#! not to be confused with the original dog howlett

[fferal-archive]

@fiddlingonthetympanic sent an ask (in September) (I am very grateful) (I wish I had the ingenuity and energy to match this):

Eventually, Krakoa spat out seasonally temperate zones; the island grew as the mainland shrank beneath the rising tide of seawater. 

They’re too tired to party all night–Krakoa’s seasonally temperate zones developing really sucks the energy out of everyone–no matter how wonderfully batshit the Thoroughfare of Masks was throughout the month, or how much of a distraction Bob-Cat needs with all his kids grubbing for candy with their other parents. The last straggling trick-or-treaters were skulking their way through the trees, many of them darting out to snatch bits of candy from colorful platters before older members of the Wild Hunt could leap out and catch them with a swipe of the claws. (That was all part of the game.) 

Woolf’s fending off Bob-Cat and Daken in the gnarled ‘doorway’ of the pod, but in that annoyed, half-hearted manner that really means ‘you’re both still getting laid.’ 

“Go–off, you two idiots!” She writhes between them, batting Bob’s clawed fingers away from the white fabric of her dress with a huff of exasperation and a gentle shove to Daken’s side. (The latter is sniffing at her. Right time of the month.) Another authoritative push sends Bob-Cat into the pod after him. “Start without me. Put the tape on or something.”

“Thanks for pulling me out of my dad-funk, you guys.” He pauses, reconsidering his  language before giving an apologetic grunt, slinging one hairy arm around Daken’s neck as the other gnaws at him like a chew toy. “‘You two’.” He gives a little sigh, a chuckle, and a laissez-faire shrug, allowing himself to be pulled deeper into the pod. “My bad. We’re never too old to check ourselves, are we?”

“Hey. Bob-cat. Blow me.” Daken’s voice faded into the background, as did the telltale swish of the Krakoan biomattress beneath their weight. 

Woolf lingers  in the doorway, breathing deep the crisp, sugary air and smoke. Ghoulish candlelight flickers from behind the carved faces of fruits, vegetables, and G-d knew what else. The laughter of children rises and falls within the shadow of the trees. ‘A good night,' she decides, reaching to brush her fingers over the warped turnip jack-o’-lanterns she’d hung outside earlier.

When she glances down, the child is there at her feet, smelling of overripe pumpkin and moldering leaves. Her eyes widen beneath the white, wide brim of her hat, a seasonally appropriate breeze rustles the hem of her dress.

Kid’s carrying a giant orange sucker, and it’ll be a miracle if they don’t choke on it before the night’s done.

Her brows draw together in an apologetic frown. “I don’t know if I have any candy left, honeybee.” 

Black button eyes gaze up at her from a burlap sack–face. They’re so–expectant that she tips back the brim of her hat and sighs. ‘How things are done,’ she realizes, then sighs. ‘Gifts for the children.’ 

“Let me get something from inside. D’you like spicy n–” A pumpkin sails past them, exploding against the trunk of a nearby tree with a wet, hollow thunk; Woolf makes a garbled sound of shock and frustration as one Raw Dog–newly reborn as a teenager, as all mutants are eventually-stops his shenanigans,  raising one hand in a not-so-apologetic wave.

“Sorry, ma’am!” A pause stretches between the three as Dog Howlett shifts. “You smell–uh– look nice tonight?”

Fire Knives raised him to be polite to women at least. She glowers at him, then darts back into the pod, briefly hissing at the men inside to ‘keep it down, there’s a kid!’ before returning with a little bag of spiced nuts from a leftover party bag, dropping it into Sack-Child’s treat basket. “Here,” she murmurs, reaching out as if to pat them on their burlap head before pulling her hand back. “Sorry. You caught me a bit late.” 

The child scurries away without a word, and she feels a weight leave her shoulders as she foils her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at the teenager vandalizing his way past.“You should have some respect for tradition, Dog,” she calls disapprovingly “The roots of this sort of thing run deep!”

Then, she leaves him to mull the importance of the old ways in favor of watching an old mummy-themed porno while eating Hunt-jerky off of washboard abs. 

“When I told you to get started, you really ran with it…”her voice fades away, and “Raw Dog” Howlett and the strange, solemn trick-or-treater are left relatively alone, one with an oversized sucker and candy bucket, the other with his general douchebaggery and disrespect for the holiday season.

A bare foot punts a jack-o’-melon like a soccer ball.“Go to bed, yo,” is all Raw Dog–whose birth name is Wild Dog–tells him, sniffing loudly and rubbing a hand over his runny nose as the sad remains of fruit rind and candle wax drips down the side of a stone ledge.“The grown-ups have things to do.”

Black button eyes glint.

___

Woolf wakes up in a pile of man-flesh in the middle of the night, her nostrils flaring at the scent of drying blood. She grunts, spitting out a mouthful of Bob’s hair even as she runs a hand along a sleek, bare thigh. (Daken’s, judging by the thick pelt of manfur.)  Blood. Too close. 

Don’t like that.

“S’mone g’see what that is,” she mumbles, less concerned about the vaguely familiar smell than its proximity to her ‘autumn-summer home.’ “Bob. Up.” At his rrroooorrwl of protest, she nudges the thigh-haver. “You. Fang. Up. No kids vandalizing my porch tonight.” 

Daken eventually does drag himself outside, muttering and bitching about family. The blood smells of Raw Dogging, you see.

So does the severed head hanging strung alongside  the turnip jack-o’-lanterns, its eyes glassy and staring, lips split wide by the bright orange sucker jammed into its mouth.

“Tell your nephew to clean up his mess!”

[alisonwritesimagines]

Second Chance ~Logan Howlett Imagine~

Summary: Logan meets you. A variant of his dead wife.

Author’s Note: I won't lie, Hugh Jackman was hotter in the early 2000s.

Part Two

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE, mentions of character deaths, mentions of sexual innuendos

Do not repost this anywhere!

A new start for Logan was just what he needed. And thanks to the TVA, Laura was able to join him in the universe Wade was originally from. So this was a new start for the two of them. And to celebrate their success in saving the universe, Wade decided to have a pizza dinner party with all his friends so Logan and Laura can get to know them.

"We are missing one more person," Wade noticed as he looked around.

"Y/n will be coming soon. She had to deal with something first," Yukio tells him.

"Thank you, Yukio," Wade smiled at her.

"Y/n?" Logan asked Wade.

"Oh you are going to love her. Everyone does," Wade tells him. "You too Mary Puppins."

Ten minutes later, you finally showed up.

"As an apology for coming late, I made my famous brownies!" You announced as you handed the plate with the chocolate goods to Negasonic Teenage Warhead.

Logan looked over to see that the stranger who walked in felt like a walking corpse to him. His smile drained from his face as he stared at you who was greeting the people you knew.

"Y/n! I want you to meet our new friends! Logan and Laura," Wade said. It felt like a cheesy rom com slow motion turn to Logan. But he was still enchanted by your beauty.

"It's nice to meet you both," you smiled at them.

"It's nice to meet you too," Laura said as she shook your hand.

"Please excuse me," Logan said as he walked out. Your smile fell a little as you watched the man walk out. You looked back at Wade who had a confused look as well.

"I will be right back. But here. Meet Mary Puppins," Wade said as he handed the dog over to you.

Wade rushed out of the apartment to find Logan outside.

"Hey! What was that? You just ran out on one of the best people I have ever met. She is tied with Peter and Yukio," Wade tells him.

"I didn't realize you had a version of her here," Logan tells him.

"What are you talking about?" Wade asked him.

"Y/n. She was my wife in my universe," Logan explains to him.

"No shit. You were married?" Wade asked him in shock.

"She was also killed because of me."

"This one is different."

"And how's that?" Logan asked him.

"She's a really big badass here," Wade tells him.

"She was in my universe too. But I still let her and everyone down."

"This one could be different."

"I don't know."

"Why don't you come back upstairs and have pizza and get to know her?" Wade offered.

"I think I'm gonna stay out here for a bit," Logan tells him.

"Alright."

Wade headed back upstairs, leaving Logan all alone. Not fifteen minutes later, you came outside with a plate of pizza and a brownie piece and a beer.

"You are missing the pizza and my brownies which Wade was mostly eating all of them," you tell Logan as you handed the food and drink to him.

"Thanks."

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" You asked him.

"No. It's just... you look like someone and it's bringing back some memories for me," Logan tells you.

"Oh. Do you want to talk about it? If it makes you feel better, Wade has told me weirder things and more depressing things," you tell him. Logan let out a small chuckle.

"Maybe not now. I'm sorry for running out while you were introducing yourself."

"That's okay. Let's reintroduce ourselves. I'm Y/n. It's nice to meet you," you smiled at him.

"It's nice to meet you too. I'm Logan."

"Hi Logan. So, did you have to suffer with Wade alone for a couple of days too?" You asked him. Logan laughed a little.

"Yeah. I did."

"I can tell. You have a tired look on you," you laughed a little. Logan smiled softly, hearing your laugh. It was no different from his universe's you.

"You know, the party is upstairs and we are missing it," you tell him.

"That's true. Let's go," Logan said as he followed you back upstairs.

During the party, you sat next to Vanessa as you both were catching up. Logan kept looking at you whenever he could as he talked to Laura.

"You like her," Laura tells Logan loud enough for only him to hear.

"Come on kid," Logan groaned a little.

"She's pretty. And Wade talked to her about letting me stay with her and the other X-Men," Laura tells him.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Apparently she's a good teacher both education wise and powers wise," Laura tells him.

"She always was," Logan said, looking back at you. Your eyes met Logan's, making you smile at him.

"Oh he's cute. You should totally get with him when you can," Vanessa encouraged.

"You think I should?" You asked her.

"Yes! Plus he's handsome," Vanessa nudged.

"And his abs are amazing," Wade mentioned to you. You looked at Vanessa who also had the same look of interested with you.

At the end, you grabbed your bag and jacket before saying goodbye to Blind Al and Wade.

"You ready to check out the school?" You asked Laura.

"Yeah."

"Can I actually ask you something before you leave, Y/n?" Logan asked you.

"Sure. What's up?" You asked as you walked over to him.

"Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?" Logan asked you. You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled happily.

"Yeah. I'd like that. Here's my number," you tell him as you wrote it down really quickly for him.

"Call me."

"I will."

"Alright. I'll see you soon hopefully," you tell him.

"See you soon."

"Bye, Logan," Laura waved at him before following you out.

"So, are you two just going to adopt Laura and start a family?" Wade asked him.

"Leave it."

"Just letting you know, she likes it rough in bed."

"You and her had sex?"

"Nope. But I did overhear her and Vanessa talk about what they liked in the bed one time," Wade tells him. "And trust me. She may look sweet and innocent, but she is a bit of a masochist."

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[tobiasdrake]

The film starts off with an extremely truncated rendition of the comic Wolverine: The Origin.

In the comic, Dog Logan is an eerily Sabretooth-like figure with a complicated relationship to young Logan James. He's the son of the Howlett family's groundskeeper, Thomas Logan, who is secretly also James's dad.

Back in the day there was a lot of speculation about whether Dog was actually Sabretooth, in fact. Today, decades later, the comics have firmly canonized an answer and that answer is no; Dog is an entirely separate and fairly obscure character in Marvel canon.

But, in the interest of the story the film is telling, it superimposes Actual Sabretooth Victor Creed over Dog's role in its four-minute adaptation of a six-issue miniseries.

Quick question: Who the fuck are the Creeds?

James's dad turns to Victor and firmly, with some hostility, tells him to take his dad home. Victor points out that his dad is screaming the name of Elizabeth, and Papa Howlett reacts like that's a startling reveal Victor just dropped. "OH SHIT, those angry shouts of Elizabeth meant Elizabeth Elizabeth!?!?"

Like. What did you think he was saying, my dude?

But also. Who the fuck are the Creeds? Thomas Logan was the family groundskeeper, but it has not been established who these people are relative to the Howletts. Victor is, I guess, a friend of James's but what is his dad to James's dad?

James's dad talks like this is a regular occurrence. "Your father is drunk again." Does. Does he normally get so wasted that he starts pounding on the doors and screaming for Elizabeth? Is this expected behavior of Howlett family staff? Victor sure doesn't talk to James or his dad like he's subordinate.

Are they neighbors whose sons are friends? Do the neighbors normally get so wasted they come into the Howlett residence and start pounding on doors and screaming for Elizabeth?

Why is he so blasé about this up until Victor points it out?

Well, there's a hint in Mr. Howlett's last words.

Okay. So, Mr. Creed is actually not supposed to ever come back to this house. His very presence in the building is violent trespassing.

...so what the fuck was "Go take your dad home, Victor" about? In fact, why is Mr. Howlett cool with Victor being here. James is bedridden with illness and Victor's sulking in the corner of the room whining about it when this scene begins. Why is Victor here.

"Get out, leave this place, NEVER EVER SET FOOT IN MY HOME AGAIN. Oh, but send your boy over for playtime."

Seriously, what the fuck is the relationship between the Creeds and Howletts?

Mr. Creed shoots Mr. Howlett, who seriously went to confront a violent trespasser trying to kidnap his wife armed only with sharp words. James finds his dad's body and is so enraged that he immediately grows bone claws and stabs Mr. Creed.

Then Mr. Creed reveals, like Thomas Logan, that he is in fact James's real dad. Which I guess everyone else knew about and is the reason he wasn't supposed to come back to the estate.

And then, after all of this is said and done, his mom decides to get mad at James for having claws instead of... any of what took place over the last minute.

This whole scene is a big climactic moment from the comic but without any of the build-up to it. And, again, a giant question mark around the Creeds.

But the main takeaway, the part that's going to be important for this film, is that Victor is super pro-killing his dad.

Which. Y'know. Fair. Guy seemed like a bastard. Probably beat his son.

That's the main point this confusing scene is trying to get to. Wolverine and Sabretooth are biologically half-brothers and they're all the other has in the world. And they will kill for one another.

But also that James is a sweet and sensitive boy in over his head, and Victor is stone-cold.

[gyrlversion]

Prodigy singer Keith Flint was found hanging at £1.5million mansion

Prodigy frontman Keith Flint was last pictured at a pub in Chelmsford, Essex, on March 2

The Prodigy frontman Keith Flint was found hanging in his £1.5million country mansion, an inquest heard today.

The 49-year-old singer was discovered unresponsive last Monday at his home in the Essex village of Dunmow, Chelmsford Coroner’s Court was told.

He had recently returned from a tour in Australia and locals said they had seen him jogging in the lead up to his death.

The inquest comes as Flint’s former bandmates thanked fans for their outpouring of support after his death. 

A two-minute hearing this morning was told Flint had died by hanging and a toxicology report was being prepared.

Coroner’s assistant Lynsey Chaffe told the court today: ‘On March 4, 2019, Mr Flint, a 49-year-old gentleman, was found unresponsive at his home.

‘An ambulance was called paramedics arrived and found Mr Flint had passed away. Police attended, all protocols were followed and the death was confirmed as non-suspicious.

Flint, with his estranged wife Mayumi Kai in Kensingon, West London, in November 2009

The Prodigy’s Liam Howlett is seen in North London yesterday almost a week after Flint’s death

‘A post-mortem examination was carried out on March 6, 2019 at Broomfield Hospital by Doctor Lower who has given a provisional cause of death as hanging, which is under investigation whilst we are awaiting toxicology.’

A full hearing will take place on July 23. Senior coroner Caroline Beasley-Murray passed her condolences to the band’s manager as she set a date.

Howlett was seen filling up his sports car at the petrol station in North London yesterday

Flint’s Prodigy bandmate Liam Howlett was seen in North London yesterday, for the first time since Flint was found dead.

Howlett, 47, considered the leader of the band, was seen days after appearing to confirm Flint took his own life.

Previously he wrote on Instagram: ‘The news is true, I can’t believe I’m saying this but our brother Keith took his own life over the weekend.

‘I’m shell shocked , f***ing angry, confused and heart broken r.i.p brother.’

Howlett was seen looking glum as he filled up his car in London, near to where there was a rave in honour of Flint over the weekend, with proceeds going to mental health charities. 

Energetic musician, singer and dancer Flint was found unresponsive by medics in his marital home he shared with estranged wife Mayumi Kai.

Keith fought a long battle with drink, drugs and depression, however his wife previously had ‘saved him’ from his party lifestyle. 

Over the weekend it emerged he had spent up to two years dating a mother-of-three in Essex before his death last week.

Howlett (left) and Flint (right) are pictured together at Too2much nightclub in London in 2006

Howlett seemed preoccupied and pensive as he filled up his car, according to witnesses

The Prodigy star was dating Faye Kelbie, 43, after the pair met in their local village.

The Prodigy frontman is understood to have delayed the sale of the couple’s country pile in the hopes of winning back Miss Kai

At the time of his death last Monday it was reported the Firestarter hitmaker had been asking Miss Kai to come home.

However, it has now emerged he had been dating Miss Kelbie after splitting with Miss Kai, a Japanese DJ, years ago.

The businesswoman has been devastated by his suicide, a friend told The Sun. The pair had broken up weeks ago but had talked days before his death, it was claimed.

Flint is believed to have taken his own life at his home.

A source close to Miss Kelbie told The Sun: ‘Faye is absolutely devastated. For over two years, Keith was a huge part of her life and she adored him. ‘They split up because she struggled with the amount of time he was touring.

‘Faye just wishes she had known the extent of his unhappiness and mental health issues — she would have done all she could to help. But the feeling is that Keith made his mind up to end things weeks ago.’

Miss Kelbie, who runs her own dermatology clinic and has three sons was seen crying after his death but declined to comment on their relationship. 

Flint bought the country home in Dunmow, Essex, and the surrounding estate in 1997

The singer was last seen in a pub in Chelmsford buying lunch for his personal trainer. Just hours earlier he had run a Park Run 5k and reportedly got a personal best time in.

He was last seen on March 2, when he appeared to be in good spirits. 

Pictures shared with MailOnline show hours after a park run the singer and dancer was casually dressed, eating with his personal trainer at the Galvin Green Man in Chelmsford. 

He was seen joking with other diners as he bought lunch for himself and his trainer. 

He even asked permission to take a few bottles of beer and cider home with him afterwards, it was claimed. 

He was sat next to an unlit fire, prompting the photographer to initially joke about whether he was going to be a Firestarter again as he sang in his 1990s hit which made Prodigy a household name. However, he was battling personal demons. 

A wall in Brick Lane, East London, was sprayed with a tribute to the singer who was adored by thousands of fans. The Prodigy said they have been touched by the outpouring of love for him

Flint was in a ‘serious relationship’ with secret girlfriend Faye Kelbie, according to reports

The Prodigy frontman is even understood to have delayed the sale of the couple’s country pile in Essex in hopes of winning back Miss Kai.

The 15th century farmhouse was listed for sale just days ago. 

Flint was born on September 17, 1969, in Redbridge, East London. Pictures from his childhood show him sitting angelically with a neat side-parting for a school photo.

But Flint said he had an unhappy childhood and hated being at home. He added that he had ‘a dysfunctional side’, despite having a high IQ.

After leaving school, he moved to Braintree, Essex, and met Howlett in a nightclub. Flint was originally The Prodigy’s dancer but the band’s fortunes were transformed with him as vocalist and they would go on to sell 30million records.

Controversial songs such as Firestarter and Smack My B**** Up sparked public outrage but won the band millions of fans.

Faye Kelbie (pictured) is said to be devastated after the death of Flint, whom she was dating

Flint’s much-parodied performance in the 1996 video for No 1 single Firestarter – scowling and yelling ‘I’m a firestarter, twisted firestarter’ – is said to have attracted the most viewer complaints in the history of Top Of The Pops.

The band had been due to appear at this year’s Glastonbury festival, which they had headlined in 1997, and their album No Tourists topped the charts in November.

They had recently returned from a tour of Australia and were due to appear in North and South America before making appearances at several of Europe’s summer festivals.

Flint briefly dated children’s TV presenter Gail Porter – as a couple they were dubbed ‘Beauty and the Beast’ but they split in 2000. Miss Porter last night tweeted one word: ‘Heartbroken.’

In 2006 he married Japanese DJ Miss Kai. Flint credited her with saving him from drugs but they had separated and she was working in Japan when he died.

The singer had reinvented himself as a country gentleman. Neighbours said he was nothing like his wild onstage persona but a well-spoken fitness fanatic who was often seen out riding, running or cycling and was teetotal.

One said: ‘He was lovely, always very friendly and polite. He liked to ride and loved his dogs. The image you might think of him with rings in his nose was wrong. He was really nice.’

Flint (left) seemed happy on March 2 in Chelmsford, proudly discussing that morning’s personal-best 5k run with his personal trainer (right) and how it felt good to open his lungs up

Flint (middle) takes part in the Park Run in Chelmsford two days before he was found dead

Flint bought and renovated a pub, The Leather Bottle, in the nearby village of Pleshey.

Customers were ordered to pay a £1 fine if they made a quip about Firestarter when he lit the pub’s fire. He quit the tenancy in 2017.

He was also involved with motorcycle racing as owner and manager of Team Traction Control, which won three Isle of Man TT races in 2015.

In an interview with FHM magazine in 2015, Flint said he ‘wasn’t saving up for anything’ and was ‘cashing it all now’.  

In his trademark outspoken way, he added: ‘I’ve always had this thing inside me that, when I’m done, I’ll kill myself. I swear to God that’s not suicidal – it’s definitely a positive thing. The moment I start sh***ing the bed is when you’ll see me on the front of a bus.’

Essex Police said Flint had been alone at his house, which was set behind high walls in ten acres of land.

For confidential support call the Samaritans on 116123, visit a local Samaritans branch or see samaritans.org for details. 

The Prodigy songs enter the Top 40 chart following Keith Flint’s death 

Flint in the video for 1996 hit Firestarter

Two of The Prodigy’s songs have entered the Official Big Top 40 following the death of singer Keith Flint.

The vocalist was found dead at his home in Essex on March 4.

His death sparked a surge in streams and downloads of the electronic band’s music, and their 1996 track Firestarter is now at seven in the Official Big Top 40 chart.

Their hit Breathe, which was also first released in 1996, is at number 31. Both songs were number one when they were first unveiled. 

The Official Big Top 40 is compiled from Apple Music streaming and iTunes sales data, as well as airplay from the stations on which the show is broadcast.

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