyway. 

He raised a brow, slowly placing down his completely untouched mug of coffee, knowing exactly what came next. And like clockwork, Wildling's butt wiggled slightly, before she pounced, claws outstretched, her canines glinting in the lights when her lips split into a feral grin. This had become a well-rehearsed tradition, Logan remaining still until the last possible moment before his arms shot out and caught her in mid-air, caging her against his chest for her to wiggle free. Claws met skin as she laughed in delight, ripping through his shirt as she clawed her way to freedom, sinking her teeth into his bicep. He didn’t mind. It was nothing more than a tickle to him, and if she was enjoying herself, then what was the harm? 

Wildling scrambled up to his shoulders, writhing from his hold as he fought to drag her back down. Her resulting hiss held no heat, her bare feet slipping on the fabric of his singlet in various vain attempts to crawl up onto his head. A fatal mistake. With reflexes she wasn’t expecting, Logan snatched onto her ankle, dragging her from his shoulders to dangle her from his grip, her squeals of delight bouncing off the empty walls of the kitchen, little hands swiping and flailing as she attempted to bend up to latch onto his wrist. He huffed a chuckle when she managed to swing herself up, sinking her claws into his wrist to upright herself. 

“You two seem to be getting along well.”

An oh so familiar voice shattered the playful atmosphere, both Logan and Wildling whipping their heads to the opposite doorway, his heart stopping in his chest. 

You were here. You were okay. Not only that, but you were walking around freely…

You looked a little worse for wear, your hair mussed and slightly matted, complexion still a little pallid with dark circles contouring your eyes and a white bandage wrapped around the left side of your face, but you were here.

“You’re okay…” he breathed, gently setting Wildling down on the floor, the girl tilting her head as she looked at you, eyes wide with awe. He couldn’t articulate the relief he felt, the overwhelming sense of calm seeing you alive. But you couldn’t possibly be fully healed yet. Your mutation didn’t work like that. How much pain were you currently in just standing, let alone wandering the school’s halls. “Shit are you– do you wanna sit? How’re you–”

“I’m fine, Logan. Well, as fine as I can be with this bullshit on my wrist…” you held up your hand for emphasis, and the very blood in his veins ran cold. He knew what that was. He’d seen that very same technology on the necks of all those mutants held captive.

It was a suppressant. Not a huge one, but enough to slow your mutation to the point you could barely manipulate a single drop of blood. It felt like your insides had been stuffed into a box, held under lock and key. Uncomfortably full without the opportunity for release. Everything felt slow, sluggish, and it was a feeling you knew like the back of your hand. It had taken a lot of deep, calming breaths to stop your heart from beating straight out of your chest when you woke up shackled to a bed, the fucking suppressant clasped around your wrist like a manacle. But you didn’t need your mutation to pick a lock. Just a small enough blade, which luckily, whoever had been looking after you left lying on a small medical table right next to your bed. 

Sometimes the fates really did shine in your favour. But only after shitting in your dinner. 

“The fuck…?” He growled, crossing the kitchen to take your wrist in his hand, turning it over in his palm to examine the bracelet. “Why the fuck would they do this?” He looked from your wrist up to your face, suddenly struck with a bolt of lightning as he saw you completely raw. No makeup, no ebony mask, just you. Your hair hung limp, you looked as if you hadn’t slept in three weeks. 

Holy fuck you were gorgeous. 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a dangerous serial killer with a thirst for human blood. Surprised it’s taken you this long to realise it,” you offered him a grin that didn’t quite meet your eyes. You looked defeated, that same expression you wore the night everything went wrong when you realised all your hard work may have been for nothing. It burned him to see it. The feeling of the bracelet on your wrist only fueled his barely contained rage. “I’m glad to see you’re both okay,” you whispered in a rare moment of vulnerability, and it took all of Logan’s self-control not to cup the side of your face in comfort. “I didn’t–”

Your eyes flew wide open, words caught in your throat as you snatched your hand away from his, arms locking tight by your sides. It was only when you started hovering a few feet off the ground did it register in his brain that it might not actually be you doing this. He locked his gaze with yours, your brows pinching as you gasped for breath, completely powerless.

“Logan step back. Now.” Jean barked, her eyes fixed on you, her hand outstretched as Scott filed in behind her, fingers poised on his sunglasses as if ready to strike. Logan gaped in utter incomprehensible bafflement. 

“The fuck ‘re you doin’?” He spat, completely ignoring Jean’s command and instead stepping between you and the assailants, blocking whatever beam Scott was ready to unleash. 

“She broke out. She fucking escaped and started wandering around the school. There are fucking kids here, Logan. And now a notorious serial killer is just walking amongst them. How can you not see that?” Scott spat, his other hand clenched into a fist as he prepared himself for whatever fight was about to ensue. 

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? How dangerous can she be with that fuckin’ thing around her wrist? She’s defenseless, Scott!” He barked back, little Wildling bounding up to crouch next to him, her teeth bared in a completely different snarl to the one from before when she was just playing. 

“Yeah? Tell that to Hank who’s currently lying unconscious on the same table she was recovering on.” 

Logan blinked, taking a moment to turn back to you with an incredulous look. But you simply snarled, your eyes as animalistic and feral as Wildling’s. He knew that if you didn’t have that suppressant, they’d both be dead. Or knocked out, at least. 

“Let her go, Jean.” He hissed, his tone taking on a dangerous lilt. 

“Logan–”

“Now.”

Surprisingly enough, after a shared look of suspicion between the two of them, Jean loosened her grip on you, and you crumpled to your knees, breathing hard against the sudden release of tension. Wildling raced to your side, her little hands clutching your arm at while Logan crouched next to you, his own hand settling on your shoulder. 

“Y’alright?” He murmured, wary of the two pairs of eyes watching the interaction between the two of you. You grit your teeth, staring unblinkingly at the floor momentarily, before pushing yourself back up to your feet, viciously shrugging off hit touch and even snatching your arm away from Wildling. 

“I’m fine.” You bit, trying your fucking best not to bend double again in pain, the wound in your side screaming at all the movement. You’d injected yourself with 5mg of morphine to numb the pain before you’d started wandering around, but even that wasn’t quite enough to stem the searing agony from your wound. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Scott accused, taking a step ahead of Jean as if to shield her from whatever attack you may be planning. 

“If you’d just give her a chance to explain–” Logan started before you interjected. 

“I don’t have to explain anything to these chucklefucks. Just get this fucking bracelet off me so I can leave.” Your voice dripped venom, eyes glaring daggers at his two colleagues, and Logan found himself stuck in the middle. He had loyalties to them, of course he did. They’d fought side by side enough times for him to trust the two of them implicitly on the battlefield, but he knew your situation. He knew your story. And if you would just give each other a damn chance, maybe they’d see you the way he did.

Although, maybe not exactly the way he did. Even he didn’t know about that. 

“And the moment we take that off, we’re all dead. So no.” Scott retaliated, and it was a strange feeling for Logan to suddenly be the mediator in an argument, rather than one of the contestants. 

“Everyone just take a breath and calm down.” He breathed, trying it on himself before he expected the others to do it too. Even Wildling took a deep breath, though her tail was still puffed up and flicking like mad, her ears flattened against her hair. And though you didn’t relax your glare, he watched as your muscles stopped tensing so much, your stance straightening out from the slight crouch you’d prepared yourself with. It was only then that Scott took his fingers away from his glasses, folding his arms across his chest. 

“What the hell is this…?” 

You whipped around, your chest constricting as you found yourself cornered, another mutant with bright white hair cautiously entering the kitchen, her perceptive eyes flickering from Jean and Scott, to Logan and you, before her expression dawned with recognition. “Who let her out?!”

“Nobody, she escaped,” Scott explained oh so helpfully. Logan shoved down the instinct to punch him in the face. 

“She escaped?!” Ororo exclaimed in accusation, her eyes narrowing at Logan. “Was this you?”

“How the hell could this’ve been me, you haven’t let me near the damn elevator, let alone in the med bay!” He countered, wary of your increasing heart rate and breathing. He turned to where you’d backed yourself into a corner, your eyes wild with fight or flight. “It’s okay… they’re not gonna hurt ya.”

“Wasn’t Hank supposed to be looking after her?” Ro continued, looking to Jean and Scott for further explanation. 

“Yeah well, he’s currently unconscious in the med bay. Turns out she doesn’t need her mutation to be just as dangerous.” Jean narrowed her eyes as she spoke, a knife rack moving across the counter just as you made a reach for it. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Not gonna hurt me, huh?” You hissed sarcastically, and Logan shot you a withering look that simply said ‘You’re not helping.’

He took a step back toward you as the other took steps forward, hearing your heart thundering in your chest, it broke his own. This was somewhere you were supposed to feel safe, and yet this was the most scared he’d ever seen you. He’d promised you they’d take you in. They’d look after you. He’d look after you. But this was nothing like how he’d imagined these introductions going. However he didn’t know why he’d expected any different. 

Before a stroke of genius came to him in a single moment. 

“Jean, c’mon. You didn’t save her life for nothin’, right?”

That made the room freeze. He guessed she hadn’t told anyone what happened on the jet ––hadn’t told anyone how you were alive because of her. And from the look of betrayal on Scott’s face, and utter shock on Jean’s, this was the perfect moment to bring it up. 

“You saved her life?”

“What the hell possessed you to do that?”

There was a chorus of confused accusations, but over the din he could sense you settle a little, hesitancy shifting your demeanour as you blinked. 

“You saved my life? Why…?” Though your voice sounded small, it was as if you could stop time. The whole room focused on you again, and it was Jean’s turn to huff in frustration. 

“Logan asked me to.” She said by way of explanation, and your gaze shifted from the redhead back to him, conflict raging in your eyes. He offered you a small, knowing smile with a slight shrug. 

“Couldn’t let ya die, freakshow. Not after you saved her life.” He nodded to Wildling who was peering up at you with nothing but awestruck gratitude, her wide eyes glittering with a sense of wonder you’d only seen once before. On someone else. It made your heart clench. 

“Oh, so she has a nickname now?” Scott slashed the sweet moment in half, and the room returned to fighting amongst themselves. 

“Everyone gets a nickname, Slim.”

“Why don’t I have a nickname?”

“Haven’t thought of one yet.” Logan shrugged dismissively to Ororo, who was all but pouting at the realisation she didn’t have a nickname from Logan. 

“I don’t think you should say mine out loud…” Jean confessed though the corner of her lips quirked into a barely concealed smirk, causing Scott to scoff loudly. 

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

It was all you could do just watch the carnage, ensuing chaos you didn’t even cause. And remarkably, you felt all the tension in your body melt away at the realisation that these people weren’t as dangerous as you initially thought they were, and they sure as shit weren’t as threatening. You huffed a single chuckle, before another one bubbled from your chest, and it was a few moments before you were genuinely laughing, eyes screwed shut, head thrown back laughter. Wildling looked up at you with visible concern that you were losing your mind, but you couldn’t stop. Tears lined your eyes as you clutched your stomach, the pain from your side doing nothing to quell your amusement. 

“You guys should start a sitcom, seriously. This shit is gold.” You managed to breathe, clutching the countertop for support as you finally regained control of your relentless giggling. “Sorry, sorry. I know the moment is very serious and everything, but there’s a ‘notorious serial killer’ standing in your kitchen and you’re all arguing over nicknames!” You implored them to see the hilarity of the situation, to which they all fell into contemplative silence, only Logan seemed to be looking at you, his eyes bright with something you couldn’t quite interpret. 

“Yeah, well… this ‘notorious serial killer’ doesn’t seem as dangerous as we once thought…” Scott admitted begrudgingly, and you chortled again, snorting a laugh through your nose. 

“That’s just what happens when you collar a beast,” you rolled your eyes, holding up your wrist for emphasis, still finding this whole situation ridiculous. “But, now that introductions are out of the way, how about we discuss getting this thing off me, hm?” You raised a brow, and Logan’s chest inflated with pride. You weren’t lashing out how he’d expected you to. In fact, you’d managed to set the whole room at whatever ease was possible simply by laughing at them. You were constantly going on about the trouble your mouth got you into, but he guessed you never realised how good it was at getting you out of trouble too. 

You really did only acknowledge your own flaws, didn’t you?

“Look, this isn’t personal–”

“How could this not be personal?!” You exclaimed, interrupting Ororo, who took a steadying breath. 

“We just… we don’t know where you stand. With the whole… killing, thing.”

You leaned back, pretending to examine your cracked nails. “It varies from moment to moment, I’ll admit.” 

The whole room eyed you as if they couldn’t tell whether or not you were joking, and Logan had to close his eyes and breathe before he shook your shoulders and begged you not to make jokes at a time like this. But you sighed heavily, dropping your hand by your side. 

“Look, I don’t have a quarrel with any of you. Sure, you tracked me down and interrupted my work which was really fucking annoying by the way. And I may have knocked one of you out, but I won’t apologise for that on account of doing Stray here a favour–” you nodded to Logan, who rolled his eyes playfully, a grin pulling at his lips as Scott spluttered in disbelief. 

“Oh, he gets a nickname too?!”

“And so far, I don’t particularly want to fight any of you, especially with my mutation currently shoved to the side. I already tried to kill one of you and it didn’t go so well for me. At least, it didn’t at the time,” you smirked, sending Logan a provocative, heated look that he knew you did deliberately, just to get a rise out of the rest of the room.

Troublesome mouth indeed.

“But I really don’t wanna interrupt your daisy-chain-making, trauma-bonding, friendship-is-magic bullshit for any longer than I have to, so just get this shit off me, and I’ll be on my way, okay? Because quite frankly, it makes me want to throw up.” 

Logan had never seen a mic-drop like it. You’d completely undermined his entire team’s way of life in one fell swoop. And whilst he would argue that it was much more than all that, you’d kind of hit the nail on the head. He’d had exactly the same thoughts when he’d first arrived. Couldn’t understand why anyone would choose this way of life. But slowly, one by one, these people had wormed their way into his heart.

Just like you had. 

“Well… hard to argue with that. I don’t particularly want her around longer than she needs to be.” Jean commented with an air of snobbery that made you wonder if Logan was completely blind. How the hell could this woman be the apple of his eye? Sure she was hot, but so were many other women, mainly the ivory-haired one standing on the opposite side of her. Now she was hot. 

Jean’s eyes narrowed to you, and you tilted your head in faux innocence, knowing exactly what she’d just done. You’d left your thoughts wide open for her, not that you could do much against her mind-prying anyway. But you revelled in how she drew herself up and puffed out her chest slightly, drawing Scott’s eye. And you revelled in the way her jaw tensed in frustration when Logan continued looking at you.

Oh, this would be fun. Maybe you should stick around for a while. 

“We should take her to the Professor.” Ororo mused thoughtfully, and you rolled your eyes emphatically. Could these people do nothing without their precious Professor’s permission?

“He’s already aware of the situation. He’s waiting in his office.” Jean said stiffly, folding her arms beneath her chest to emphasise her breasts, and you barely managed to stifle your laughter, wondering what the female version of a dick-swinging contest was. 

Scott and Ororo made to step towards you but were stopped by a savagely hissing Wildling, her claws scratching against the ground, back arched defensively as if to strike if they got any closer. Logan couldn’t suppress his smirk. 

“Well, that told you.” He uttered, and you snorted as you recognised your exact words from the cabin, catching a look of bewilderment on Jean’s face. You were enjoying this far too much.

“Alright then, let’s go see the man himself. Not sure what good it’ll do…” You huffed, holding up your hands in surrender as you walked past Wildling, Logan falling into step by your side, following Scott and Jean’s lead. 

“That went well.” He murmured sarcastically, and you had to control yourself not to chuckle again. 

“One good thing came out of this whole debacle though,” you glanced up at Logan who simply raised his brow in question. “Jean could barely keep her eyes off you.”

Your self-satisfied smile didn’t quite seem genuine, and Logan wondered, if only for a moment, whether or not you were irritated by that. But what felt more pressing, was the fact it didn’t boost his ego like it would have done weeks ago. If anything, he wanted to reassure you. To tell you she was just stressed in the moment, since he was the one closest to you. 

But he couldn’t seem to find any truth to his thoughts. 

You felt like you were under complete scrutiny, which you supposed made sense since you likely were. Every pair of eyes trained on you, tracking each micromovement you made, readying themselves for some kind of master plan of attack. Not sure what they expected you to do, considering you didn’t have half of your vision and your mutation was suppressed, but you took a little pride in the fact they felt like they couldn’t relax around you. Good, keep it that way. 

Charles Xavier wasn’t quite what you were expecting. With the way his reputation had grown, you were more expecting some imposing, intimidating-looking man, possibly wearing a nice suit with a white cat on his lap, but that was more likely because of how much you’d villanised him in your head. But this man looked… kinder. Understanding. And though he looked at you with the same sort of scrutiny, it wasn’t in the same way a prey animal would observe a predator. This was more like he was trying to understand you. Who you were and why you were here. 

As if he didn’t know.

And you had a horrible feeling he would try and poke around your head, which wouldn’t be a fun time for anyone involved. 

Some new faces you hadn’t met yet had gathered in his office, two younger-looking girls, one with a white streak in her hair and the other who wore a graphic t-shirt of a band you’d never heard of before. You’d heard them referred to as Shadowcat and Rogue, which you couldn’t help rolling your eyes at. You knew everyone else’s names, why only now were they getting cagey?

You’d refused Charles' offer to take a seat, choosing instead to stand opposite his desk, arms folded across your chest, trying your fucking best not to scratch and rub around the bracelet on your wrist, its effects now taking an extremely uncomfortable toll on your body. It was the same feeling as holding in a scream you desperately wanted to release, your entire body taut and tense, muscles twitching irritably. How the fuck did you spend years with this feeling and not go crazy?

“You’ve caused quite the stir around here, Alecto.” Even his voice was laced with knowing, like he was reading your life story in an open book, dumped straight onto his desk face up, and you had to fight not to roll your eyes again.

“I aim to please.” You responded flatly, eyes hard as you tried to imagine his head exploding. Maybe if you concentrated hard enough, you’d siphon what little you could of your mutation despite the bracelet. But, predictably, nothing happened, and he only smiled in infuriating understanding. 

“I apologise for our unorthodox methods of keeping the school safe,” he nodded to your wrist, and you had the urge to hide it behind your back. “But you must understand, this situation was rather difficult to predict. As are you.” 

Your eyes narrowed, head tilting to the side every so slightly. “You have two telepaths. You could know my every move if you wanted to.”

“We don’t like to exploit our mutations in that way.”

“Why? It’s your only advantage in this world. You especially.” You jabbed, looking pointedly at the fact he was in a wheelchair now. It was a low blow, you knew that, but at the same time, fuck this guy. 

“Alec…” Logan grumbled a subtle warning for you not to press. And you responded by completely ignoring him, something he tried really hard not to take personally. 

“It’s alright Logan. If I recall, you said something similar when you saw met. Called me ‘Wheels’, I believe.” Charles sent him another one of those knowing looks, and you snorted a laugh, clamping your lips together to stop yourself from laughing harder. 

It was nice to see you smiling, though it may have been at his expense, and he knew why Charles had said that because it had worked like a charm. You were already more relaxed than you were when you walked into his office. He wanted you to feel like you weren’t alone. Like you had some kind of kinship here, surrounded by people just like you, and he struggled to see how your relationship with either Tisiphone or Magaera was anywhere as close as his was to the rest of the team.  

“Can we stay on topic, please?” Jean interjected, her tone as impatient as her tapping foot. Getting you out of here seemed to be the only thing on her mind, and if Logan hadn’t spent twenty-four hours getting to know you and working alongside you, he had no doubt he’d be agreeing with her without much thought. 

But he had his own agenda. One that had nothing to do with sleeping with you, surprisingly. Despite that night being nothing short of incredible, Logan wanted to keep you around for more than just that. He saw how lonely you were. Saw how you faced the world with nobody by your side. You were different to Tisiphone, who seemed ready to melt his very bones without so much as a second thought. And whilst yes, you had tried to kill him once, he was also hyper-aware of the fact you felt as if you had no choice. You were trapped in a life chosen for you. And he’d be damned if he let you rot in a cage. 

“Very well. Your injuries were severe when you came to us–”

“I had no choice in that, by the way. I didn’t come here, I was dragged.” You interrupted sharply, sending a glare in Logan’s direction, and his gut twisted with the realisation he’d contributed to that cage. Once again your choices had been taken from you. Somebody who valued freedom above all else. He dragged his eyes from yours, choosing instead to focus on the floorboards.

“When you arrived, then. Jean and Hank managed to patch you up and monitor your well-being until you woke up a few hours ago. You have them to thank for your recovery.” Charles nodded to Jean in the absence of Hank, who you presumed had been taken to some kind of bed to sleep off the harsh hit to the back of his head. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on hitting him so hard, but without the use of your mutation, you sort of overshot. But even the implication that you needed to thank any of these people burned your very blood. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for any of this. If anything, you’d never regretted asking Logan for help more than at this very moment. You should have just knocked him the fuck out and walked away. 

“Once again, something I didn’t ask them to do. You expect me to be grateful for what you’ve all ‘done for me’. Are you out of your fucking mind? You’ve done nothing for me, apart from get in my way. You’ve taken me from my team, suppressed my mutation, insulted me, berated me, and now you want me to thank you?!” You barked incredulously, letting out a bitter laugh as you turned to each mutant in the room individually, assessing the situation and the likelihood of you getting out of here not busted up. 

And Logan could sense it. Could sense how you’d shifted once again, your eyes carefully examining the room and its inhabitants. You knew most of their abilities, maybe only Marie and Kitty being the only two loose cannons in the room. At least, to you. 

“If we hadn’t done what we did, you’d be dead,” Scott said flatly, and you laughed again. 

“So what? People die all the time. Mutants die all the time. Why am I any different? I should have died in that field and yet here I am, forced into a room with ignorance screaming at me from every corner. You have no idea what’s really out there. You have no idea what these people are doing to us. Only Logan knows because he had the fucking decency to listen, which is the bare fucking minimum if you ask me. You tried to kill me,” you jabbed a finger in Scott’s direction, and Jean stepped a little closer to him. “You immobilised me in a kitchen whilst I’m borderline completely defenceless,” you continued, now turning that finger on Jean, who simply raised a thin brow in challenge. “And you,” you whirled back to Charles, eyes bleeding venom. “You abandoned me. Deemed me too dangerous for your little school because my powers were beyond my control. A man who’d sworn to help teach the young and vulnerable turned his back on me. Well, I’m in control now, except you’ve fucking collared me.” 

Logan watched as grim recognition dawned on Charles’ face. So he did know you. And Logan knew everything you’d said was true in how Charles lowered his head and whispered your name. 

“I didn’t know–”

“Bullshit. You’re one of the most powerful telepaths in the world. Of course you knew.” You spat, barely allowing the room to breathe before you turned your attention back to Logan. “This is the man you look up to? A man who’s lied to you since the beginning. He knew who I was from the start, yet sent you all after me knowing what I coud do. He sent you to your deaths, only you can’t die, so that worked out pretty well for you, huh? 

You’re all just weapons to him. Weapons to point toward his enemies so he can claim victory over them. Don’t you get it? You’re just as much a part of a system as I was. Only your cycle of violence doesn’t stop.”

“And yours stops when every human is dead, right?” Logan countered, his patience waning rapidly. “When there’s nobody left but us mutants.”

“Doesn’t that sound ideal to you?”

“It sounds like genocide to me.”

“Who’s side are you on? You heard what they were saying about us. About you. Fucking breeding programmes, Logan! They treat us like cattle and you’re saying you don’t want that to end?!”

“I’m sayin’ there’s a way to end it without massacring millions of innocents.” 

“They’re guilty by association.”

“What about the mutants with human parents? We got a few of ‘em here. You gonna explain to those kids why their parents had to die?” He countered, watching you fall into furious silence. Whilst he found the bracelet inhumane, he was currently a little thankful for it, because he had the feeling you wouldn’t have been so up for the argument if you could silence him with a single thought. 

And neither of you had noticed the rest of the room readying themselves for action if needs be. Scott had his fingers to his glasses, Storm’s hands outstretched by her sides. Rogue had removed a glove from her hand, Kitty crouched down to the floor. And Jean? She hadn’t taken her eyes off you, only barely glancing at the Professor now and then, her brows furrowed. They were arguing as well, and it looked like she was losing. 

Charles uttered your name to catch your attention, and holy shit did it work, your head whipping back to where he was sitting at his desk, eyes narrowing. 

“Don’t call me that.” You hissed, and he held up his hands in apology. 

“Alecto, then. I’m going to give you a choice here. You can stay with us for a while, see what we do here, understand our methods and our way of life, and remove the bracelet. Or you can leave and go back to your team and see if they have any way to remove it. But you’ll find it can’t be merely slashed off.” 

Logan blanched, eyes widening in barely concealed bafflement. Scott spluttered in protest, and it finally became clear what Jean’s silent argument was about, her jaw tense with subdued rage. She was very clearly against this idea. 

“I could just agree to your terms, get this bracelet off, kill most of you and walk out of here unharmed.” You shrugged as if it were the obvious thing in the world. Which it probably was.

“You could. But you won’t.” Charles explained, and your eyes narrowed again.

“And why’s that?”

Xavier glanced at Logan, a small knowing smile pulling at his lips. “You just won’t. Now, let’s get this thing off you. Jean?”

“Woah woah woah, I haven’t agreed to anything yet!” You took a step back as Jean took a reluctant step forward, fishing in her pockets for the circular key, grabbing your flailing wrist in her hand. 

“You put one foot wrong, you’re dead.” She hissed, and you rolled your eyes at her dramatics. 

“Right back atcha, toots.” You said it before you’d even thought about it, realising you’d never fucking said that before in your life. But the man who had and seemed to say it regularly threw an amused glance in your direction, and you bit down your smile. At least, while you still had the control to do so, because all at once, the bracelet fell away, and you felt like you were breathing for the first time. 

The tension in your body melted away as you felt your powers surge through your nerves, your blood singing with freedom as it danced through your veins, eyes glowing with a sanguine song, so strong it was almost overwhelming. You gritted your teeth as you fell to one knee, fighting not to unleash your mutation on the people. They’d taken a risk, and you could appreciate that. And if this were to truly work, you’d have to pay back their borderline misplaced trust. So you'd fight your instincts, let your powers run riot in your blood and your blood alone, your muscles pulsing with strength, your senses sharpening with adrenaline, your pulse like a beating drum in your ears. 

Logan didn’t bother to fight the urge to crouch by your side, watching as your pallid complexion regained colour, the light returned to your eyes. It was spectacular, though a little worrisome as you appeared to be in pain. He’d never experienced one of these collars, and he truly hoped he never would because it would most likely kill him, but the way your eyes focused on the ground demonstrated that this was not the first time you’d dealt with the sudden surge of power. 

“Feelin’ better?” He asked lowly, his hand settling atop your shoulder. You really couldn’t figure him out. One moment he was fighting you on moral ethics, the next he was asking you how you were feeling and putting a comforting hand on your arm. You didn’t understand him, and you didn’t understand your body’s reaction to him either. Why did you want him to keep that hand there for eternity? Why did you never want him to move away from you? Why had you come to him for help?

“Yeah, thanks.” You relaxed your jaw, moving it around slightly to loosen the muscles as you stood, Logan following your lead. You needed to get out of this room. You needed time to think, to process. You had no idea what just happened, or why. Why Charles had offered for you to stay. Maybe it was some fucked up shot at redemption, hell if you knew. But you’d entertain it. For now, at least. Until you got bored or the pull of your team became too much to bear. They were technically your family after all. But Monkey would be safe while the others thought you dead. 

At least, you kind of hoped they thought you were dead. 

“Hey Jean…” You kept your eyes on Logan as you called for the woman who had once held his heart. You’d seen how she’d looked at him, and there was definitely some kind of confused longing there. So why not stir things up a little? 

Your wicked little grin set Logan’s heart aflame and his teeth on edge. As Charles had said, you were unpredictable, so just what the hell were you about to do? And when you sent him a wink before turning around and heading towards the door, he knew he was screwed.

“You’re really missing out on that one.” Briefly meeting her eyes, you watched in sick satisfaction as her brows creased in confusion before the fury of realisation flared in her face. And you didn’t stick around long enough to decipher the roaring cacophony of voices as you left the room, accusations flying left and right before the door closed behind you.

It was late evening by the time the argument in Charles’ office had settled down enough, Jean having stormed out with an accusatory Scott hot on her heels, his arms flying in all different directions. It had been a dirty move from you, but Logan couldn’t deny he enjoyed watching the chaos unfold, despite the argument being focused around him. He didn’t confirm anything, but at the same time, he didn’t deny anything either. And the entire team looked exhausted by the time they filed out, Logan borderline pushed Kitty out the door as he closed it with his back, leaving just him and Charles alone. What you’d said had been stuck in his head, replaying your words like a carousel in his mind. And if he didn’t confront Charles about it now, it would keep him awake. 

“I suppose you have questions.” Charles broke the silence first, turning to face the window, the orange light of the sunset bathing him in a glow of hellfire. 

“Yeah… a few. Why didn’t you tell us?” He thought he’d start easy, since jumping into a slew of accusations hadn’t exactly worked for him in the past. It had been a learning curve for him, but one he was more than accustomed to by now. Charles’ heavy sigh fanned the window pane, fogging the glass before it cleared away in moments.

“I wasn’t sure. There aren’t many blood manipulators, but I met one a long, long time ago. Some twenty years, I think.” He mused almost to himself, and Logan folded his arms, pushing against the door he was leaning on to cross the office and sit on one of the sofas, his elbows leaning heavily on his thighs as he once again stared at the floorboards. 

“You said, before this whole thing, you didn’t get to her in time. Assumin’ she’d the same one, what happened?” He asked a little sharper than he’d intended to. But he wanted answers. Too many truths had been concealed, and some could have got his friends killed. So yeah, he was a little fucking frustrated. 

“The same thing that always happens. Her mutation awakened. But with devastating consequences. By the time I arrived, nothing was left of her family but bloodstains on the walls. It was much like those images in the slideshow. And she couldn’t have been older than five.” His voice was filled with so much regret it made Logan wonder if he was telling him everything. And, knowing Charles, he probably wasn’t. 

“So… what? You just turned your back on her?” Logan hissed, his jaw aching from how hard he was gritting his teeth. The thought of you wandering around the world at such a young age, terrified out of your mind of what you could do… 

It hurt. 

“I worked with her for almost a year. Taught her what control I could, but it’s like her mutation calls to blood. It wants to manipulate, to bend, to control. With every drop, she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was growing more and more frustrated by the day. I only took my eyes off her for a minute…” Charles trailed off, his eyes trained on the younger students playing a game of tag in the gardens, shrieking giddily as the one who was ‘it’ chased them all around. A touching scene, and one you could have been a part of if he hadn’t been so damn careless. “She was gone. Took off. I tried to track her, but I taught her how to hide her mutation from others, and now she was using it against me. By the time I had Cerebro… 

“It was my failings that got her into this life ––my neglect. I couldn’t help her the way she needed and it cost her a life of freedom. But you can, Logan. There was one reason and one reason alone she didn’t kill us all and walk out of here.”

Logan wasn’t stupid. He knew he was the reason, but he also knew it wasn’t just him. He’d told you how much his friends meant to him. How close of a family they were. You’d understood almost immediately they weren’t just colleagues or associates. Even Scott. These people saved his life, and offered him friendship, a home. And what stray dog doesn’t want that?

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be…” he mumbled, the weight of Charles’ words heavy on his shoulders. As much as he cared about you, he didn’t want your fate to be on his conscience. He wanted a better life for you. Fuck, he didn’t particularly want you to leave, but having that whole decision riding on him…?

It really made him want to skip town. Just disappear and return after a couple months, maybe a few years who knows. Isn’t that the version of him Jean said she missed?

“You’re right, it’s a lot of responsibility.” Charles agreed, to Logan’s chagrin. 

“Outta my head, Chuck.”

Charles rumbled a chuckle, turning from the gardens to regard Logan where he was sitting. “Apologies, your thoughts are often quite loud. But the mere fact you care for her means I don’t have much to worry about. You’re a good man, Logan. Maybe you could make an honest woman of her.”

Logan rolled his eyes dramatically, standing from his seat and glancing out the window, his heartwarming as he watched those kids change the game in a split second, now engaging in some imaginary fantasy battle. If only your childhood could have consisted of things such as this. Maybe you wouldn’t be so hellbent on the destruction of humanity…

Or maybe you would. Who was he to say?

With a heavy sigh, he nodded goodbye to Charles, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out into the hallway, his mind a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts and intentions. To the point where he didn’t even see Jean lingering in the lounge, pretending to tend to a fire that had already been lit. The warmer months were finally over, and the weather had finally crossed into the rainy, cold season. Wind picking up, clouds overhead. Only today had been a nice midpoint between sunshine and storm clouds. Marie was always going on about that literature technique where the weather reflects the mood. He felt she’d go crazy with pride if he brought it up. 

“You really want her to stay, don’t you?” Jean broke the silence, finally setting aside the poker now the flames were climbing to her satisfaction. “It doesn’t matter what she did, because you spent twenty-four hours with her and she completely changed you.” She spoke absently as if not speaking to him. But since nobody else was in the room, a nice change from the usual hum of life, he assumed he was the only one she could be talking to. 

“Yeah, I do. But she didn’t change me, Jean. I’m still me.” He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to have this conversation so soon after the meeting. He didn’t even know where you’d run off to, and he needed to find you. He couldn’t explain why, he just did. 

Jean sighed, sitting back on her heels in front of the hearth. “I suppose sleeping with random strangers is very reminiscent of the old you.” Her tone was airy and careless, but there was an underlying spitefulness that Logan really couldn’t understand. He could get her not liking you because of your methods and ideology, but not liking you because he’d slept with you? That made absolutely no sense.

“Don’t see how that’s any’ve your concern.” He grumbled, crossing the room to lean against the wall next to the fireplace. It was a low blow, and one he refused to rise to, but it sure as shit irked him. So what if he slept with you? Sure, maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but in the moment, he didn’t give a shit. And truthfully, he still didn’t give a shit. 

“I just wonder why you really want her around. Sex is a good distraction, after all.” She sent him a look over her shoulder. A look that would have made him weak at the knees a month ago. And whilst it still made him feel warm, he didn’t have the same ‘I want to jump your bones’ reaction he used to. He wouldn’t spend the rest of the day in a bad mood because of Scott’s existence. 

“I’m not discussin’ this with you.”

“Oh come on, Logan. The entire mansion knew how you felt about me. Even the students. And suddenly you’re not interested anymore because someone new and exciting walks through the door?” Jean stood from her knees, smoothing down her t-shirt of any creases she may have created. 

“‘S that what this is about? You’re mad because I no longer want to sleep with you?” He accused a little harsher than he meant to, and Jean scoffed in response, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I’m just saying it’s not hard to see the correlation.” She retorted dismissively. 

“Don’t you always say ‘correlation doesn’t always mean causation’? I never understood what that meant ‘til now. I was right here, for years. And you wanted nothin’ to do with me. An’ now all of a sudden you’re all torn up cuz I’ve moved on?” Whatever he said about not rising to the bait had been thrown out the window.

“You moved on to a girl you’ve known for less than five minutes!” It was almost cathartic to see her get as worked up as he was, her collected façade fraying at the seams. 

“I haven’t moved on to her, Jean, Christ! We had sex, it meant nothing.” He huffed in exasperation, the scent of frustration heavy in the air. Frustration, lavender and–

“Aww, you wound me, Stray.” 

Copper. 

Your voice wove through the tension, curling around his anger like a flute soothing a snake. And whilst he found himself relaxing, he watched as Jean tensed further, her spine straightening tenfold. 

He’d never seen you so at ease, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy, entertained smirk, nursing a mug of god knows what in both your hands as if you were trying to warm up. You’d changed into a pair of low-hanging sweatpants he’d seen on Kitty a few times, and a graphic shirt he knew belonged to Ororo. Considering nobody was particularly happy with you hanging around, they all seemed surprisingly accommodating towards you. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Jean asked sharply, her eyes narrowing in a way that made Logan want to step between you. But for who’s sake, he couldn’t discern. 

“Not long,” you shrugged, standing up straight and heading over to sit on the arm of the couch. “But long enough to hear that our little midnight tryst meant nothing to Claws. And here I was hearing wedding bells and sending out invitations. Guess I’ll put the florist on hold.” You sighed with faux dejection, peering into the contents of your mug longingly. 

Jean ground her teeth together. “You’re incredibly grating, you know that?”

You just snorted a laugh, eyeing her with that same lazy smirk. “Oh honey, you think this is bad? Just wait til you see what else my mouth can do,” you paused momentarily, pretending to think. “Although… I suppose Logan could fill you in on that.” 

Logan almost choked on his saliva, his eyes blowing wide before he had to clamp his lips together to stop himself from cackling.

“You’re disgusting.” Jean sneered, looking you up and down with an appraising eye, her nose scrunching in revulsion. 

“And you’re jealous.” You shot back with a sing-song tone, swirling your mug in your hands, raising a curious brow at her. 

“Of you? You’re insane.” Though she did take a step back from you, her eyes flaring with the realisation that you could see right through her. 

“Disgusting, insane, c’mon. You can do better than that. But you might want to get some air and cool off. Your blood’s boiling.” You glanced at her up and down, giving her a look of venomous innocence. Jean clamped her mouth shut as if internally debating whether or not to bind your limbs to your body again, but one quick look at Logan’s face of warning and she seemed to decide against it. 

“Fucking psycho bitch…” she hissed as she stormed out, and you didn’t bother to dodge to the side as she deliberately shouldered past you, your hands moving quickly to save the contents of your mug that Logan was only now able to smell was tea. 

“That’s more like it,” you gave her a wink over your shoulder, and Logan released a heavy sigh. Of relief or exhaustion, he didn’t know, but at least that conversation was over. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He raised a brow as you sipped your drink, humming absently at the flavour. “Yeah? For what?”

“Saving you from an argument that looked like it was about to turn nasty. Trouble in paradise? I’m not about to pretend I wasn’t eavesdropping the whole time.” You grinned unapologetically, and though Logan knew he should be irritated, but he couldn’t find a lick of frustration with you. 

“Not about to pretend I didn’t know you were there.” He didn’t. But he wasn’t about to admit that. And the way you narrowed your eyes told him you knew he was lying. Neither of you decided to bring it up.

The room fell silent, your eyes focused on the crackling of the flames, finding comfort in the non-conformity of it all. You couldn’t predict the patterns of fire. Didn’t know where the next ember would pop, or the next spark would rise. Didn’t know when it would flare to life or decide to die down. There was comfort in chaos. 

It was where you thrived. Not in places like this, where the quiet was stuffy and suffocating. Not when your senses didn’t have to constantly be alert. You didn’t like the feeling of so-called “safety”, which was part of the reason you enjoyed riling up Jean so much. She was dangerous, and as much as you didn’t like her, you certainly enjoyed that much about her. 

“How’re you holdin’ up?”

“About what I said…”

You both broke the silence simultaneously, even the hearth joining your voices with a sudden crack. A small smile graced your lips, huffed laughter rippling in your tea as he cleared his throat a little awkwardly. It was cute, you thought, the way he slightly shifted from foot to foot. 

“Charles, uh. Charles told me. What happened when you were a kid.”

And just like that, your good mood soured. Barely able to disguise your shocked rage, your spine straightened, defensive walls locking down around your heart and soul. “He had no right to tell you that.”

“But he did all the same.” Logan attempted to soothe. He didn’t want to lie to you, and though this conversation was about to be just as painful as the one he had with Jean, this one needed to happen. “Look, he failed you before. Didn’t know where to look, didn’t know how to find you. But give him a second chance an–”

“It wasn’t just him, Logan. Sure, Charles was the first, but in time everyone turns their backs on the kids they can’t help. And if they can’t help them, they try to tame and use them. After a while, you just come to expect it.” You avoided his gaze, choosing instead to stare into the murky brown liquid in the mug you held as if it would somehow yield the answers you sought. 

“Not everyone is like that.”

“No? You never had somebody turn their back on you? Or you turn your back on them?” You asked, and Logan tensed his jaw, giving you the answer you needed. “Exactly. This world is cruel. And whilst I know I can’t put a stop to it completely, trying to stem that cruelty where I can became a purpose. And if that means the eradication of the human race, then so be it.”

“What makes mutants so different? You were a street kid, I know you’ve seen some fucked up shit from both sides. Mutants can be just as cruel, so why are they so different?” He urged, fighting the instinct to set your mug aside and take your hands in his own. He had to hold onto the hope that you didn’t actually think this and that you were holding onto resentment because it was all you had. 

“Because the only people who’ve given me any sense of belonging are those mutants. You may think we’re cruel, and our methods are fucked up, but those people saved my life. They took me in after the world turned its back on me. After the human who claimed to love me branded me a slave and sold me off as fucking cattle. I was passed around humans like a fucking joint. Sold from this family to that, from one organisation to another. Fight pits, prostitution, thievery, bounty hunter. You name it, I did it. All for somebody else’s profit and never for me.” You drew in a shaky breath, cursing the burning of your eyes, the damp on your lashes, the tremor in your hands. You could feel the collar’s weight on your neck, the itch of friction burn on your collar bones. The blood down your back from where you tried time and time again to claw it off, nails sinking into soft, scarred flesh. “Mutants freed me from that hell. Mutants like Tiss and Mags. They freed me and whilst we’re not quite the same as your cushy little family here, they’re all I have. Monkey is all I have. So don’t sit there and tell me mutants can be just as cruel because, from my experience, they’re not a patch on the suffering a human can inflict.”

Having had enough of ignoring his instincts, Logan stepped forward, bending down on one knee to take the mug from your trembling hands and set it on the coffee table. 

“You’ve been dealt the shittiest deal, I know that,” he finally took your hands, his thumbs smoothing over the bones of your scarred knuckles. “But there are other ways of puttin’ a stop to this. Not everyone has to die. There are innocents too. There always are.”

You stared at the way his hands had enveloped yours, the gentle caress of his fingers, a touch you were so unfamiliar with and yet already crave so much more. “How do you do it?” You whispered, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Do what?”

“The right thing. All the fucking time. Doesn’t it drive you crazy? How fucking shit this world is? Don’t you want to make them suffer? For everything they’ve done to us? For everything they’re doing to us? To kids?” Your question hung in the air, caught in the static tension between you. 

“Yeah. I do. But if I started, I’d never  stop.” He answered honestly, ducking his head to finally catch your eye, his breath stilling in his lungs as he saw right through your furious façade and straight into the terrified girl beneath.

“Maybe that’s a good thing…”

“I’ve stained my hands enough times to know it isn’t.” 

You fell silent, contemplating his words. Had he been in this position before, right where you are now? Had he felt this same kind of all-consuming rage? “Fuck…” you muttered, knowing he had a good point. 

“I know. It’s frustratin’ when someone forces you to see a different perspective.” He knew all too well how it fucks with the mind.

“I haven’t seen anything yet.” You pointed out, though your glare held no actual heat. 

“‘Yet’ is good.” His lips quirked into a small smirk. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe he did have a shot at saving you from yourself. And if the way you rolled your eyes was anything to judge by, he was succeeding. 

“Shut up…” You forced yourself to look away from his suddenly strikingly handsome face, choosing instead to find interest again in the fire. A tobacco-scented huff of laughter fanned the side of your cheek, and regrettably, you couldn’t find the will to continue staring into the flames. Your gaze dragged reluctantly back to his features, suddenly hyper aware of his hands in yours. Of his face barely inches from your own. 

“How’s the wound?” He murmured, eyes flickering over your features, drinking you in as if to memorise the valleys and plains of your face, gaze lingering on your lips for longer than you’d dare admit. 

“It’ll heal in around a week or so. I’ll be fine.” You whispered back, dragged from your internal debate over whether or not you should pull away by the borderline gravitational tug of his intentions. This felt different to the logger’s cabin. This wasn’t two people finding comfort in each other after surviving a battle together. There was no threat here to excuse your actions. No rush of adrenaline to explain them. 

“Good.”

Logan couldn’t be bothered to argue with himself. He didn’t care if it was a bad idea. Something about you drew him in, and like a damned moth to an open flame, he welcomed the doomed desire that came with it. The first touch of your lips was electrifying, and he sucked a gasp through his nose as you too gave in. Eyes fluttering shut, your fingers dragged from his hands up over his arms, nails lightly scratching up his neck to weave into his hair, making a home in his thick locks. 

You hadn’t realised how badly you craved his touch. You were mildly aware of it, sure. But when he kissed you like there was nobody else on the planet, when he savoured your lips the way one does with the last bite of a meal, you couldn’t deny it. And when you parted your mouth for him, you felt a surge of something burst through your chest. A searing, agonising thrumming in the centre of your chest. 

Logan’s fingers gently pried at the bandage you’d haphazardly wrapped around your left eye, softly pulling at the fabric until it came loose in his hand, falling away from your face. A stuttered exhale flew from your lips as he drew back a fraction, just enough for your breaths to mingle as one as he traced the outline of the scar with his fingertips, hazel eyes meeting yours. 

“Pretty…” he murmured absently, and your eyes widened, a bashful smile of pure, unadulterated beatitude pulled at your disobedient lips. Logan drank in your expression, a surprised smile of his own gracing his features. “Yeah? Like it when I call you pretty?”

You wanted to slap the self-satisfied grin from his face, but the butterflies in your stomach prevented you from doing so. “I just… don’t hear it very often.”

“Better get used to it, Alleycat.” You barely had time to register yet another new nickname before his lips were sealed back to yours, an unmistakable urgency now fuelling his movements and a pace change you were more than happy to dance with. 

With a slight push against your chest, you let yourself fall into the sofa behind with a soft thud, your hands never leaving his hair as he fell forward with you, fingers roaming beneath Ororo’s graphic t-shirt, careful to avoid the wound still raw in your side. You thought it would hurt more, but maybe you were just too drugged by his attention to notice the pain. Goosebumps prickled your skin, your thighs caging his hips as you locked your ankles around his waist, dragging a low, breathy groan from his chest. 

He separated from your lips, the taste of his tongue still lingering in your mouth as he littered kisses up the side of your jaw and down your neck, igniting a heat within you thought had long since faded. But then you remembered the cabin. You remembered the way he could make you feel with his fingers alone. That spark definitely hadn’t faded but was just waiting. Buying its time. 

“Logan…” you breathed, the scruff of his beard lightly scratching the soft skin of your neck. He rumbled a hum of acknowledgement, his hand sliding from your waist to grip the meat of your thigh. 

“Thought I lost you for a moment… scared the hell outta me.” He confessed against your skin, the side of your head tingling slightly with each lover’s caress. 

But you couldn’t focus on the feeling, not after what he’d just said. A cold pit of dread opened in your stomach, and you pushed against the centre of his chest. “What?”

Logan’s brows furrowed in confusion, his head tilting to the side. “When you were shot…? Forgot already?” He grinned a little cockily, but you drew back as far as you could with the couch cushions behind your head. Your legs unlocked from his lower back, your hand now pushing a little firmer against his chest until he was off you.

“What do you mean ‘you thought you lost me’?”

“You almost died?!” He stated it as if it were obvious, but that wasn’t what you were asking him. 

“You wouldn’t have lost anything, Logan. I’m not someone to lose. I’m not even someone to mourn. Me dying would have meant nothing.” How couldn’t he see that? How couldn’t he see how little you mattered? There would always be somebody to take your place. There always had been and there always would be. 

You stood abruptly from the couch, the heel of your palm pressed over the scar on your left eye, as if you had only just realised it was uncovered and you hastily tried to fix your hair to cover it. 

“I don’t understand.” Logan squinted at you, as if looking at you harder would help him come to terms with whatever the hell just happened. Would explain to him why you were suddenly pushing him away. 

“I don’t expect you to–”

“Then help me to. Help me to understand you. Because I’m a little lost right now.” He huffed irritably, and you tried not to let your temper flare. 

“Everyone around you matters, Logan. Everyone around you has people who look at them differently. Who love them, care about them, would miss their conversations at breakfast if they weren’t there. That’s why I don’t expect you to understand. Because I don’t think you’ve ever met someone who doesn’t matter before.” You explained with muted frustration, and Logan rose intending to take your arm.

“I still haven’t.”

You sighed heavily, raising your gaze to meet his, and your very heart stopped beating at what you saw. It was a look you’d never experienced before, but one you knew all too well. How could he? After everything you’d said. Your intentions. The very core of who you were, carefully crafted to be a cold, hard killer. The core he was well aware of. So how could he?

“I’m not somebody to be loved, Logan.”

Your words struck him like a bullet straight to his chest. The harsh reality of your upbringing, the lessons your life had taught you were all here for him to see. The thought of getting through to you earlier was almost laughable now. He wasn’t a professional; he had no idea how to deal with this. 

And he was struck with something else. The acknowledgement of a familiar blossom, barely withstanding the crushing weight of his situation.

It seemed he’d stayed silent for a little too long. You fixed your tee, and fiddled with your hair slightly to make sure it was at least somewhat covering your scar, before offering not another word. He was completely powerless as you walked away, leaving him to sit with whatever the fuck had just happened. Because, in truth, he didn’t know how to explain his feelings in words. He was at a complete loss as to how he could convince you otherwise. Because you were wrong. Oh so very, very wrong. 

But now you've walked away. You’d pushed him back and shut him out. Again. Only this time, it felt final.

This time, he didn’t know if he could get back in.