#pear text

[pearwaldorf]

Sinners is amazing. It is a movie that should be seen in theaters, although idk if the IMAX format is strictly necessary (Coogler recommends it). That premium technology experience is expensive!

I appreciate movies made by people who know exactly what kind of story they want to tell and how they want to do it. It's accessible to a non-Black audience if they want it to be, but it is very clear it is not for the dominant culture.

It was very smart to make Remmick, somebody of Irish descent, the villain. The movie makes clear the Irish had their own version of griots, the fili. And the loss of that connection is what motivates the central conflict of the story. (How it relates to things outside of the movie? Well.)

As somebody of Chinese ancestry, I'd heard the movie includes Chinese immigrants who did settle in Mississippi*, but I thought they'd have a bit part, not integrated into the story itself.

I was already all in on that beautiful scene in the juke, with Sammie piercing the borders between time and space and making those connections between music and heritage and resistance that are important for Black people but others too. And then I saw the opera dancer floating in amongst everybody else and cried even harder.

Like. This is first and foremost a Black story. But it doesn't mean other people weren't there. It means a great deal to me that Grace and Bo were included and had the same motivation and stakes as the Black characters, because they were part of the community too.

Historically, the fight for civil rights in the US has been explicitly intersectional. The Black civil rights movement is what helped galvanize so many others, and there was a great deal of intellectual exchange between members of all the movements.

It is good to have explicit reminders of that solidarity, especially in times where there are attempts to set some minorities above others like we don't all end up in the same boat eventually. I'm grateful to Coogler for including that, even though he didn't have to.

--

* C.O. Chinn was a Black man of Chinese ancestry. He and his family lived in Canton** and provided material support to the SNCC in may ways. He was a fucking badass and you should read about him.

** According to the locals, Canton's name has a foreign origin even if there's no actual documentation for it. (Canton is an older Anglicized name for Guangzhou Province.)

[polarity-disturbed]

I think one of the funniest ongoing fandom debates is when people try to “disprove” the idea that the Doctor could be asexual or on the ace spectrum. Like, someone will say, “They can’t be ace—they made a horny joke once,” or, “But they said they had a wild summer with Houdini!” And every time I hear it, I just want to cup my hands over my mouth, close my eyes, and sigh in deep disappointment.

Because, first of all: a) Asexuality isn’t a binary switch. Ace people can and do have sex, enjoy it, and make dirty jokes. Being ace doesn’t mean you’re allergic to the concept of horniness—it just means your relationship to it is different. And b) Have you met any ace-spectrum people? Because some of the filthiest, most shamelessly raunchy individuals I know are ace or demi. Myself included. I’m demi, one of my best friends is ace, and the sheer number of cursed, unhinged conversations we’ve had would make Casanova blush.

People get so wrapped up in the idea that being ace means being emotionally distant, sexless, or repressed—and that’s just… not true. At all. The Doctor could absolutely be ace, demi, gray-ace, or anything else on the spectrum and still flirt, make suggestive comments, or even engage in relationships. One doesn’t cancel out the other.

Ace folks contain multitudes. So does the Doctor. Let’s not pretend those things are mutually exclusive.

[peargreen-jellybean]

too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted

my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy

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

Logan’s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.

Afraid of his claws or just his name.

The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.

So waking up exhausted isn’t new. It's about the only way he’s woken up for a long time.

And that’s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.

Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.

One eye begrudgingly cracks open.

Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.

But… Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feels… comfortable.

Huh.

Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint of… gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isn’t inside of.

Huh.

“Mmm.” Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.

Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.

A house- er, an apartment more likely. And he’s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, he’s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.

There isn’t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isn’t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.

Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.

And then-

His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. “Fucking hell.”

The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.

The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.

… Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.

Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what he’s wearing.

A gray, “I eat cement” T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.

Yeah, that seems about right.

He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.

Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.

Too interested to ignore whatever’s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution can’t be shaken.

He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.

Food.

God, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.

Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.

With “I <3 hot dads” shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasn’t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.

It’s jarringly warm, and domestic.

Logan is again thrown for a moment.

When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?

Ever?

That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.

Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.

Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.

“Well, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.” He motions over to the table with his chin. “I made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroes’ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And there’s a pot of coffee over there.” He gestures to a machine on the counter now. “You can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We don’t have creamer but there’s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker…”

Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times he’s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he can’t find the want to be actually irritated.

Not in the face of food, and coffee, and just… comfort.

Speaking of…

Logan clears the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.

Which Wade seems to find fascinating.

“Holy shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.” Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.

Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ‘preferred seat’, but Logan can’t help but pause. ‘Make yourself at home’ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he can’t accept as easily as the coffee.

It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he can’t help but feel like he isn’t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortable…

“Stupid fucking piece of metal crap!” Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.

Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.

God, so just… sit, you fucking moron.

Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isn’t an asshole- and settles in.

He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. There’s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.

Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other man’s attention.

“Do uh, do you got a fork or somethin’?”

“Ah fuck, that’s what I forgot!” Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. “Didn’t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuck…” He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.

He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. “Here you go Peanut, pick your favorite!”

Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.

But before brawling again, he calls back, “Help yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!”

Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toaster’s victims, once he’s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and just… enjoys.

The moment is pretty… nice.

Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesn’t even know that time it is. Wade isn’t quiet, hardly ever is, but he’s not overly inane or loud right now.

It’s all… good.

So… What does it?

An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?

It could be anything, everything.

But all he knows is that it’s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.

Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. He’s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.

Air isn’t breathable. His lungs won’t let it in.

Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.

… He knows this.

Panic.

This is panic.

Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While he’s sitting in Wade fucking Wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?

Yes, it is.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

He can’t focus anywhere anymore- it’s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.

He’s spiraling. He’s breaking. And he can’t find the fight to beat himself out of it.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t hear the increasingly desperate ‘Logan?’s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.

He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.

His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they don’t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.

It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-

Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.

He’s cuddling him.

Uh-

And because it’s what he does best, Logan rages.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other man’s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.

“Eeeasy Peanut,” Wade hushes, not relinquishing Logan’s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wade’s stubbornness takes the victory. Logan’s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.

“Easy, easy, easy…” Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. “Vanessa did this… when shit got really bad.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.

There’s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and let’s himself feel.

Wade’s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, they’re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wade’s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wade’s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.

All of it, it… helps.

The revelation startles Logan.

The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Logan’s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because it’s there.

Wade… is anchoring him.

Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because he’s being handled at all, but Logan can’t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He can’t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. It’s so- He’s feels so-

…

… When was the last time he was held?

Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.

Was it before- God does it hurt.

… Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?

After?… Definitely not.

Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.

Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wade’s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.

Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. “Better right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kid’s ice cream. It’s like the guilty, trauma victim’s morphine.” He pauses, and there’s a grin to his words now. “I also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.”

Yup. There it is. Asshole.

But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming.

He’s- something Logan can’t quite name. Or at least, he’s unwilling to.

Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but he’s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.

Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wade’s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Logan’s hair onto his shoulder.

The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like he’s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.

He isn’t ready to let go.

He isn’t ready for Wade to leave.

With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wade’s shorts just below the hip he isn’t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like he’s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.

Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what he’s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.

Weak. Pathetic.

Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Logan’s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.

Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Logan’s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Logan’s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.

Logan cries a small sound he’s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he can’t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wade’s shorts and wraps his arms around the other man’s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesn’t complain. Doesn’t do anything except this… hold him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.”

Ah, he said that out loud.

… He’ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but it’ll all be later. When Wade isn’t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isn’t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.

When he isn’t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’s allowed to have kindness.

Fucking… Wade.

[ascreamforhelp]

pearl :D

[aropride]

things that should be illegal:

1. selling cans without a tab to pull it open

2. weed if this solution is anything to judge by

[miyrumiyru]

Hornet party!!!

I wanted to see Asian giant hornet but they didn't come to party ;/

[masquayla-the-splendid]

GUYS do you remember THIS post???

Well. Do I have a story for you.

When I was a wee young lass, I was on the Pony side of doll enjoyers. This was like 2008, so it was G3. I had several DVDs of the cartoon, but I had one of a live performance called "The World's Biggest Tea Party." It's exactly what you expect.

One day, I decide to go through all of my DVDs and re watch some that I haven't in a while, this being one of them. It's barely reaching feature film length, but the pacing makes it feel like it's well over an hour.

But I'm not here to critique an Mlp musical meant for 5 year olds, I'm here to show you where part of my Sister Location synesthesia probably comes from.

LOOK.

It was hard to find exact visual parallels, because like I said in the linked post, pink light is used when the Funtimes are preforming, which you see very little of in-game.

There were even similar plot concepts!!! Don't be alarmed, it's not what you think!!!

The movie is available for free on YouTube, but I'll summarize it since the dragging was stronger than my nostalgia goggles.

Pinkie Pie wants to plan an event with her friends where they "have the most fun in one day." So the whole movie is them preparing for a tea party that happens at their friend's house outside of PonyVille. Subplot with Spike trying to find a "how-to" book and the Ladybugs trolling him. Pinkie was so focused on making sure her friends didn't forget their responsibilities, that by the time they got there, she realized she forgot the tea. She feels super bad, but some encouragement from Minty and the screaming child audience summons an oversize teapot. Happy ending.

Text-to-text comparisons I drew:

Main character is a shade of red, and likes parties.

"The most fun in one day"

Main character being overly aware of what everyone else is doing. Super attentive, or if exaggerated, you could call it being bossy.

Main character has a big oopsie.

One of the ponies who is SO adhd coded keeps subconsciously putting off preparing her decorations. She "just wants to have fun." (Character does a thing, doesn't know why, only wants fun.)

Giant kitchen utensil.

The Ladybugs and Minireenas. They share similar design features, and pester a character associated with the color purple.

Those three fairy ponies? Bidybabs. Ones of em's even yellow, it can be Electrobab.

"Bounce Back-Ability"/Adapting from the oopsie.

The aforementioned synesthesia was all visual. I hardly remembered anything of the plot until I watched it recently. I wanna say the last time I put that DVD in, I was like 6. So like the synesthesia was coming from a near 14 year old memory. That's nuts.

[rad-roche]

blender experiment from some weeks back. tried to set up a painterly node situation with a low poly pear i modelled. couldn't figure it out. got frustrated and just texture painted the thing myself

the forbidden angle of the pear. you can see the plane changes in the model

there IS a way to do it and i'll get there eventually. still, this is pretty relaxing. part of what makes painting so hard is navigating plane changes. with 3D you've already made them. the planes they are a-changin. it's more like a colouring-in book

[luxustextbox]

source

[the-purple-possum]

Silly lil theory that 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away' originated from an older civilisation trying to feed the doctor a pear and him going ballistic over it, and since linguistics change, mistranslations of an early text documenting it cause it to end up as 'apple'.

[aqours-stims]

autistic kanon shibuya 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9

[pearwaldorf]

We should all say thank you to Jordan Peele for rescuing Monkey Man from streaming because this movie deserves to be seen on a big screen. There was a lot of love and craft put into this movie and I'm glad it can be properly appreciated.

I am pleased to report it absolutely fucks and the soundtrack is banging. It owes a lot to John Wick, of course, but also Atomic Blonde and Hong Kong action movies. (They didn't even use all six shots in the revolver, which was a nice touch.) I would watch a whole John Wick-esque franchise with Dev Patel as an action hero.

If, like me, you are a fan of attractive men suffering and/or getting fucked up, this movie will feed you extremely well.

I'm extremely not familiar with Indian cinema, but it's real interesting watching this after RRR. (To be clear, this is a movie made by somebody of Indian descent, but it is not exactly an Indian movie.) Not just in political outlook (the evil politician and his party are clearly meant to evoke Modi and the BJP), but how they use Hindu religious imagery to frame the story.

[edit:] Netflix gave up the rights to the movie precisely because of the portrayal of the nationalist political party. Well then.

I am not culturally equipped to discuss the role of hijra in Indian society, but it is absolutely significant (and intentional) Patel's character is rescued and guided by a community of hijra. That speaks a great deal to where his social and political allegiances lie, and I'm glad to support that.

[chinad011-art]

clover and pear notes 🍀🍐 their heights being inverses of each other was a happy accident

[peargreen-jellybean]

random, poolverine hurt/comfort idea. wade is a little less insane in this bc i think he mellows out a bit at home and bc i’m too lazy to write more

(below cut if you give a shit)

after the time ripper

logan wakes up and expects to be in an alleyway or the back of a bar bc the owner was too nervous to make him leave. expects a hard surface and broken glass in his chest. but he’s on a crappy couch, in clothes not belonging to him, and inside what looks like an apartment

the memories sluggishly come back, almost too absurd to believe, but when he’s fully awake he hears a radio and cautiously follows the sound to, he discovers, a kitchen

and there’s wade fucking wilson, wearing “i <3 hot dads” shorts, an apron, crocs. no shirt, no mask. turning a toaster this way and that, and shaking it like he wants information from it

wade notices the lingering man in the doorway, chirps a ‘good morning peanut’, gestures to a “hero’s breakfast” and tells his guest to help himself. the toaster is being a dick right now and he’s trying to fix it

a bit taken back, at the sheer domestic-ness of it all, logan drops into a seat at the wobbly table and takes the tabletop in. half burned toast, mostly scrambled eggs, and an assortment of other breakfast time items he hasn’t really seen, much less eaten, in years

what does it? old memories and guilts, recent events and their pains, the familiar smell of coffee, wade grumbling at the counter over a broken toaster like a strange picture of domestic living? really it could be anything, but logan starts to tremble in his seat. something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. it’s overwhelming. too much at once

is he really going to break down here, now, in wade fucking wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and listening to a quiet song on the radio?

yeah, he is. fucking pathetic

but logan is startled out of his spiral by:

fingers sliding into his hair. a hand tugging at his head. his face pressing into a warm, solid body

wade has abandoned his toaster and now cradles him to his hip

logan yanks his head away with a ‘what the fuck are you doing’, or he tries to. wade doesn’t let him escape far, pulling him back into the dip of his hip. gently holding him and rubbing his scalp with his fingertips once he feels logan give up the fight

‘easy peanut.’ wade hesitates for a moment. ‘vanessa used to do this… when shit got really bad.’

he doesn’t elaborate. he doesn’t have to. the weight of the softly spoken words is enough.

and while he wants to fight it- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or pity- logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in this moment, and let’s himself feel

wade is constant, steady; the weight of his hand gentle, but grounding. the dip of his hip holding his head near perfectly. the warmth of him seeping into his skin, then flesh, then bones, settling in his chest

wade is anchoring him

maybe he should fight this, or be annoyed, or just generally pissed at the coddling, but when was the last time he was held like this? comforted like this?

wade will be insufferable after this, probably smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming. he’s- something logan can’t quite name

and call him weak, call him pathetic- because maybe he is- he’s gonna savor this for as long as he can

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

that’s it. that’s all i got. enjoy, or don’t. that’s up to you ig

[ms-tv-art]

S7 E13 "The Perfect Pear" had no right to rip my heart out and rip it up and make me cry so hard right before bed

Genuinely I sobbed when that episode ended and the song broke my heart

[itsdefinitely]

OC-tober day 8 (design) - Navigator

This is the North Star! I designed it to go along with the Winter Solstice, so it looks a little bit frostbitten