#Cardinal co-front

[uncanny-angel]

”special needs” uh yeah endless love attention and money

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.���

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I�� You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[babyarmywrites]

lonely with our love - bang chan

Synopsys: As a rising music producer you land the opportunity of a lifetime, co-producing Stray Kids’ albums alongside Bang Chan. But as your relationship deepens beyond the studio, the harsh realities of fame, distance, and ambition threaten to pull you apart—until a viral song exposes the truth neither of you can ignore.

Genre: angst, with a fluffy end >.<

Song mentioned: Charlotte Cardin - Lonely with Our Love

Word count: 3.1k

Feedback, as always, is appreciated! 🤗

You knew what you signed up for.

You knew from the beginning when you signed your contract with JYP Entertainment and agreed to co-produce the three upcoming albums of Stray Kids. It was a big leap in your career, going from your home studio to a big corporation with the best equipment on the market, a team of ten people behind you, assisting with any of your needs, and 3RACHA, the creative masterminds behind most of SKZ's biggest hits spewing ideas, humming new beats left and right. Truly a dream come true for an underground producer like you. However, nothing could prepare you for what was to come.

Bang Chan walked into your life like any other person you've encountered, there were no fireworks, no sparkly eyes, no instant connection similar to the ways such scenarios are depicted in romance movies. He barged into the meeting room with tired eyes, comfy clothes, and a laptop in hand, knots of cables everywhere, pen drives and hard drives sticking out from every possible outlet, proof of the importance of the device now placed gently on the table surrounded by executives, managers and the newbie, aka you. An uncontrollable chuckle left your lips. You knew the setup all too well, a very similar junction of cables and outsourced storage sitting in front of you.

Brown eyes fell on you upon hearing the sound of your amused giggles, and then they traveled to the table and back to you, his plump lips curling into a kind smile, one that felt genuine and warm, even inviting per se.

"Hi, I'm Chris. It's very nice to meet you, I'm a huge fan," he says, offering his hand for you to shake. Your eyes widen, but you act on instinct, standing up and shaking his hand, returning the polite meeting. It was surprising to hear someone like him being familiar with your work. You've gotten lucky in the past couple of months and you were credited for producing some big hits for both Korean and international artists, but you still had a long way to go, you didn't even consider yourself known around your area, nonetheless by big corporations like JYPE or idols like Bang Chan. "I am looking forward to working with you. I listened to all of the samples you sent us, they are amazing." he gushes and you can't help but feel flustered. He is a smooth talker for sure, but he seems genuine and honest, not the type of person to compliment others just to come off as nice or friendly. You like that about him, even on your first meeting.

The meeting goes smoothly, it's mostly you and Chan talking, spewing ideas left and right about the sound and feel of the new album, the managers and staff present only intervene to settle some deadlines and key points that should be met by the upcoming project. As soon as the formal meeting is concluded, Chan takes you to their studio to show you around, after all, it's going to become your workplace for a while. You meet Changbin and Han there, the former being more polite and a little less talkative, the latter spewing jokes and bouncing around in excitement like a Duracell bunny. They let you take a seat and play around with the equipment in the studio, trying to get familiar with it in a short time, which doesn't prove to be too difficult with the help of the three boys.

The following weeks you are basically living in the studio space, working on perfecting samples, adding and removing elements, Stray Kids walking in and out to record adlibs and verses, Han and Changbin bombarding your phone with audio snippets and singing guides, you sending them nearly finished instrumentals, they come in for a few hours to add or change up things, but they never stay too long. The only one that's constantly there is Chris. As time passes, you get to know him more and more, he's slowly opening up to you, telling you stories from his trainee days, about his time with the kids, his family, and his beloved pet Berry. You quickly find out that the best conversations happen after a long day being cooped up in a small recording studio with dim lighting and over half-empty takeout containers. It's not hard to fall for Bang Chan. He's caring, attentive, funny, and genuine. His creative process is fascinating, his devotion to his work and the group he crafted and curated at merely 20 years old is respectable, something you've never seen in the people you've had the fortune to work with before. However, he's also unapproachable, somewhat closed off, and unaccepting of any kind of help. He often brings himself down, scrapping or deleting entire songs he worked on for days without a second thought, ones you were sure would become hits. After months of working together and spending most of your days with each other, he finally cracks, he opens up. He tells you about his trainee days, how he witnessed people coming into his life just to walk out the same way, him always being the one that's left behind. How that period in his youth scarred him for life. But he continues on with a smile, reminiscing how he met his bandmates, his current best friends, his brothers, and how he hoped they could stay. He explains how he had JYPE name their fanbase STAY hoping that the support they provide would remain with them forever so that he'll never feel alone again.

And to his surprise, your reaction is a huge smile. No pity, no empty promises that you'll stay and you'll be available for him anytime like others do when he talks about his deepest fears. "It wouldn't be worth it if it wasn't this hard, Chris, after all, there wouldn't be starlight if it didn't get dark, would it?" you say with a reassuring pat on his shoulder and for a lyricist like Chan, your words hit hard. He finds himself reciting them whenever he's feeling down or he gets overwhelmed. That makes him realize how deeply in love he is with you.

Your love blossoms along with the sakura. It's one beautiful spring day when Chan feels particularly drenched, exhausted, and sleep-deprived, but he finds the strength within himself to walk to the studio after a full day of dance rehearsal, his body aching and his mind fuzzy, but he is determined to see you. You're hunched up on the sofa, the only source of light coming from the screen of your computer, the sight causing a faint smile to appear on his lips. Your eyes light up upon seeing him enter, but they falter as soon as they land on his exhausted face.

"Why are you here Chan?! It's late and you're exhausted, just go home and rest, you definitely need it." you say, concern overtaking your previously calm and collected aura and you don't hesitate to throw your laptop on the couch, standing up to try and turn him around, sending him home by force. He just chuckles, there's an evident power difference between you two and he doesn't even move an inch despite your best effort. You don't quite catch it in the dim lighting of the studio, but his eyes sparkle with a kind of adoration that only shows for the most important people in his life, ones he keeps close to his heart. How could you not be one of them? He's never met someone so selfless as you, who prioritizes others' comfort and well-being over theirs without a second thought. Everything about you screams comfort and familiarity to Chris, there are no expectations, high standards, or crazy idol bullshit. Around you, he's the kid with big dreams who loves music, hanging around with his friends, goofing around the studio, and that lifts an enormous weight off his shoulders. The way you look out for him and ensure he stays hydrated, well-fed, and well-rested reminds him of the warmest of love. People tend to forget about his needs, he's the one to usually tend to others, and he always seems cool and collected, hence why his well-being is often overlooked. But never by you.

Up until this moment, he held back. He didn't make a move, he tried to dismiss the feelings that crept up on him as autumn turned to winter and winter to spring. However, as nature blossomed and boomed in fresh color, he got the inspiration he desperately needed to allow himself to fall for once, to pass control over him into someone else's hands. He stands in front of you, the barely-there distance suddenly more annoying than ever, both your hands on his shoulders as you try to turn him around and kick him out of the studio that has his name on it, and he acts out of instinct. He places both his hands on your hips, pulling you close to his body with ease and a surprised yelp leaves your lips as you basically collapse with his muscular chest. You look up into his eyes and you observe the mischief, the smile lines that multiply in the corners of his almond-shaped orbs. As the shock from his sudden action disappears from your face your expression molds into one of calmness and adoration, he leans in closer, without breaking eye contact until the last second before your lips meet.

Everything seems to fall into place at that moment. It feels liberating like a lingering tension has disappeared and the world around you settled into calmness, stopping time, leaving the two alone in your own little capsule. Nothing could beat the feeling of a kiss like that, one you're yearning for over months, without even realizing it.

From that point on, everything goes easily. Chan asks you out on multiple dates, which are magical, every single one of them, and he asks you officially to be his girlfriend one night when you're sitting outside on his balcony with a bottle of wine talking about everything and nothing. You gladly say yes, because in your mind nothing can beat the feeling of being with someone as amazing as Chris. He makes every effort to spend every spare moment he has with you, which is not hard while you work in the same building. The first few months of your relationship go without any issues, because they're constantly in Seoul, working on their next comeback. He has a little bit more free time, with fewer schedules and more opportunities to spend hours on end in the studio or at home hanging out with you. You can't sugarcoat this honeymoon.

You learn fairly quickly that his perfectionist tendencies are present not only in his professional life but his personal one as well. Christopher Bahng is not just the perfect leader, the perfect idol, but the perfect boyfriend as well. He goes out of his way to protect you, both physically and mentally, he remembers all the small things you ever mentioned to him, he knows how you take your coffee or what makes you uncomfortable, he ensures to have an extra jacket or hoodie for you because you tend to be cold, he treats you like his number one priority. It's hard not to forget what really comes to him first though: his job.

As soon as the weather turns grey and cold again, and comeback season rolls around while the leaves turn brown and nature goes to sleep, the gap between the two of you grows wide, which was bound to happen over time. You start living your life in parallel: you're at the JYP building during the day, while they run around from one interview to another, and by the time you go home to sleep Chan shows up at the studio to work on tracks for future projects. You start having different natures, different nights, you'll have yours and he'll have his.

On top of that, they start their new world tour, so he's even less available than before, and all your plans start going to hell, for the first time since the beginning of your relationship, Chris is not there to tell you that it's all good. Until it's not. And you're lonely with your love.

You both know that it's neither of your faults. Things like this were bound to happen, both you and Chan are very sought-after people in your industry, of course, his job is more demanding, but that doesn't help your relationship at all. You feel somewhat like you've been played like this is not what you signed up for when you've got into a relationship with the love of your life. At one point you get so used to being without Chris that you start thinking your relationship was all a made-up fantasy created by your exhausted brain. But you know it was true, it was the realest relationship you've ever been in. But what remains of it now? Postponed date nights, regretful glances, and 5-minute phone calls filled with rushed apologies and empty promises.

Are you even happy anymore?

Of course, Chan feels it too, and he's scared. He doesn't want to lose you. There are so many unspoken words between the two of you, but his career is blooming and it's high time for him to take care of the kids as their careers have skyrocketed with their last few comebacks. And he loves to believe that the insane success they're having has everything to do with your involvement. Not just your work on the album, but your sheer presence. The support you offer him and all his bandmates. The warmth that you bring, the smiles that you cause. He's reminded of you in everything they do: you're there in every song they play, in every lyric he sings. He's also lonely with your love.

However, there's one thing that keeps him going, your words of reassurance from before: it wouldn't be worth it if it wasn't this hard, there wouldn't be starlight if it didn't get dark.

Rushed hugs, short pecks on your lips, those damned 5-minute conversations that feel so suffocating also sparkle with hope over his pitch-black sky. It gives him reassurance that one day, when his schedule frees up just a little bit, everything will go back to normal, how it used to be. It keeps him going. You're also extremely reassuring. You keep telling him, that this is temporary, that it will pass and that you're alright, and your relationship can survive.

That hope shatters when he sits with his bandmates in a car on the way to the airport. The radio is playing a song that he's never heard before, but he recognizes the voice instantly. He heard it many times when you recorded guides for the boys, when you sang in the shower at his apartment or directly to him when he couldn't sleep, your voice alone lulling him into dreamland.

He listens to the lyrics carefully and the first few lines of the melancholic song make his stomach tighten and he pales and all the hope he was holding onto desperately shatters with his heart:

The gap between us growing wide Was bound to happen over time We live our lives in parallel So I really hope this finds you well

"Wow, this song is amazing, who's singing it? The voice sounds so familiar." Han exclaims and he asks the driver to turn up the volume so that he can hear it better.

"Oh, yeah, it went viral on TikTok. Some new artist, she goes by a pseudonym and this is her only song." Felix explains and goes into detail about all the theories online about the true identity of the artist. Chan knows it's you though, and as the song rolls into the chorus, he feels like throwing up.

That it's all good until it's not And I'm lonely with our love It's not mine, it's not your fault That I'm lonely with our love It wouldn't be worth it if it wasn't this hard There wouldn't be starlight if it didn't get dark But it's all good until we're lonely with our love

As soon as they touched down in Seoul Chris rushed through the crowded airport, his heart pounding with urgency as he fought against the wave of doubt that had been building ever since he heard the song in the cab hours ago. He knew what he had to do—he couldn't let you slip away, he couldn't let the doubts and the loneliness eat away at you like it had been for weeks now. The distance between you two had grown not just in miles, but in words left unsaid, in moments ignored. The obligations of your lives, but mainly his had woven a web that seemed impossible to escape, but he was determined to repair what was broken.

By the time he reached your door, he was breathless, not just from the rush but from the weight of everything he was carrying ever since this distance crept up between you. You open the door with weary, swollen eyes, reddened by sleepless nights and harsh computer screens. You're shocked to see him there, at your door, exhausted, panicked, yet hopeful. Full of love and adoration. You were waiting for him to say something. Anything to reassure you. And in that moment, Chan knew—he had to reassure the both of you.

Taking your hand, he spoke softly, but with all the sincerity in his voice. "We’ve lost sight of each other, I know," he said, his words trembling, "but we’re not broken. This, what we have—it’s worth fighting for. I’m here, and I promise we can make it through this. Together. I promise you, it's gonna be worth it because it's this hard. After all, you're the starlight when my life gets dark. I love you. I want to do this with you, and I can't promise you that we will not be lonely with our love ever again, but it will always get better, I can guarantee that. We don't always have to live our lives in parallel. Not all our plans will go to hell. And I'm always gonna be here to tell you, that it's all good, even if it's not perfect all the time."

For a long moment, you looked at him, a mix of doubt and hope flickering in your eyes. The eyes that he found himself falling for many times before. But then, slowly, you let out a breath you didn’t know you'd been holding, and the walls that had built up between the two of you began to crumble. The road ahead was uncertain, but in that moment, you both understood: love, when nurtured and protected, could withstand even the hardest of times. You didn’t need all the answers, only each other.

[monokuromuheaven]

Vancouver actor Carlos Diehz’s big break comes in Ralph Fiennes film

(...)

“He (Edward Berger) wanted to hear from me what I had in mind for the character,” said Diehz, adding he explained to Berger that he saw Benitez as “a very pious man.”

“If he was a missionary, then an archbishop, then a cardinal, he has what it takes to lead a group. To be at the front,” said Diehz. “I discussed these ideas with Edward, and he liked them.”

Eventually, Diehz made the final callback and was brought to Rome to meet with casting director Nina Gold (The Crown, Slow Horses, Star Wars and Game of Thrones).

“She’s a big deal worldwide,” said Diehz about Gold. “So, no pressure, right?”

(...)

While he was onset, Diehz said he noticed Fiennes was watching him. Finally, Fiennes approached and said: “Now I know why they chose you. You are Benitez,” Diehz recalls the English actor saying to him. “He saw in me the personality of the character.”

Diehz was raised Catholic and understood the basics of the conclave process, but admitted the weight of the subject matter really hit home when he donned the heavy cardinal costume.

“When you look at yourself in the mirror dressed up like that, like someone that grand within the church, it is like an extra boost emotionally to perform,” said Diehz.

“Now I see Benitez the way he is in this situation. Benitez is a missionary who mostly dresses like any other civilian in his daily life, but here he has to dress the part. He has to look like the rank he has been given. So, being able to look at myself like that is kind of a strange situation. But very empowering.”

What was also empowering was the wealth of talent and experience he was surrounded with for his very first feature film role. His castmates were open to discussions and offered him excellent advice.

Fiennes, for instance, spoke to him about the importance of truly being heard.

“He said, ‘OK, every word you say is precious. And you have to deliver it as such. You have to put the time in, the correct enunciations, so the audience understands and is not wondering what you said … Treat every word as precious. So, I did that,” said Diehz. “The next day, when we were shooting the scene, every break we had I was rehearsing my enunciation, and I heard Ralph from another part of the area, he just said, ‘Bravo, you nailed it.'”

Later in shooting, Diehz faced a crisis of confidence as he prepared for a pivotal scene in which Benitez makes a speech in front of the 100-plus cardinals. This time, it was Lithgow who offered guidance.

“He asked me what are the main issues I wanted to talk about? And I said stage fright,” said Diehz. “He said stage fright really never goes away. You just learn how to manage stage fright. One of the things is when you feel it, it is a sign that you care about the scene. And that’s good.

“But what must guide you, drive you, is to know that when you speak there is no reason to hurry your lines. There’s no reason to feel rushed in any way because you control the scene. No one is cutting you off. Nobody is going to rush you. When they call ‘action,’ until you finish your lines, you own the scene. You set the pace and the tone. So that was very empowering, very powerful stuff.”

But despite Lithgow’s words of encouragement, Diehz said his nerves were still front and centre when it was time to shoot the speech.

“Edward Berger approached me and said, ‘You doing OK? I said, ‘Yeah, yeah I’m fine.’ And he said, ‘I can hear your heartbeat on the microphone,’ ” said Diehz. “So I was, ‘OK, big breath, calm down, calm down, calm down.’ And little by little, I did.”

While filming scenes caused his blood pressure to rise, Diehz says the evenings were made up of many wonderfully relaxing dinners of fabulous traditional Italian food alongside his very famous castmates.

And no, Tucci didn’t cook.

“You know what, that is a common question,” said Diehz when asked about his foodie co-star. “Being at a table with Ralph, Stanley, John, Isabella and talking about wine, cheeses, bread, it was wonderful. You could make a documentary of each of those dinners we had together,” said Diehz, who explained it was Rossellini who offered much of the insight into the nuances of Italian food.

(...)

“I remember Stanley asked me, ‘Are you really, after all this, going back to your daily job?’ Well, yeah, that’s what I have,” said Diehz, who continues to work for a Vancouver architectural firm. “But I’m not quitting acting. I’m going for more.”

Source

[paradlselost]

i am so glad im finding another person who writes for far cry :)) if possible, can we see a jacob seed x gn!deputy who replaces pratt as his prisoner? it ends with jacob being their one and only, (even if its dubcon)

WIND — UP TOY

jacob seed x gn!deputy

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ ty for being my first submission ! jacob and his region lowkey scare the shit out of me lmao 🙏 kinda a little fucked up but I mean it’s jacob seed . also sorry this took so long ); smut below the cut

no use of y/n , reader is referred to as ‘ deputy ’ . gender specific nicknames are replaced by ‘ pup ’ . not beta - read

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ blasphemy , deputy is treated like a dog , implied forced cannibalism , implied death of a minor character , brainwashing , jacobs his own warning isn’t he ? smut : dub - con , degrading , oral ( m receiving ) , soft - ish sex , penetration , dacryphillia , one - sided orgasm .

It always crept up on him when he least expected it; when things began to have a sense of normalcy. His days a haze and his nights clouded with gunfire and explosions, dreams marred with blood and the guts of former comrades and men who died far too young. For what?

What is the American dream when the world is going to end anyways? What are the soldiers overseas fighting for when the rivers will soon flow with blood and the ground tarred with ash?

His hand runs over his face; rubbing tired eyes. Demons of his past prey on him while he sleeps, turning him weak. Two to three hours is good enough for him, leaves him rested enough for his eyes to focus on the maps in front of him.

Being the leader of the army of Eden’s Gate wasn’t an easy job, though he held it with pride - a cardinal sin - but Joseph would forgive him as long as the prophecies his little brother had bouncing around his head came true. Jacob didn’t know if he believed in anything, really, it was hard to imagine God was with the soldiers that clutched cross pendants behind HESCO barriers.

But where he might’ve drifted from the true meaning of the cause further and further, where he might’ve argued the existence of a higher power with Joseph; one thing grounded him to his purpose and place in the cult. The Deputy.

Joseph’s ramblings were insane to the layman and gospel to the believer - but it seemed right now they were damn prophetic. Everything he said the Deputy would do; they did, and left bodies in their wake. Sometimes, he would watch whatever the cameras picked up of them on his screens, how they traversed the Whitetails with an almost practiced knowledge.

Sometimes, he felt like the eighteen year old new enlistee again when he watched them. The blood, the gunfire. Jacob Seed was a tough man, righteous and brave, but he would look down at them in their cage and feel the fire on his skin from the ranch he burned all those years ago.

He hated the feeling, wanting to drive his pocket knife into his chest and carve out every semblance of memory he had. But then his music box would rewind, and he would hear the sweet sound of the Platters crooning through the wood and metal and maybe, just maybe, things would be okay for him.

So he watched the way the Deputy writhe behind those thick steel bars against the cold soil, not afforded the luxuries even the most depraved prisoners received. Weak and idiotic for attempting to save their friend; but a mind that could be molded with the right tune.

Staci Pratt was a good pet; Pavlovian in nature and willing to do anything for the oldest Seed brother, so maybe that’s why Jacob began to grow bored of the man. Maybe that’s why he entertained the cracks beginning to show in the conditioning, how Pratt’s eyes softened at the sight of their co-worker being taunted by the Herald and yet knowing there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

An escape plan, of course he knew about it, he had eyes and ears everywhere and could always tell when one of his dogs stepped out of line. A perfectly timed truck, the siren going off to alert that a prisoner had escaped, catching Pratt as he allowed the Deputy to leave without him. It was almost sweet, but moreover vomit-inducing, like a lamb.

Sheep are creatures controlled by their own nature, that’s why dogs have to herd them back into formation - like a general in charge of new recruits. Intolerables are discharged, lambs are taken to the slaughterhouse. Nature, the circle of life, the bad meat is thrown out for the poor and needy to pick through.

“Eat. You wouldn’t want to fall sick, would you?”

A tin was placed in front of the Deputy, they had been through this before. Starved for however many days Jacob deemed necessary - usually ten - before they are given nothing but raw meat to eat. Never did they think they would yearn for the peanuts and beer served at the Spread Eagle, but there was no position to argue about what they were being given here.

Some fell over the side as greedy hands shoveled clump after clump into their mouth, covering it in a pitiful yet successful attempt to keep it down. Never did they ask what kind of meat it was, choosing to instead assume it was from one of the many cow farms in the valley.

“You’re hungry, aren’t ya, pup? You’re lucky, that’s a nice cut of meat.” A grin played on his face as he leaned against the metal bars, fingers grazing over his music box. There wouldn’t be any culling today, no, he had a much better idea in mind.

“Where’s Pratt?”

“Not even a thank you for my generosity, aren’t you fierce?”

“Where is he?”

“Peaches’s little act of rebellion earned him a punishment, I mean; that’s only fair. In a war like this you can’t go sympathizing with the devil, no matter how well you knew them before.”

It’s not an answer, but there’s an unspoken understanding that that is the closest thing the Deputy will get to knowing. A huff falling from their lips, ever the ungrateful dog; but their bowl is licked clean and what more can Jacob ask for?

A soft tsk fell from his lips, cold and condescending because how could he be anything but? Did the thing below him deserve care and kindness? Maybe at some point when they were strong, when their mind was still their own, but now they were nothing but a lamb being fattened for the slaughter.

His fingers grasped their chin, forcing eye contact and no doubt leaving marks that would form bruises. How much had they been through? Chest slashed with the markings from Jacobs little brother and mind already foggy from the bliss that grew in the Henbane; but there was a certain pride he took in being the one to break them.

How much time had passed? Had anyone come looking for them? Jacob had often taunted them, used the fact that they were immobile against the conditioning he had given them to contact anyone. The rebellion would fall without their snake, maybe it already had, how would the Deputy know?

It wasn’t their place to think anymore, to simply let the oldest Herald put a leash around their neck and sit beside like a good dog. Their mind wasn’t their own, now it belonged to him and they had no room to complain.

“Look at’chu, open your mouth.” But he didn’t wait for them to comply, instead he bullied his fingers against their tongue, exploring over their gums and teeth. They could bite him, certainly, but they didn’t - wouldn’t.

Who was Jacob Seed but their owner? He had saved them from themselves, from the blood and the gore and the fire that threatened to burn the world to nothing but ashes. Joseph had greeted them in their new form, John had shown up to pout, but their eyes only ever stayed on the eldest.

“Such a good pup, ‘ did a wonderful job training you, huh?” He asked as if they could answer, as if they weren’t preoccupied by the fingers that traced their mouth like he was mapping them out.

A hum passed from his lips as he removed his fingers, instead moving to undo the buckle on his belt. Even in this state, the Deputy wasn’t stupid and could very clearly tell what was coming next. So, to hopefully avoid any wrath from him, moved to help undo his pants.

Leaning back in his chair and observing as they removed his pants, fingers trailing over the growing bulge in his boxers. Jacob was a stoic man, never did the Deputy know if they were really doing good, but he didn’t scold them so there was no stopping.

Hands smoothed out the black fabric a bit nervously, playing with the hem for a moment before a soft grunt from the Herald alerted them. Knowingly, their fingers hooked underneath the waistband and pulled it away from his freckled skin, letting it pool at his ankles along with his pants.

Wrapping around the base of his still hardening cock, their eyes fluttered up to meet his gray ones. A silent beg, a plea that they were doing alright and there would be no punishment later. All they got in return was a small nod; though there was no love or care behind it. More like a drill sergeant instructing a particularly moldable soldier.

Gentle, unsure licks placed against his tip, hand working against the base; fingers brushing against veins that worked overtime to pump blood to his dick. Jacob Seed was not one for taking his sweet time, his fingers tangled in their hair as he pushed their head down on his aching cock.

A soft gag fell from their lips, hands moving from him to settle on his toned thighs. A heavy breath leaving their nose as they tried their hardest to relax, nuzzling against his untamed ginger hair. He relished in the warmth of their throat, the tightness eliciting a groan as he pushed his hips up.

Their gagging was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, the soft whimpers and tears that emitted from the Deputy as they tried their hardest to just breathe through their nose. He loved the power he held over them, how those pretty tears fell for him.

“Cmon pup, look up at me.”

Fighting between lifting their head to meet his gaze and keeping their mouth wrapped around his cock, the Deputy managed to tilt their head up enough to see him. His smirk widened, cock throbbing against their throat as he watched the tears continue to fall from them.

Another few thrusts to the back of their throat before he groaned, pulling their head off his dick with a small ‘pop’. A trail of saliva still connected their lips, pre-cum mixed in with it. He couldn’t help the laugh that emitted from him at the sight of their swollen lips and heavy breathing.

“Poor thing. Don’t cry, I take care of you, don’t I?”

The Deputy couldn’t do anything but nod, and maybe it was a bit true. Jacob did care for them in his own sick and twisted way. In the back of their mind they wondered if this was how he treated Pratt behind close doors; more like a prized trophy than a lover.

His hands grabbed at their hips, pulling them onto his lap. The small barrier of whatever clothes they had been wearing on their lower half before was quickly removed, giving him access to everything he wanted.

Burying their face into the crook of his neck and wrapping arms around the back of him, the Herald lifted their hips once more to guide himself inside their needy hole before pushing them down onto him. Stretching, pain emanating from the sudden intrusion, he could feel the tears that fell from them and landed against his skin.

He cooed, a grin still wide on his face. His hands still settled on their hips, guiding them up and down on his cock. Gentle movements at first that quickly devolved to an almost feral extent. His pre-cum marred the inside of their hole, creating wet and sticky sounds everytime he fucked in and out of them.

It felt like a dam was about to break by the time Jacob decided he was finished. Loud sobs wracked their body as they cuddled closer to him, so close yet so far. His hips continued to move for a moment; stuttering and shifting a bit before he released inside of them, filling them with his cum.

The Deputy finally leaned back after a moment, tears still flowing from their now red eyes, sniffling - but they still attempted to move their hips over him. To get any kind of release as the Herald caught his breath. Needily grinding against his lap, hands clutching his shirt in a pitiful attempt that only made him laugh more.

“Oh, look at’chu. Pup needs to get off too, huh? Don’t worry, I told you I’ll take care of you.”

[hughungrybear]

Bitch, repeat after me: People can have platonic relationships.

Unless you saw them kissing or doing anything remotely sexual, then it's absolutely fucking nothing. Puth and Juin are having lunch and joking around like most co-workers often do, you fucking idiots 😑

Vee, girl, why are you punishing yourself like this? If you cannot forgive nor forget (I don't expect her too, cheating is a cardinal sin imo) then just fucking let Puth go.

Maybe beat him up before you split, if you are that pressed to get revenge, but just go.

Have you considered that Puth ain't the only person in the whole building who can put those marks on Juin??? Did jealousy fried your brain?

Bitch, don't make me slap you. What do you expect Sorn to do? Make out with Juin in front of you so you'd believe Sorn left those marks on Juin's body???

If I were Puth, I would just end both their miseries. I'm simply exhausted watching this shit, and it doesn't even involve me 🙃🙃🙃

[fieldghoul]

I happened to read this interview where Alex Ross Perry (co-director of Rite Here Rite Now) was talking about his Videoheaven and Pavements projects, and this quote jumped out at me:

Cinema Scope: There’s a line that keeps popping up in Videoheaven: “The movies talk about themselves.” I like this a lot, and it’s interesting that a filmmaker like Brian De Palma was ahead of the curve in assessing the symbolic or semiotic potency of the video-store space, whereas later on it served mostly as a backdrop for romantic comedies. It was a way to hint that the characters had inner lives, and taste, but rarely to the point where they genuinely talk about movies. It’s like a weird uncanny-valley thing: I remember always wondering what the characters on Friends would say about La Dolce Vita (1961), the poster for which is hanging in Monica’s apartment, or if the version of Die Hard (1988) they rented had actual profanity in it…  Alex Ross Perry: Well, this is something that only people like us would ever think about. If they rent Die Hard on Friends, but then Bruce Willis appears in a later season as Ross’ girlfriend’s father, in this world, is there simply a guy who looks like Willis and has his mannerisms, and so on? And has he ever seen Die Hard? This question is of course made text in Last Action Hero (1993), with the Stallone Terminator 2 (1991) gag. To say nothing of the now well-known and HD-enhanced fact that on Seinfeld, Jerry owns Child’s Play 2 (1991) and Arachnophobia (1990) on VHS, along with Pretty Woman (1990), which stars Jason Alexander…I’m reading too much into all this, but so would a De Palma character. 

(For some broader context -- Videoheaven is an as-yet unreleased documentary about video stores, particularly as they're featured in film.)

But it made me think, it's funny, isn't it -- the VHS tapes in Rite Here Rite Now.

Some of them are vague -- for the two box sets next to the TV, the top one has a logo that was used for Prequelle Exalted version, and the bottom is the logo for either Impera (possibly Phantomime, it's hard to tell which with the color grading in the movie). I don't think anybody has definitively figured out what Ghost In the Trees means, but Haze Over North America Tour 2013 was a real tour that happened, but no audio or video of it was ever released (at least, not in our universe).

On the table, we have one more box set with the If You Have Ghosts logo and art, and we see tapes of the Chapters videos. New Blood, Tax Season and Meanwhile in Dublin, are shown up close, plus Nap Time is on the desk in front of Sister Imperator.

The fact that the Chapters exist on VHS is what's so weird. There's really no way to reconcile the existence of these tapes in the Ghost universe with the way most people would have understood the Chapters up until now. I think the default interpretation of a piece of fiction is that it is true in its own reality -- i.e. in the universe where Cardinal Copia is himself, and not Tobias Forge in a mask, the Chapters are something that actually happened. It's much weirder to see it it as some kind of meta-fiction, where it's a scripted production put together and released by these fictional characters. But Rite Here Rite Now is a movie about Copia and Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil and not the actors that play them - how could the chapters possibly co-exist with the characters in-universe?

I always think that's a fun part of Ghost -- the veil between the universe of Ghost's lore and reality is often so thin. They come out to play in our world in the form of concerts, and it's not quite like meeting Mickey Mouse in Disney World where the costumed character's experiences have no bearing on the canon. The real life shows Ghost performs add to the counter Papa Nihil is keeping for Copia. The accolades that they allude to in the Chapters - the Grammy, the gold certification for Mary On A Cross, TikTok virality - all happen in real life.

For the record, I don't think we're meant to explain the tapes in RHRN, for the record -- my interpretation it is just a nod to what Alex Ross Perry mentioned in the interview. It is impossible to have a fictional storyline that takes place in the real world without running up against paradoxes you create.

Also, allow me to plug my own post, from earlier: besides the VHS I already mentioned, there are two others on the table that are partially obscured and unidentifiable - the one in the GIF above, with the Union Jack on it, and one other in an orange case that appears to say "Australian Tour" (the "tour" part is cut off in this screen cap, but is somewhat visible in the video). I can't tell if there's other text on the VHS cover, or if it's just graphics.

I can't figure out if it's young Nihil on the cover or a stylized version of Papa III -- but either way, Papa Nihil of course never went on an Australian tour in our reality (or, theoretically, in theirs - since, per Metal Myths, Nihil's version of Ghost "immediately disbanded" - not that Ghost is unwilling to retcon things) but neither did Papa III. There were plans for an Australian tour during Meliora era, but they fell through when Soundwave was cancelled in 2016. But I guess it's another point where their reality diverges from ours :-)

[sergeantsporks]

All of Witch Switch Part 4!

Part 5

Part 6

Masterpost

Transcript under the cut

[Phillip wanders through the Isles]

Phillip: Okay, there’s gotta be a reasonable explanation for this. Probably she mists some kind of—of hallucinogenic drug in that house in case someone wanders in. Yeah, that’s gotta be it, that’s gotta—

[He bumps into a demon]

P: Uh-huh, what are you, like, a wall or something, probably?

Demon: [enraged] A wall?! I’ll have you know I’ve been dieting!

[Phillip jumps back as the demon swipes at him]

P: [small voice] Uh-oh

[Phillip runs]

P: This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t—

[slams into Evelyn]

[Phillip holds his head, squinting up]

P: Ah—ow—oh! Evelyn! Thank goodness! I don’t even care that it’s you! I’m just happy to finally find another…

[Cut to Evelyn, focusing on her ears]

P: …human.

[Evelyn holds Phillip’s arms, frantic and confused]

Evelyn: Phillip?! What are you doing here?! Is Caleb with you? How did you even…?

[Cut to Phillip pointing at her ears, shaken]

Phillip: Ah—ah—you’re—you’re

E: [disembodied] Ohhhhh titan, Phillip, don’t freak out, please don’t—

P: YOU’RE AN ELF?!

[Cut to Evelyn, who is half-amused, half-offended]

E: Witch. I’m a witch. Elves are a whole different creature. You wouldn’t want to run into one, trust me. Phillip, what happened?! Why are you here?

P: Why am I here? I was just following you! Why are you here?!

E: Well—

Disembodied voice: HEY! YOU! CARDINAL CRIMINAL!

[Cut to a guard, pointing at Evelyn]

P: [disembodied] Who’s that?

Guard: You’re under arrest! And your little co-conspirator!

[Evelyn’s stand disappears, and she grabs Phillip’s hand, pulling him onto her staff]

P: Wha-?

E: Time to go!

[Phillip grabs tightly onto Evelyn while she zooms away]

Phillip: Ahhhhhh!

Evelyn: Yeah, uh, don’t look down.

[Phillip is frantic and wide-eyed]

P: What! Is! Going! On?! Where are we? Who was that guy? Who are you?

[The staff drops abruptly into a forest near a seaside cliff, and Evelyn hops off. Phillip clings to the staff, leaves stuck in his hair]

E: Look, I didn’t mean for you to get caught up here. [She holds out a hand for Flapjack to perch on] It’s a bit of a long story, but this is… my home. I’m not from the human realm, I’m from here. The demon realm. I’m a witch.

[Something clicks in Phillip’s head]

P: And a criminal! I knew it! I knew you were shifty! A witch and a criminal—wait until Caleb finds out! You are finished! If I don’t get rid of you myself!

E: [disembodied] Okay, sure, that’s the takeaway, why not. Alright. Phillip. Listen.

[Evelyn holds up the portal key]

E: This key can send you home. But before we go, I want to ex—

[Key is snatched from her grasp]

E: HEY!

[Phillip runs, while Evelyn chases]

Evelyn: Give it back!

Phillip: No way, witch! I’m not letting you back into my world! This key is coming with me; I’m going home and telling Caleb everything, and you’re going to be trapped here forever.

E: Just let me explain!

P: No! You’ve probably been feeding Caleb love potions and planning to harvest his heart for your spells!

E: Okay, first of all, that’s incredibly offensive, and secondly—

[Flapjack flies in front of Phillip’s face, chirping loudly. Phillip skids to a halt, and Evelyn catches up, snatching for the key. Zoom out to show that they’re at the edge of a cliff.]

E: Gotcha!

[Phillip pushes at Evelyn’s face while she grabs for the key. Flapjack flutters around them, trying to peck at Phillip’s fingers]

E: Phillip—just— give me—

P: Stay—away—from—

[Phillip fumbles the key, and it falls. Evelyn and Phillip stop fighting, peering over the cliff, Flapjack in Evelyn’s hair]

[The key falls into the boiling ocean. Evelyn and Flapjack stare in shock, Phillip next to them, also shocked and guilty]

P: … [glancing at Evelyn] That was your fault.

[Evelyn and Flapjack glare]

[Evelyn paces, while Phillip stands there]

Phillip: You can… make another one, right?

Evelyn: [throwing her hands up] No, I can’t “make another one!” Do you know how rare that thing was? One-of-a-kind rare! That-technology-has-been-lost-to-the-ages rare!

P: [disembodied] So…

E: So we’re stuck here until we can get it back! [She pinches the bridge of her nose] Look, let’s just… go to my house. We can figure out a way to get that key back. But for now, we shouldn’t be out here in the open.

P: Your… house?

[Cut to the Cardinal House, Phillip and Evelyn standing on the path]

P: This is where you live?! You have a house?! A freaking giant one?!

E: Yeah, the demon realm is a lot more forgiving about house-owning than the human realm

P: Man. And here I thought you slept wherever you worked. But, uh…

[Cut to the door, which has a hole in it filled with organs on the edges]

P: [disembodied] What the hell is wrong with your door?

E: [disembodied] I don’t know, it came like that. I think we used to have a house demon or something.

[Cut to Evelyn flopping on the couch]

E: I cannot BELIEVE you lost the key.

P: Well, I wouldn’t have lost the thing if you’d just let me take it.

E: And let you leave me here forever? C’mon, Phillip, really?

P: That’s what you get for lying

E: I was trying to explain to you! Look, you may have surmised this from the guard chasing us, but Iiiiii am not exactly winning any popularity contests here at home. I mean, I sell human stuff for a living. I need that portal. And I need Caleb.

[Cut to suspicious and surprised Phillip]

P: What’s that supposed to mean?!

[Evelyn sits up on the couch and pinches the bridge of her nose]

Evelyn: Phillip—ah, geeze. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.

Phillip: [disembodied] What do you mean, you “need” Caleb? For what? A potion test dummy? Stealing his stuff to sell at your junk stand?

E: I just meant that… he’s important to me. I don’t really have anyone here. Caleb’s… pretty much the only friend I’ve got.

P: Depressing. If he’s so important to you, then why are you lying to him?! Huh?

[Evelyn looks up sarcastically]

E: Gee, I wonder why I might not tell the brother of the guy obsessed with witch-hunting that I’m a witch.

P:  Don’t make this my fault. You lied to him—lied to both of us—for years! You started dating him, but you didn’t tell him you were from another dimension?!

E: I was going to tell him! I swear!

P: Oh, yeah? When? Before he proposed, or after you got married and had a little half-demon baby that spits fire?!

[Cut to Evelyn]

E: Well, I planned t—[shock] wait, proposal? As in marriage proposal?!

P: [disembodied] Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t know with your witchy powers

E: I’m not omniscient! When did he decide on that?!

P: He talked to Manny about it, apparently, who knows when

Evelyn’s eyes slide up to Flapjack, who whistles innocently [no dialogue, he’s just trying to play dumb]

[Cut to Phillip, who watches in confusion]

E: Ohhhhhhhhhhhh you knew about his, didn’t you! Why didn’t you tell me?!

[Flapjack chirps]

E: You “didn’t want to ruin the surprise?!” Really, Flap?! We’re talking about a marriage proposal, not a birthday present!

P: Have you just finally lost it, or…

E: [disembodied] The bird. I can talk to the bird. Who was supposed to keep an eye on Caleb and tell me important things likeif he was in trouble or if he was planning on proposing!

P: So… not only were you lying to Caleb, you were spying on him. Wow, I really do not have to work hard to find reasons he should break up with you. But you… really didn’t know about the proposal?

E: No! I thought our relationship was in a very different place! I was going to tell him, I… wait, I can prove it to you. Stay here.

[Phillip stands alone while thumps and thuds come from above him]

Evelyn: [from above] Got it!

[Cut to half-carved lump of wood, roughly starting to look like canon Dell’s palisman]

E: [disembodied] See?

Phillip: [disembodied] What is it?

[Cut to Evelyn holding Flapjack]

E: It’s a palisman, like Flapjack. Familiar is probably a term you’re more… well, familiar with. They’re lifelong companions, magical helpers… and a magic staff.

P: It’s a statue. One Caleb could carve better.

E: Rude. But it’s not just a statue. It comes to life when you state your deepest wish—I carved this one for Caleb, as a gift for when I let him into this side of my life. Look, I know you think I was going to lie forever, but this palisman—I couldn’t carve it in a day. I was going to tell Caleb, I was just… waiting for the right moment. I didn’t think he was going to… I thought I had more time.

[Cut to Phillip, who actually looks curious now]

P: Were you going to make me one?

E: [disembodied] Absolutely not, this wood is hard to come by and I’m not using it on someone who listens to podcasts on how to kill me.

[Cut to tired, apologetic Evelyn]

E: Look. I know this situation isn’t… ideal. You don’t like me! You don’t trust me! I know that! But unfortunately, I’m the only person here you know, and, well… I don’t see us getting back to the human realm very any time soon. So we’re going to have to call a truce until we can find that key. There’s space for you here. I’m not going to let you die.

[Cut to Phillip, grumpy, but listening]

E: We can figure out the Caleb situation later, but for now, we need to focus on getting back to him. So. You don’t kill me. I get you home. We figure it out from there. Deal?

[Phillip sighs]

P: Deal.

[End Part 4]

[starfilled-galaxy]

System info + introductions for the alters :D This post is occasionally updated !

Plush (qp partner) sys!! @npd-akechi ^^

Each alter is associated with 1 emoji that we tag Emoji combos = co-con/co-front ❓= blurry, unknown, or we don't have an emoji for them yet

Everyone is asexual and sex repulsed (except for like 4 of us), and share all of the same NDs, though some of us have more heightened ND traits than others

Nitrogenic /srs Give us 1 year of Nitro and we will follow up on the promise to tell you our origins ;3 And hey! If you give us 1 month of Nitro we'll still give you a random one from our list :D

We use both I/me and we/our, please don't use you& for us

Usually we use the term "alter" but we dont mind sysmate/system member/headmate etc, we just say alter since it's faster to type Do not call us "parts" though!!!

Alter playlists: https://www.youtube.com/@starfilledsys/playlists

Alter intros under cut bc it's very long! [currently outdated]

Current host:

🧡 - (hs) Kel He/him, boy Sugar addict Really likes kid stuff, and also Kirby Age regressor!! CG - rw Hero Agere/alter blog - @kels-pillow-fort Has occasional delusions and insys/headspace hallucinations Role: Swankid, doekid, cardinal

Misc:

🍒 - Rosy She/her Girl Old host Fox alterhuman of some kind

⛅ - Blurry They/them

☁️ - Frost He/they/xe/it

[Natalgenic alters will get their own post which will be linked to here since theres so many]

Factives:

❤️‍🔥 - Aspen/Scarlett She/they, he/it Intraplural (aka subsys) Aspen is an angerholder, Scarlett is just there lol Factive of a mutual and their now split alter Usually chill unless something makes them upset Role: Beesecutor, angerpartialholder

✨ - Kiko/Kuki Any pronouns but no non-cat nounself ones

Fictives:

🏀 - (rw) Kel He/she/ae/xe Bigenderfluid, pan gaybian, possibly aroflux Furry & obsessed with BMTH Rw Hero is his comfort person In-sys dating Sunny<3 Role: Traumaholder, depressionholder

Genuinely fuck off if you treat me/source like a joke stop it I'm a person too you assholes -🏀

🌹 - (rw) Hero He/him Transmasc, abro pan bi Alterhuman (SilkWing (WOF) hearttype) Really likes bugs and especially dragonflies (very source-divergent lol) Bug blog - @heros-bug-collection Likes to comfort and take care of everyone in the sys, but gets burnt out easily ^^; Is a CG (caregiver) for hs Kel Role: Dear, medic, caregiver

🔪 - Sunny She/he, xe/xim, & xe/xer (primary sets) Rawr/kandi/spark/neon/:3/X3/XD (secondary sets) Genderfluid, gaybian He loves scene and BMTH! In-sys dating rw Kel<3

🪷 - (rw) Aubrey She/xey/bun Girl, xenogender, bunnygender, & lesbian(?) Really likes bunnies !!

🌻 - (rw) Basil He/him? Boy???? He thinks he's pretty and likes that he's pretty :>

🍳 - (hs) Hero He/him Transmasc Doesn't talk much... don't know much about him Role: (Extreme) anxiety holder

🪻 - (hs) Mari She/her

🦴 - Hector He/him Gender and romanticity is N/A Shiba inu He's very excitable, and only speaks in barks, even in typing. We have to translate for him any time he talks

🍊 - (ma) Kel He/him Boy, gay (for Sunny ;3) AUtive from @bananacat76's Magic AU, specifically from the route where he dies Spirit/ghost/angel dog Role: Gatekeeper

🥀 - (DN/TB) Hero He/him Transmasc AUtive Role: Traumaholder, griefholder, depressionholder

🌸 - (Endless) Aubrey She/petal

🌿 - (OTWF) hs Basil He/she

❄️ - (OTWF) rw Hero He/him

🧊 - (OTWF) rw Kel He/him

🌙 - (OTWF) Spaceboy He/they/xey/it

🌑 - (Deep Dive) Stranger They/xey/she

💘 - The Empress She/her

💿 - The Physician It/he/no pronouns

💌 - The Postman He/😁

💙 - Alula She/her Feathergirl, aromantic Fictive of Alula from OneShot Cal's younger sister

🍁 - Calamus He/him Featherboy, aromantic Fictive of Calamus from OneShot Lula's older brother

🔋 - Cedric He/him

🍃 - Hollyleaf She/her Xenogender (christmasgender) She and Lion are very source-detached since when they introjected it had been a long time since I read the books with them in it lol

🦁 - Lionblaze He/him Agender He's silly and fluffy and honestly kinda similar to our hs Kel fictive personality-wise, but less kid-like

I know source was written in a super boring way but it still makes me sad to be called boring :< -🦁

🪶 - Beetlepaw/Beetlewing He/him Transmasc OCtive sourced from a mutual's Warrior Cats OC A bit shy and nervous but very sweet :>

🐾 - Gothi She/her

💜 - Vicky She/her

🎯 - Kasane Teto She/her, zhe/her, zey/zem, fi/fizz, elle, and a lot more Xenogender (too many to list) Fictive and possibly songtive of Teto from Mesmerizer specifically Enjoys typing quirks, uses s & th -> z quirk in English Sugar addict French apparently?? Almost always refuses to speak English and will only talk in French. Unfortunately we don't know very much French so zhe forces us to use the inaccurate hell that is google translate...

💖 - Little Miss She/her Girl Fictive of Misfortune from Little Misfortune Prefers to be called "little Miss" or "little lady" Loves glitter and misses Benjamin</3 Please be careful with her ! She's one of our youngest alters

Babpa! :D -💖

🖤 - Wynn/Mr. Scratch He/him Male Fictive of Wynn from Scary Stories for Young Foxes Despises his source's actions

Fucking ableism... I love Uly, the nuisance who has my name in the book is not me -🖤

🍀 - Lorena She/her

[uncanny-angel]

someone make sure I don’t get cremated k?? I don’t wanna get pulverised girl I want a HUGE embellished gravestone or my body in a purple stained glass box at the far end of a graveyard overseeing it all…

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

But didn't ITS claim responsibility for random murders and used nazi logos at one point n shit? I ask bc from what I've read by them has not appeared to be fash but my friend is asking me. I don't know much about them

https://itsgoingdown.org/nothing-anarchist-eco-fascism-condemnation/

This stuff the quote in there from them

Sorry for the mucho texto in advanced. The random murders: yeah that was the indiscriminate attack era I was talking about. So in their early days their primary target was nanotechnology and people who worked in tbat field. As seen in all their early communiques.

Actually quick history on their ideologies. ITS was RS (Wild Reaction) before becoming ITS. And they were made up of former FLA/FLT (Animal Liberation Front & Earth Liberation Front) members. Members who became disillusioned with just property damage and followed the Ted K path. 2011 -2013 is the primitivist still fairly anarchist era. 2015 is when they start the pure misanthropy "all humans must die" indiscriminate attack era. They drop the anarchist label entirely. (The years aren't exact. They're estimates.) Also lots of the early members were indigenous, at least the one's in Mexico. And that remained an important aspect of them their entire existence. Cells existed in Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Greece, Scotland and the USA.

I do think it's important to clarify this tho. The article you linked and most articles that called them eco-fascists, while having some genuine criticisms, were mostly in bad faith. They often call Ted K a fascist too, something he outright denied and criticized himself.

In their early days, they were definitely fanboys. But when they started advocating human extinction, they stopped being anything like Ted. Ted was very anthropocentric, humanities well being was his main concern, that and the destruction of industrial society.

Moving on to the second part. They never used nazi logos. That's the biggest bad faith and honestly racist critique about them. It comes from their second book*. *Two books, compilations of eco-extremist writings,published by LBC (rip lbc).

Their second book featuring this as the cover.

The lie of it being fascist imagery comes from Alexander Reid Ross and this quote in an essay about ITS.

Yes, technically, it is a swastika. But as most people know, the swastika was co-opted by the Nazis. This symbol is a Quetzalcoatl, the god of knowledge and learning. The cross in the middle represents earth. The Swastika shape represents both the 4 cardinal directions and the 4 seasons. Essentially, the symbol interprets as like "we learn from the land" or something along those lines. Which is why I say it's racist to purposely misinterpret their symbolism for your hit piece.

With that being said, ITS at this point was no longer anarchist. They were misanthropes. They celebrated natural disasters, terrorist attacks, and anything with high human casualties. Including fascist violence. Which yes is fucked up, but they weren't celebrating fascism. Fascism is very human centric, something they did not care for. I would link quotes, but they pretty much don't exist anymore since they deleted their blog after disbanding. I have one on my old phone from the interview, but idk if the phone will even power on anymore. But it essentially said they draw influence from many places, that does not mean they support those ideologies or groups. Which is true. In the second Atassa, there's an entire essay about MS-13, the street gang, and how we can learn from them. It talks about how in their early days they were very brazen, how members would tattoo the gang on their faces. But that came back to bite them in the ass so they started to try and blend in more with society. Something ITS members did great. In their entire existence, they had only 2 members get arrested, despite multiple murders being attributed to them.

One last thing. Along with the Quetzalcoatl, when they were still RS, their symbol was this

It's Chicomoztoc, the caves where humanity originates from. Because again, they were indigenous so they used indigenous symbolism.

[oncillaphoenix]

beasts witnessed within the new territory so far:

white-tailed deer (a whole herd who amble through the yard on a regular basis)

coyotes, supposedly (not witnessed by me but neighbors and sibligns have attested to this)

woodchuck who hangs out under the porch

great horned owl (hangs out in the pine tree out front; maybe-saw it once and have heard it several times)

grey squirrels (much smaller than the fox squirrels from colorado)

blue jays

cardinals (as someone who was raised in the west i am inordinately excited about this)

many unfamiliar birdsongs

two frogs or perhaps toads in the basement (1 mummified in the windowsill, 1 alive)

the same big ol cellar spiders we had in CO (hello old friends)

small unfamiliar spider

stinkbugs

strange beetle of some sort that keeps falling out of the kitchen light

wild rabbits

canada geese (flying overhead)

[copiousloverofcopia]

Here is a new fic commission just in time for Christmas with a few more to come!!!!

Starting things off with some Terzo and Alessandra from my fic Tied as One Eternally for the lovely @captaingrebelguf!!!

Merry Christmas my love and I hope you all enjoy!

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

That Night Under the Mistletoe

During the Annual Yule Ball, Cardinal Terzo Emeritus spends the night listless until he sees Alessandra, one of the new Sisters of Sin.

If you have not read the fic this is a sequel for, please start there from the link above. Also available HERE on AO3!

Read more below the cut!

It was a long time ago now. A time when the champagne bubbles danced within glasses and the joyous music hummed blissfully in the air. The winter solstice celebrations were nearing their end and it was the Ministry's annual Yule Ball. Each of the siblings and ghouls, merry and gluttonous, as Lucifer intended. All the while truly appreciating the abundance that his dark grace had bestowed upon them during the year. 

Cardinal Terzo sat at the front table of the Hall. Positioned alongside his most trusted ghoul, Omega, and trying desperately to drown out the sound of Secondo gloating. His brother, insistent on droning on and on that he soon would become Papa. Terzo did his best to ignore him, mindlessly tracing his fingers along the edge of his glass and letting out a sigh. Wondering to himself if he was to be Omega again or if he would spend the evening alone.

He found himself scanning the room. Unable to appreciate the bright lights and happy faces. The beautiful decorations and whimsical party before him. Feeling empty as the night carried on. Just as he resolved himself to an early turn in, he saw her. The mysterious and willful Alessandra. A newer Sister of Sin from the most recent group of novitiates. She was surrounded by the rest of the crowd, yet somehow seemed as if she were by herself. The rest of them, only a blur with her silhouette against the bright lights—calling to him.  

She was breathtaking in a short, golden liquid knit dress. Dripping in sparkle and cinched at her waist. Her long dark curls, bouncing with each step and every curve on display. Smiling brightly as she worked the room with ease. The Cardinal was instantly smitten.

“Something on your mind.” Omega asked, nudging Terzo out of his thoughts. Noticing that he was obviously distracted. 

“Just admiring the view.” he mused, Omega following his line of sight to the sister. Rolling his eyes and twitching his tail in response. Terzo was intrigued by her, adjusting himself in his seat as he was visibly happy to see her. 

“If you’re so interested”, the ghoul jabbed, taking note of the visible swelling in Terzo’s pants, “why don't you go talk to her?” 

“You know what? That sounds like a great idea.” Terzo smirked, rising from his chair and practically hopping over the table to go greet her. Primo watched, glancing over to Omega and shaking his head. Secondo, only now stopping his monologue as Terzo took off across the room. 

“Where’s he off to?” he asked, having been completely aloof. Primo placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Giving him a look that implied they both knew where he was going and why. 

“He’s trying to find himself a good time...but I have a feeling it’s not going to go well.” Primo sighed, Secondo nodding and returning to his rambling. 

By the time he reached her, she was by the entryway doors. Ready to leave for the night and return to the solitude of her room. Just as Alé set foot on the threshold, Terzo brought himself between her and the exit. His abruptness was jarring, catching her off guard.

“Oh…I’m sorry Cardinal.” she responded, minding her manners. Knowing all too well that his intrusion in her space was anything accidental. Still, she would be expected to show respect with him as a member of the high clergy.

“No…no sorella. I apologize for startling you. You see I had noticed you from across the room and well I couldn’t help but come over to say hello.” he responded. The famous Emeritus charm oozing from every pore. His smile, mischievous like the Cheshire cat’s grin. Alessandra immediately recognized he was up to no good, but it didn’t help that he was also so incredibly handsome.  

She had been made well aware of him. The Cardinal’s reputation was one of legend within not only the Abbey but the whole of the Ministry. A man whose ability to charm someone out of their pants, was matched only by his proclivity to hop from one person to the next. Seemingly allergic to commitment, but somehow so convincing that he had been able to have his pick of anyone, siblings of sin and ghouls alike. 

Terzo, known for having a string of broken hearts in his wake. It was for that very reason Alessandra had been actively avoiding him. Unsure if her resolve would be enough to prevent her from suffering the same fate. Despite that, now they were face to face and there was nowhere to escape. His mismatched eyes, captivating as they stared deeply into hers. 

“Well now that you have, I’m sorry but I think I should go. I think I may have had a bit too much champagne.” she laughed nervously, hoping that her excuse would be enough for him to let it go. It was true, he was hard to resist even for someone as levelheaded and firm as her. Terzo smiled, closing the space between them. Coming closer and closer, forcing Alessandra to back up against the door frame. Trying her best to avoid the press of his body against her. 

“No need to be shy, sorella.” he said, glancing upward and noting the fortuitous placement of mistletoe. Alessandra looked up, her heart beating fast within her chest as she too caught sight of it. “Would you do your Cardinal the honor of a small kiss…we are under the mistletoe after all.” he reasoned.

His eyes had turned soft, unlike the lecherous gaze she had expected of him. What a clever disguise , Alé thought to herself. He was a notorious playboy, and she knew no matter how innocent and sweet those eyes looked now, succumbing to them meant she’d end up a notch on his belt and a story shared with the ghouls. But they were oh so enticing, Alé forced herself to divert her eyes, only worsening the situation when she found herself staring down at his pouty lips. Despite her better judgment, she began to cave. Closing her eyes before him. 

“Just this once.” she whispered, waiting for the press of his lips against hers. Terzo quickly grabbed hold of her hips and tried to kiss her. Unable to hold himself back from his passionate and lustful desires. His hands filled with the curves of Alessandra’s rear end just before a swift smack to the face. 

“You bastard!” she barked, eyes wide open and jaw clenched in anger. How dare he try to man handle me like that , she thought to herself. Steaming hot inside as Terzo’s arrogance once again had gotten the better of him.

“Aww come on sorella, don’t be like that.” he whined. Watching Alessandra’s face flush red. Doing everything in her power to restrain herself from slapping him again.  

“Get bent, you letch.” she snapped, shoving past him and heading down the main hall, towards the siblings’ wing. Terzo stood in the doorway. His hand held gently against the tender flesh of his cheek. The sting of Alé’s touch, still burning there.  

“Struck out?” laughed Omega as he approached. Relishing the humor of such a rare sight to see. 

“Seems that way, but you never know.” he winked as the two of them watched Alessandra disappear up the stairs. 

------------------Many years later…-------------------------------

The lights were tickling quietly on the Yule tree. Terzo, mesmerized by them as the memory of that night lingered on his thoughts. Though it had been many years, there were times when it felt like just yesterday—just the two of them beneath the mistletoe. Things have changed so much since then.

This year they had declined attending the Yule party. Choosing instead to enjoy the soft echoes of celebrations in the distance as their little family got nestled in for the night. It was hours ago when their oldest children, Mena and Dante had fallen asleep. Snuggled up against their father after a long day of wreaking havoc, as small children often do. Terzo and Alessandra’s newborn daughter, Luciana, too was slumbering away peacefully in her mother’s arms. 

Alessandra inhaled deeply. Enjoying the quiet moment shared between them, and the scent of pine that filled the air, when she noticed Terzo smiling beside her. Watching the lights on the tree. “What are you thinking about?” she asked him, resting her head on his shoulder while they listened to the cracking of the warm fire beside them in the Papal suite. 

“I was remembering that first Yule after you arrived.”

“Oh?” Alé laughed, remembering all too well how things had played out that night. “Yeah…that seems like a dream now, doesn't it?” she asked him. Both of them, watching little Luci wiggling around in her swaddle.  

“What we have now, is the dream.” he smirked, Alessandra perking up an eyebrow at him.

“You were something else then and you’re something else now.” she chuckled to herself, completely amused by his cheesy and yet still very romantic charm. Even after all this time. 

“Who knows what could have been had you only kissed me then, that night under the mistletoe.” 

“Hmm…” Alé hummed before kissing her husband. Both of them, careful not to wake the kids, “Guess we’ll never know.”

[c-infinity-83]

more questions!!! from plural asking: 13, 22, 25, 27? :] <33

13. What is something you can't seem to collectively agree on? - That is... Something [name] wants us to keep under wraps, ahaha. It's nothing too major though but fhdjsjajdjdjdj

Besides... THAT, though, we tend to collectively agree on a lot of things!

22. Which word / words do you prefer to use for members of your System? - Sysmates is our go-to! We're also okay with headmates, and we're trying out more space/star related words to be used instead toooooo... Might try out starmate tbh!

25. Are there any talents / hobbies you picked up because of a Member? - Yes, bracelet making! PT wanted to get into that and now we have.... 3, 4 giant bags of string by our bed FHFHDJSJDJFID anytime we make bracelets it's a surefire way of triggering her up front!

27. Do you label roles within your System (and if yes, which ones?) - we try to! We stick with the usual roles, mainly; hosts, co-hosts, protectors, persecutors, etc. But some of us use more obscure roles like charge and Cardinal and all. It depends on the individual tbh and what they want.

-Heart

[siberat]

what Did I Do?

Little quick Drabble for my buddy! B.lastoff / on.slaught. Angst, binge eating…. Belching….

No sooner did the shared habsuit door close did he let out a quivering sigh. Just what had possessed him to do what he had done? Did he lose his mind? Heaving deep breaths, Bla/st O/ff peeled himself from leaning against the door and smacked his servo on his helm.

“Stupid…. Stupid…. Stupid!” Each word was followed by hitting himself on the helm as he paced around his room. His frame still tingled with the dread of realizing the severity of what he had done.

And just what did he do?

He performed a cardinal sin amongst the Decep/ticons: he honestly spilled his feelings in a silly little love note to his crush. And he gave it to said crush.

So, when he was called into his boss’s office, one of two things would happen: On/slaught would finally acknowledge him and return the feelings… or On/slaught would finally acknowledge him and humiliate him for being so foolish.

It turns out neither of those options happened. As Bla/st O/ff sat in the chair, he noticed his stupid, school-girl love note had fallen to the ground. His spark froze in his chest: his crush didn’t read it! Biting his lip, he wondered if he could snatch the incriminating evidence and save his face.

Sadly, On/slaught discovered the note, stopped rambling about battle plans (for once), and bent down to pick it up.

And much to the subordinate’s horror, he unfolded the note and read it—yup, right in front of him.

Talk about sweating bullets! His stomach churned as his frame warmed. His fingers idly fidgeted as he squirmed in his seat. Naturally, the Lead Combat/icon’s expression was unreadable, so he had no clue how his love/boss felt.

Until the note was lowered. And On/slaught stared into Bla/st O/ff’s optics blankly.

And this moment of silence was deafening. It was quieter than being in deep space. It felt like hours had passed, and he could not pull his fearful stare from the blue mech.

But being the coward he was, Bla/st O/ff stuttered, apologizing profusely as he bolted out the meeting room door. Yes, On/slaught called after him, but he couldn’t muster the courage or strength to obey. Instead, he ran back to his small habsuit, tears sliding down his reddening face.

This leads him to where he is currently: pacing his room and biting at his fingertips. Just what did he get himself into? And how could he get himself out of this?

He couldn’t remain still. He needed to do something before the repetitive self-destructive thoughts took over. Sadly, he suffered bouts of this and gave in to old habits. He snagged a bunch of snacks from the shared kitchen—more than his fair share—and retreated to his personal sleeping quarters.

He sat upon his berth, replaying the humiliating scene repeatedly in his processor as he mindlessly opened boxes of sweets and freed them from the plastic wrappers. As soon as that sweetness filled his mouth, he felt a smidge better. The moist, cream-filled cake lit his taste receptors, causing them to dance with joy.

Primus, junk food always hits the spot when feeling down!

As soon as one little calcium cake was finished, fingertips were sucked clean, and another was pulled from the box. Bla/st O/ff cooed with each bite, optics slitting to half-moons as each treat was greedily devoured. Each swallow brought happiness to replace the fear. Each new cake unwrapped promised the excitement of such a pleasurable experience. Each time his maws sunk in, squishing pink cream around his lips, the ‘Co/n felt like he was in some kind of utopia.

This abruptly ended with his servo reaching into an empty box. The family-sized treats, which had previously been unopened, didn’t last very long. Licking his lips, Bla/st O/ff sighed and discarded the empty box. Thankfully, there was plenty more to choose from.

Box after box, the Cyber/tonian treats were devoured. While the pace slowed down, the shuttle continued to engorge himself on this unhealthy feast. His belly soon swelled, grumbling with being stuffed so full. Upon a painful spasm, Bla/st O/ff grimaced and rubbed a servo over the massive ball that sat upon his lap.

“Primus,” The Co/n stared at the aftermath of his binge. “I really overdid it this time…” Glancing around, he saw the evidence of his raid. Empty boxes and wrappers littered his berth and floor. His gestalt mates would surely be mad!

His belly gave a clench, and its owner whimpered. Pressure was building up just below his chest despite the rubbing. His abdomen felt extremely bloated as tightness kicked in. Suddenly, a loud gurgling noise trembled through his tummy. Bla/st O/ff clenched his optics shut as fingers desperately worked to soothe this angry beast!

“Ah….” Bla/st O/ff whined, feeling as if there was something stuck in his pipes. It slowly bubbled upwards, and no amount of swallowing could halt its progress. Unable to contain this anymore, a loud, echoing belch erupted.

“Bwwwoooorrrrrruuuuuggggghhhhhhhpppp!”

Prim/us, how undignified! However, his stomach felt better as it rumbled on his lap. He sighed, leaning back to relax before he had to clean up his room.

“Excuse you.” A voice called out, snapping the shuttle from his blissful state.

Bla/st O/ff, whipping his helm around, discovered On/slaught standing in his doorframe, staring at him.

Oh dear Prim/us, could this day get any worse? He tucked over himself, attempting to hide his gut from the other’s view. “O…On/slaught…. I…..” Dang, tears welled up in his optics as he felt his cheeks grow hot. “What…I… I’m so-“

The leader of the gestalt held up his hand, beckoning silence. His other hand raised, revealing a clear plastic container holding a geode-cheese cake. “I…thought you might like something sweet…”

Was that a hint of a smile appearing on On/slaught’s faceplates

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

The Three Musketeers: Milady ⚔️

En Garde! ⚔️

This reworking of Alexandre Dumas's novel is full of swordplay, zippy repartee, and action gallant as its heroes. Swords up for the second chapter of this French franchise based on Alexandre Dumas’s classic novel, and it’s hard to think of better casting for the legendary femme fatale Milady de Winter than Eva Green. François Civil, Vincent Cassel, Pio Marmaï and Romain Duris round out the musketeer section of the cast.

Eight months after the release of D'Artagnan, the heroes of Alexandre Dumas are back to, on the one hand, thwart a politico-religious plot against the king and, on the other hand, confront the dangerous Milady de Winter.

The favourite swash-buckling swordsmen are back for The Three Musketeers: Milady. Credit: PA

“All for one and one for all” ⚔️

Francois Civil continues to prove himself as an excellent D’Artagnan, and musketeers Athos, Aramis and Porthos bring added charm. As Athos, Vincent Cassel also has a delicate touch as his character faces inner turmoil when his past comes back to haunt him.

Vincent Cassel in the film The Three Musketeers – Milady. ©Julien Panié

Director Martin Bourboulon delivers yet again in this fantastic French language flick, Pictured: Francois Civil as D’Artagnan and Romain Duris as Aramis Credit: PA

From the Louvre to Buckingham Palace, to the gutters of Paris to the siege of La Rochelle… In a kingdom divided by religious wars and under threat of British invasion, a handful of men and women will battle and tie their fate to that of France. Constance is kidnapped before D'Artagnan's eyes. In a frantic quest to save her, the young musketeer is forced to join forces with the mysterious Milady de Winter.

François Civil and Vicky Crieps in The Three Musketeers: Milady

But as war is declared and Athos, Porthos and Aramis have already joined the front, a terrible secret from the past shatters all old alliances. As the King falls further and further under the control of Cardinal Richelieu, D'Artagnan and the Musketeers are the last bastions before chaos. But, drawn into a plot that threatens to put the country to fire and sword, fate presents them with a terrible choice: will they have to sacrifice those they love to complete?

If you enjoy historical fiction, drama, adventure, action stories, or tales of heroism and friendship, then "The Three Musketeers": Milady is worth adding to your list.

Eva Green’s performance as Milady is perfect. She’s an Actress with a huge talent.

Just a quick note on who is Eva Green. Maybe you know her:

Eva Green appeared in Ridley Scott's historical epic Kingdom of Heaven (2005), and portrayed Bond girl Vesper Lynd in the James Bond film Casino Royale (2006). In 2006, Green was awarded the BAFTA Rising Star Award. She has also appeared in the television series Camelot (2011) and in Showtime's horror drama Penny Dreadful. Her performance in the series earned her a nomination for Best Actress in a Television Series – Drama at the 73rd Golden Globe Awards.

The Three Musketeers: Milady is released on 15 December in UK and Irish cinemas.

Original Language: French: Director: Martin Bourboulon, Producer: Dimitri Rassam; Writer: Alexandre de La Patellière, Matthieu Delaporte, Alexandre Dumas. Production Co: Pathé Films, Umedia, Constantin Film, ZDF, DeAPlaneta, Chapter 2, M6 Films.

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