𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒  𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐎𝐅  𝐀  𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒  𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋  ,  blood  spilled  ,  bodies  littering  the  dirt  .  he  worries  not  for  the  moment  at  hand  ,  or  of  where  they  will  end  up  tomorrow  —-  if  someone  finds  them  ,  they’d  assume  nothing  more  than  a  job  gone  ugly  .  the  paper  would  call  it  the    beginnings  of  a  gang  war  but  the  truth  is  ?  he  doesn’t  think  it  would  even  get  that  far  considering  his  next  stop  is  the  opposing  side  .  feet  carry  him  over  a  dead  runner  ,  boot  prints  traced  in  blood  and  heavy  boots  echo  through  the  warehouse  when  he  catches  a  shadow  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  —-  distant  ,  unwavering  ,  a  dangerous  game  to  play  while  the  punisher  is  still  in  FIGHT  MODE  (  when  he  isn’t  ,  nobody  knows  for  sure  —  even  frank  )    ❛    you’ve  got  about  point  five  seconds  to  get  the  hell  outta  here  ,  kid  —  don’t  say  i  didn’t  warn  you     ❜ @laurrakinncy​ – starter call !

𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝖺𝗒  .....       an 𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎 way—        she eyes the scene with pride. she’s given more flesh to the earth.      to rot. to regrow.       as if somehow the    𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙡𝙩     before will aide in mending the wrongs     𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞    is trying to make right.       but beneath the shell of olive skin and dark hair is a girl trying to do what she thinks just   might   be right. 

there’s a short pause on lauras part, knuckles bloodied as claws slowly slip back into her skin.     she hears him from afar, steps echoing in    𝒕𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕   like a ever present morning bird song.      she examines it.     his steps are heavy and with a twitch of her nose she smells the musk of his coat that clings to the fabric down to the staleness of stiff laces on his boots.     he enters close proximity and she  𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨𝙣'𝙩  flinch or startle at words spoken.     rather turns swiftly short frame stepping off a tall ledge to land on dirt floor beneath them with a near silent thud. dark attire pulled taut against her frame as she comes to   𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖   fully.

💎

𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜   𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎   𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎   𝚑𝚒𝚖,   𝚋𝚞𝚝   𝚒𝚝'𝚜   𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎   𝚗𝚘𝚠.   warren   would   be   stunned   if   he   awoke   to   a   sleeping   laura,   their   normality   shattered   with   one   simple   act   as   mundane   as   sleeping.   he’s   found   that   her   dreams   are   no   friends   of   hers,   and   even   if   she   goes   a   night   without   witnessing   a   nightmare   -   the   bliss   of   a   normal   night   scape   does   not   last   long.   thus,   his   hand   automatically   finds   the   small   of   her   back   when   she   rises,   something   clearly   on   her   mind.

he   takes   it   all   in   stride,   opening   one   eye   to   look   at   her   through   the   grogginess   that   he’s   swimming   away   from   and   towards   reality.   warren   takes   in   the   brown   of   her   hair   as   the   light   spills   across   her   features,   the   beautiful   expression   of   her   face   despite   being   so   twisted   with   confusion   and   the   lingering   ache   of   hurt.   he   would   kiss   her   now   if   not   for   the   bottle   of   alcohol   in   her   hands,   and   the   fact   that   she   was   opening   up   to   him   when   she   so   often   kept   to   herself.

he   doesn’t   want   to   ruin   the   moment.   normal   couples   wouldn’t   exactly   say   that   this   was   a   memory   to   look   back   upon   in   their   later   years,   but   warren   and   laura   had   never   been   normal.

“knowing   charles,   it’s   more   than   likely,”   warren   says,   voice   low,   still   laced   with   sleep.   he   thinks   about   the   man   who’d   given   everything   for   the   good   of   mutant   kind   as   a   whole,   his   own   heart   doing   a   squeeze   at   the   bitter   reminder   that   he   was   no   longer   with   them.   it   always   felt   like   he   was   untouchable,   but   even   the   untouchable   could   die.   laura   knew   that   well.

“what   do   you   see   when   he   comes   to   you?”

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗵𝗼𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀    on her palette.    she doesn’t want to forget this dream .... she wants to analyze and dissect.    a woman     𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗      quickly     becomes a woman      𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 .    so often she pushes charles from her memories.      ( 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆. )     what kind of    𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓     was she if she couldn’t even protect the man that stood for her kind ?   often the guilt of his death weighs heavily on her shoulders.    a   𝒂𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆  growl presents itself, fist clenching and knocking into the glass panel.    rage bubbles up from her chest and festers in her throat     𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱.    to occupy the desire of the bottle being thrown she lifts it, taking another hefty drink. 

his voice is a  𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟  of her    emotional growth.   pulling her back, grounding her.    even when muscles tense anxiously.    she longs to tear apart the room around her:  for    𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷    her mind was the calmest.    a being of ( rage & pain ).      𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 trying to do better.    to reconnect & rebuild her HUMANITY. 

she also reminds herself of the large bill sum to grace warren if her tantrum were to be fleshed out.       laura inhales sharply,    𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐.

“ a desert. he’s just sitting there. like he’s waiting for something. like he’s expectant of me. there’s just fucking sand, everywhere. no landmarks. and i can’t smell anything. what’s a wolverine without a sense of smell? ”     brows furrow:   agitated.      𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒.     “ i’ve seen it the past five nights. and i keep running to him with no progress, of course. fucking dreams. ”            things in lauras life tended to get messy when she wasn’t able to   WIELD  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥.         and dreams meant absolutely no control.       “ but tonight there was this girl in a hijab. she had purple eyes with her hand on charles’ shoulder. but the wind keeps shifting the fabric of her outfit and i can’t see her clearly except for her eyes. ”        turning to him she sets the bottle back down, puzzled but her    𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚝    is clear.    and like an animal: she WILL follow it.       laura had to find her.     no sense of malice from the girl in her dream.         laura grasps this girl may be a key or vantage point to her.   

walking back over to their    𝒍𝒖𝒙𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔   bed she takes a seat on the ledge her backside pressing against him.     she reaches for his hand, intertwining their fingers.   she’s not good with this:    the physical aspect of their relationship.   but     𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌    her each day wither he realizes it or not.   warren shows her    𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵    &     𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮.     to be something more     ᵗʰᵃᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵉˡˡ    of     𝖠 𝖶𝖤𝖠𝖯𝖮𝖭    she was built to be.   and she tries to be better     for him. for herself.

was that the key to her humanity ?     ｔｏ ｌｏｖｅ ？

SHE DOESN’T DO IT,        physically,  instead both hands are at her hips,  but the deep furrow of a brow is in place of her regular question-mark head scratch. as they stand before the fuming scene,  rogue can already tell this ain’t gonna be good.  ❝   do ya think he crashed th’ car on purpose ?   ❞           / @laurrakinncy​.

𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙮,     alongside him.    but this nights sleep was different.    instincts thrumming and mind fleshing out  𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒  meanings behind intricate imagery.    usually the      𝚆𝙾𝙻𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙴      would find herself self internalizing but after the ( fifth day ) of similar scenes in her sleep she yearns to soothe the     ache     of approaching danger.     but now that her mind was set, there was   𝗻𝗼    stopping her.   as her small frame comes to a pause before the large glass window overlooking a bustling chicago cityscape laura presses her forehead into the cool glass.    she knows he’s awake and aware too .... acute senses and all.     reaching over to their nightstand she finds the bottle of whiskey she’d started the previous night and flicks off the top carelessly.    talk about a    𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘-𝑚𝑒-𝑢𝑝.   lips find the bottle taking a hefty guzzle.   lifting her arm to wipe her dry and now whiskey soaked mouth.    “ i keep dreaming about him, ”