#I still love Fiona and I think she gets way more hate than she deserves

[lyricailove]

So here's that Fiona and Women meta I said I'd do a while ago.

Preface this by saying: This is not Fiona hate because I don't hate Fiona. I actually have a lot of grace and empathy for Fiona. I find a lot of the hate she gets is either greatly exaggerated or outright wrong. That said, I'm all for proper critique and that's what this is.

When it comes to Fiona and how she relates to other women, there's a lot of judgment and competition going on. The only exception is V, and I suspect it's because V is one, already in a relationship so Fiona's not competing with her for other men, and two, because V has a certain kind of feminity that Fiona respects.

Fiona strikes me as the type who is a feminist in name only. She's someone who slips into respectability politics in a way that's counterproductive to actually supporting women. She wants equality for women and for women to be respected but only certain women.

This brings me to her treatment of Mandy, Svetlana, and Debbie.

Mandy

From the moment when Mandy and Lip get together properly, Fiona is very judgmental and rude to Mandy. To the point where Mandy knows Fiona doesn't like her and if my readings are right, it hurts Mandy's feelings. To a certain extent, Mandy looks up to Fiona and even relates to her. They both being the girls in their family who do/have taken care of the domestic duties of the household and who seek refuge in sexual relationships. But just like I think Mandy relates a lot to Fiona, I think Fiona sees herself in Mandy. I think that's what scares her about Mandy and Lip's relationship. Fiona, as most can tell, doesn't like herself very much and because of that anything reminds her of herself she rejects. Granted, she won't kick Mandy out but she's not very warm to her either. It's like cold acceptance of her presence. I think if Fiona had taken the time to get to know Mandy, they would have gotten along a lot better. Maybe even learned from each other. Hopefully at Milkovich/Gallagher Christmases, they've had the chance to talk things out.

Svetlana

I feel like Fiona's feelings toward Svetlana are both clear-cut and complicated. On one hand, Svetlana was the wife of her brother's boyfriend and even if we never saw her and Ian talk about that, I'd imagine Fiona has an idea of that period. Also, how much it hurt Ian to watch Mickey get married and have a family. So, I'm including that as a reason. Not saying it's a fair assessment of Svetlana's role, because I also see Svet as a victim in that paradigm along with Ian and Mickey. There's also the jealousy of Svetlana and V bonding while Fiona is busy. V and Fiona eventually made up but by the time they had that conversation Svetlana was gone and there was no way she and Fiona could've patched that up, which I think they would have. There's the amazing scene where Svetlana actually calls Fiona out for her looking down on Svetlana. She calls out how Fiona judges her while not acknowledging that Svet works hard and is determined to make a life for herself. Svetlana has the confidence in herself that Fiona lacks. I think that breeds a level of resentment, because like a lot of people, Fiona looks down on Svetlana as a sex worker/former sex worker. Like Svetlana says, she works hard and is not deterred from her path so she will succeed. Whereas Fiona will get cold feet and self-sabotage when she's doing well for herself. It's like she thinks she doesn't deserve it. If Fiona and Svetlana had been able to be on good terms, I think Svetlana could've been a good influence on Fiona.

Debbie

I know this is gonna seem like a cop-out but I blame the writers for how Fiona and Debbie's bouts would develop. The only two sisters in a house full of brothers and an alcoholic father who only loves himself. They should've been the closest. But instead, we get power struggles and anti-choice storylines. I have to bring back the fake feminist point from earlier. I think Fiona is one of those women that's pro-choice but only if it's the choice she agrees with. Was Debbie being a teen mom the best choice? No, no one would ever say that. But, by the time she learned of the pregnancy, it was too late to force Debbie into terminating, and that wasn't up to her to begin with. Fiona was working off emotion and not being solution-oriented. She shamed Debbie for getting pregnant, tried to force her to get an abortion, and got physical when she wouldn't agree to it. I don't doubt that Fiona loves her niece now, but the beginning was a nightmare. And in the end, Debbie defied all odds and showed herself to be a top-notch mother. Let's also talk about how Debbie was the only sibling to show Fiona empathy when she was having her breakdown, and how Fiona left Debbie in charge of the house when she left. All that potential to show them being close is left untouched because Shameless is a show created and steered by men and it shows.

[iangallagherisadeadman]

shameless hot takes

i kind of dig the way lip ended up as a failure. i know a lot of people hate what the show did to him, how he never lived up to his potential (the same way they do it to rory gilmore) but like. that happens. lifes just like that. sometimes people who have had everything to live with grandiosity end up ruining everything up, and lips life was HARD and it SUCKED so him failing its kind of expectable i think. and its not like lips life ended, mans not even 30 and hes not just smart hes a genius, he will end up turning the table and coming straight to the top, i believe so.

frank doesn't love his children. i know people like to think frank was somewhat nice sometimes and that he was troubled but he loved the gallaghers his own way but i dont think he really did. he didnt even knew them. he was just too selfish and a narcissist and not even once a "act of love" was genuine or didnt have a gain for him or was somewhat for his benefit or interest.

of all plots, i believe gay jesus was the worst. i tried to remeber every other plot of the show and dont get me wrong the frank and his buddy pal mickey oshea SUCKED and i love ian hes my favorite character but what the fuck was that. the idea is really nice but it took so long to convey this arc of mania of him and it just was really badly written and executed and later it doesn't have importance to the plot. no surprise cameron monaghan wanted to skip shameless after that.

gallavich is not a healthy goal relationship. i mean yeah, they do love each other and they are good to each other, and i will excuse them for all the shit they did as teenagers cause they seemed to forgive each other and grow from it and i dont think they knew best but as adults they dont fucking communicate and mick broke ians leg like common. also most of time ian just seems to regret having married mick is really frustrating. i genuinely dont understand how that happened cause gallavich was all the writes had to milk and serve for the last seasons and they still fucked it up.

debbie is a rapist. she just is. just like sheila is too, i believe, and frank, and mandy, and jody, and estefania (i dont think jimmysteve is tho). they practiced nonconsensual sex and thats rape, end of story. i know the deborah debate is kind of hot ground and everybody has a different opinion about it cause she was young and didnt have the proper sex ed. but she did it not once, but twice AFTER facing consequences and getting to educate herself about what she did and why that was wrong, and i believe she would do it again if she had the motivation like she did on those circumstances. not saying matty or derick were cool guys, fuck them, matty wanted to go out with an underage girl when he met debbie and he kept going out with her after knowing she was much younger than he first thought and derick know that having sex can lead to having a baby and he and his family should have tried to be better to franny, but still they didnt deserved to by lied and abused by deb.

the gallaghers house should be debbie and carl's to decide what to do. the house is in fionas name, that much is true, but it is clear they kept contact with fiona at the begging of season 10 as she calls debbie to know about freddie and at that hall of fame episode too, so that much wouldn't be a problem. also, as fiona left, she left debbie in charge of the house's finances, and i believe the responsibility of what to do with the house is left with debbie too. i dont think fiona would be thrilled with the wouse being sold but she moved on and if her siblings are up to moving on too i dont think she would be opposed to it. that said, she would let the house deed on debbies hand i believe. taking up the fact that debbie is a mom with a little child and no other place to live, the fact she doesnt want to sell the house is comprehensible and i dont think any other gallagher can say its not, even more so lip. they tried to make the decision voting, letting the majority determinate what to do, but i dont think thats fair since lip could very easily get a house to himself and ian and mickey too, they had the money. now, about carl, is simply cause he paid for the house, therefore he should had a say on it. season 6, when the house was going to be sold, no other Gallagher than fiona was really trying to make to money to buy it. when she couldnt, carl saved the day and gave the money, and fiona was reluctant but she had no other option than to accept it, otherwise they would lose the house. even though the house is in fionas name like she likes to make it very clear, it is carls, and if he wanted to he could have put it in someone elses name, not lip cause he's in debt cause of the credit cards he has gotten to pay college, but he could have made it ians or anyone elses. he didnt cause he respects family and he respects fiona. since the house is his, and he also didnt really had any other place like debbie, they both should make the decision together.

fiona fucking sucks. i know a lot of people hates her and a lot loves her, and theres people in here that knows shes middle ground just like basically everybody on the show, which is called SHAMELESS for a reason. and i can agree with everybody. my point here is that she did nice things and stupid things and i dont hate her or love her for them, nor do i think all is forgiven because of her trauma or that shes number one worst character of the show. i think she sucks, think that she was wrong for all the liam shit, that she is an agent of chaos, that she was a bad girlfriend for all of her boyfriends just like they were bad for her (except mike he rocks), i think she make some of them worst really; i understand her desire to grown and be someone but i think it was risky to put the gallaghers house on the line so she could open the laundry (even more so cause i dont really consider it hers but carls), i understand how at some point she wanted to grow and take care of herself and be less of an parent in her sibling's life cause if she took care of herself since she was nine i think her siblings could try and take care of each other and their own ass a little so she could start living but the way she didnt really helped ian, the way she shut down debbie and was sad when debbie shuted her down, the way she left carl to his white boy fase without as much as trying and the way she said to them put VERONICA and KEVIN first at their emergency call before her was insane and she should be dragged for it idc. she was always mean to her siblings romantic interests too and that really bugs me cause mandy put lip in college and mickey cared for ian.

lip fucking sucks. most people here think the similarity between lip and frank starts and finishes on alcoholism and appearance but i think its more than that, i think both of them are narcissistic motherfuckers. i cant think of a single time lip put effort in anything for any other reason than to satisfy himself. it is the most evident when you think about his relationships SPECIALLY tami and fred, but if you think about his desire to be a father, the way he treated fiona when she was down, the whole sierra fiasco and how he treated her sons daddy, the karen ian thing; he even said that he helps his alcoholic friends because he thinks that if they cant do it then certainly lip himself won't be able to do it. i cant hold ian to the same parameters, i only think deb fiona and carl are really there for each other but ian gets a pass cause hes just selfish to some extent. he is bipolar and shit went down when he was still a child; still, joining the army and sending no news was a dick move and when he was good and on his meds and working as an EMT i think he wasnt really there for his family, tho he cared for mandy. cant really say much cause most of the time he was out of himself or in jail.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

shameless unpopular opinions:

(i post these a lot but now here’s a ton of them together because as you can tell, i am very opinionated lol)

season 10/11 have a lot of gallavich in them, and they’re so fucking amazing in those seasons, but 10/11 are definitely not the best gallavich seasons because they’re a bit more boring (not very boring but kind of), the best gallavich seasons were 3, 4, 5, and 7.

fiona’s worst season was season 7, and that one scene at the table where she asked everyone to put her at the bottom of their emergency contact lists/told them that the squirrel fund was returning wasn’t “iconic” it sucked and was literally her neglecting carl and debbie. her best season’s were season’s 1 and 2 (i like her in every season those were just the best).

season 6 carl/white boy carl was awful. he was sometimes funny, yeah, but carl was the best in literally every other season but that, especially in 1, 3, 4, 7, and 11.

i get that he was closeted and had to hide his feelings away, but mickey treated ian like shit in seasons 1-3. but in 4-11 he (mostly) treated him amazingly.

lip is so much worse than debbie.

sheila shouldn’t have dated jody and she shouldn’t have taken hymie.

ian and debbie were the only one’s that monica loved, but really only ian.

frank did more damage to monica than she did to him.

kev and v weren’t ready for kids.

i wish that sierra and lip had ended up together, but tami was the only girlfriend of lip’s who didn’t let lip walk all over her. regardless, i think she was a rebound who he stayed with just because of her pregnancy.

they should’ve killed svetlana and jimmy-steve off instead of giving them stupid endings.

thinking realistically, yev is probably not mickey’s kid. but thinking with shameless logic, he probably is.

debbie isn’t the best character necessarily, but she is one of the top 5 (or maybe 3) best written shameless characters and people don’t awknolege her enough.

every. single. character. deserved better. even your least favorite characters, like sammi or karen or debbie.

chuckie deserves literally no hate. the thing people hate most about him is his mother, but that’s unfair because literally every shameless character i can think of off the top of my head has mommy issues.

sandy was in the wrong in the break up with her and debbie.

debbie should’ve gotten some help during/after her pregnancy. yes, actions have consequences, blah blah blah, but she was still just a kid.

lip fucking sucked in season 11 and i just wanted to give debbie a big hug the entire time. idc about what she did, fuck lip for trying to sell/pretty much destroying, a house that he had no rights to whatsoever.

liam was treated like absolute dog shit.

no way in hell are fiona and lip straight. they’re both bi in my mind.

[toaarcan]

I've seen a fair few people make videos where they discuss how much the quality of the Archie book jumped up after Flynn took over (which it did, let's not downplay how much better he was than Penders), whether as a focus of the main topic or just as part of a wider statement, and there's something that baffles me about the B-roll that often gets chosen for this sort of statement.

Sonic and Tails' reconciliation from Issue 179 is normally part of the examples of things Flynn fixed, and I fucking hate that scene and think it's one of the lowest points of Sonic's entire character in the book.

And like, on some level, it makes sense why people look at that and go "Yes, this is better", because Penders broke the friendship between Sonic and Tails and Flynn repaired it, that's good. Bit weird that it took him 19 issues to get there but whatever, he's only got so many pages a month.

But it's the way Flynn has it happen that pisses me the hell off, because it ends up repeating one of the major mistakes of Penders' run, and people just kinda ignore that.

Sonic tells Tails that his entire relationship with Fiona was a farce, and he only agreed to be her boyfriend because he thought that doing so would make Tails move on from his unrequited crush.

So first of all this is a really stupid plan. Like, hey, Sonic, you're friends with Amy Rose, why did you ever think "My crush isn't single" would convince anyone to stop crushing? I know this version of Sonic isn't far out from saying that he "takes everything Amy says with a grain of salt" (which feels unbelievably mean to Amy. I've never been an Amy fan but even when my opinion of her was at its lowest, I never thought she deserved that shot across the bow), and I know Tails is generally treated as being somewhat more mature than Amy despite them being the same age in Preboot Archie, but this nonetheless should've been a major sign that this was a stupid plan.

But the thing that pushes it over the edge into "Sonic you unbelievable asshole" is that it's very, very apparent that Fiona didn't know. She probably still doesn't know. He was using her.

And I know some people will argue that Fiona was also using Sonic, but she makes it clear that she was desperately trying to find the thrill she got from being with Scourge with someone who wasn't, y'know, this creep.

In 172, she describes Sonic as 'boring', and no wonder she did, it was fake the entire time and nobody told her.

(This is part of why I dislike the take that Fiona has much more agency as a villain, because she basically never makes an informed decision under Ian's pen. She has no idea that Sonic never loved her-though knowing that would probably only make her angrier- and she has no idea that Scourge is an omnicidal maniac who has already tried to kill her by proxy at least once. She never really knew either of her partners, despite her relationships to them being the driving force of her character)

At the end of the day, this story reduces Fiona to an object to be fought over, without her ever being fully aware of that, and the resolution of it all isn't making things right for her, it's having the two protagonists involved make up, while she gets left stuck with Scourge, who has demonstrated the capacity to kill her if it suits his goal.

[punkxcalibur]

personal mphfpc recap since i finally finished reading all the books

spoilers for the entire mphfpc series ahead. this will mostly be me talking about the book's imperfections, because when i love a piece of media, i also love criticizing it to its core

so, i first read the books 1-4 in 2020 and i was SO obsessed!!?? i wasn't really into social media and fandom culture back then, so i didn't really have anyone to talk to about mphfpc and i remember being very sad about that. i also remember trying to make fanart of the characters, but i REALLY sucked at art back then and to this day i find old mphfpc drawings and cringe at them. maybe it's time to redraw some of those...

anyways, i read the fifth book when it first came out in germany and i kind of hated it lol. i was really rushing through it, because i couldn't wait for the fugh reunion. so i kind of missed out on the whole plot because i only cared about fiona and hugh.

basically, i recently finished rereading the books, because nostalgia or whatever and i'm kind of obsessed again. so...i'm just dumping some thoughts on the whole series here because on tumblr i can actually find ppl with mutual interests.

first of all there's literally SO MANY inconsistencies and plotholes?? what the actual fuck ransom riggs. idk how much of this is prevalent in the og books, because i mainly read the german translations, but sometimes riggs just forgets who hugh is i guess?? he mixes up his and horace's peculiarities once and at some point he is referred to as howard. who the fuck is howard. these are literally the most easiest mistakes to fix. does he not have an editor?

i'm not even gonna talk about the movie. i have a whole seperate post for it

it sometimes bothers me how only certain characters seem to serve a purpose. in every novel emma, enoch, millard and bronwyn are clearly the focus (besides jacob) despite the fact that the other characters are equally interesting and likeable. hugh, horace, claire, olive and obviously fiona are just NOT THERE for like the entirety of AMOD. are you kidding me

the entire second trilogy...is kind of a cashgrab. of course i'm happy we got more books and i liked them, but it's kind of obvious that the author simply had some pictures left and saw an opportunity to make some more profit out of them. that's not bad, but these books weren't necessary for the overall storyline.

the thing with the prophecy in DODA...the entire book was dedicated to finding the other lighteaters, but they don't really do anything in the end?? i kinda get why noor has to be the *main character*, but why introduce julius and sebbie when everything could have played out the same way without them?

julius and horace...is it really that hard to age julius down? it would've made that a lot less creepy. there is literally no reason for julius to so much older than horace. not sure if this could be considered queerbaiting, since i don't know a lot about that topic. would be grateful if anyone elaborated more on that.

hugh and fiona are still my favorite thing about these books THEY ARE PERFECT IN EVERY WAY AND DESERVED SO MANY MORE SCENES UGH. i don't need another jemma kiss i need FUGH. there is just so much potential and plus, we never really get to learn about their backstories?? like we know that they're from the 1840s, so how did they get into a loop a century later?

how was fiona able to *whisper* to hugh in DODA, she literally had her tongue cut out, hello?

so many characters with lots of potential either die or just disappear. lilly, sam, althea, peter-and-joel...ring any bells??

why is horatio kinda

ok i'm sorry

the photos are so funny sometimes, because at times there will be a photo of, say, emma and in the next book there will be another picture of her and she just looks like a different person. because,obviously, that's a photo of a different person. but apparently, ransom thinks we're too dumb to notice that.

i would just love it if there'd be storylines that focused on each character individually, because again, WASTED POTENTIAL

ricky deserved to have a comeback, i feel like this is general fandom consensus

introducing v, just to kill her off? idk man

despite all of these criticisms i just made, i fucking cherish these books

since pjo gets a new awesome reboot i think we deserve one too

i also wish the fandom was bigger but maybe it's a good thing that it's kind of niche. i don't know.

uhh i guess that was my not-so-little rant and yeah...enjoy this post i guess

[eupheme]

you writing is so beautiful. the way that logan tries to stop her - how blunt and earnest he is and the worst person for the job (but also best, in his own way) but he's trying, gosh that got me. love the line about logan's tailights being a lighthouse, guiding her back out in all that dark, and then trying to make her promise she won't go back.

and how they bump into each other again, the way he takes time and listens to her each time had my heart aching. the way you write her grief felt so real (I really appreciate how you wrote this fic - my own mental health over the past few years has been rocky and this felt so - gosh, I don't know, relatable? hopeful? wonderful? to read), and the fact that he understands in a way that no one else she knows does - it such a rough connection but you have me feeling glad for each of their encounters.

“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–”

Wheezing omg - perfect Wade introduction. And then that she goes back, and I that she hates but I love that he is getting a handle at how she thinks, how he makes her be honest. And gosh when he opens up in return, that fondness he had for Wade, how he's still hurting from before, I was inhaling this.

Loving 'DVDJ' (and the F9/Wade & Logan references omfg) and I so feel for reader and how hard it is to put yourself out there, but what a great group of people for her to surround herself with. And the whiplash with her finding him like that, how it still comes back to him after all the healing he's been trying to do, all of this made my chest ache.

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. // “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.”

Ahh this made me want to cry - I love how you dug into his grief in this. How she's able to help him this time, find the words he needs to hear. And ahh I love how you write everyone - Vanessa, Wade, Althea. Logan's chip! I am tearing up again, especially at this part:

“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.”

oh!! 🥺💖 and then I love the reveal that the cliff was a space in his world, even with their shared history of it. like they were always meant to meet, the “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.” had me like !!!! - sad and lovely is so right.

“‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

this made me laugh (reference to Hugh's interview right??) omg. and the way you pace things, how they slowly get better and fall into place for her, it makes me so proud, even just as a reader.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.” // It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

Grinning, oh my god. And how sweet she is with the gift and how Wade wants to take a new photo of his new world - my heart. And then how seeing Vanessa and Wade makes her think about more, when at the beginning that was impossible - weeping.

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.

!!!!! god, what a realization. and how she can't handle it, so real. And how he comes through the rain to check on her, oh my god. That he checked, and how scared he must have been!

“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.” // 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.

Oh. And oh my god that perfectly imperfect kiss, the fact he's been wanting to for ages!!!!! I am screaming. “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?” !!!! (the vein appreciation, loved that)

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

eep! 😳💖 the smut was so perfect, so good. I am obsessed with how soft he is for her -

“Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance.

LOGAN 😳 the desperation with how they’re still on her table, how sweet and pleased he is - the “then get it out”, omg he is so filthy. This was amazing (that stomach vein yesssss) just absolutely steamy as hell and so so well-written and I had to keep taking breaks to stare at the wall. Phew! Fucking her against the wall!!!! I love the use of the strength here and yessss a long night indeed!! 👀💖💖

And gosh, the last segment. No words, my heart is tied up in the sweetest of strings and knots. This was really something special. I already want to reread and pick each line apart. This was Logan and this is canon to me and wow I just loved this so much and I hope you are so proud of this fic because you really really should be. I am going to be thinking about this for a long time 💖 (and I would love to hear about the title, is Logan her cardinal?)(like a sign of hope and new beginnings?)

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 🫂

[restapesta]

hi emina! happy last week of no school ♥♥

15. “Finally. Missed you so much.” but make it sort of in front of other people??🙏🙏🙏 if u want. it's okay if not, too!

MONDAY

---

ian (1:11 AM): it's hot as fuck here. can't sleep.

ian (1:12 AM): also, lip snores

mickey (1:12 AM): that's what you get for leaving me

ian (1:13 AM): drama queen, i only left this morning. be back in just a week.

ian (1:13 AM): why are YOU awake?

mickey (1:14 AM): fuck you, just a week. 🖕🖕🖕

ian (1:14 AM): 🙄

ian (1:14 AM): go to sleep

mickey (1:15 AM): you woke me up???

ian (1:15 AM): doesn't matter. just go to sleep.

mickey (1:15 AM): probably not

ian (1:16 AM): ???

mickey (1:17 AM): can't sleep without you

incoming call from ian (1:17 AM)

---

TUESDAY

---

mickey (11:22 AM): college bitch still pissed at us for waking him up?

ian (11:25 AM): isn't speaking to me. bitched about it to fiona the entire morning.

ian (11:25 AM): "can't go a night without him." blah blah

mickey (11:25 AM): fuck him. wyd right now?

ian (11:27 AM): helping Fi with the moving shit.

ian (11:27 AM): you?

mickey (11:28 AM): lunch with tami. bitching about lip.

ian (11:29 AM): 😌

ian (11.29 AM): that same lip is currently screaming my ear off to get off the phone.

ian (11:29 AM): keep bitching, my love

mickey (11:30 AM): tell him to fuck off.

mickey (11:30 AM): also, call me when you're done

ian (11:31 AM): 😘

mickey (11:31 AM): 🙄🖤

(12:57 PM) incoming call from ian

(16:44 PM): incoming call from mickey

(21:44 PM) incoming call from ian

---

WEDNESDAY

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mickey (09:06 AM): come back home, im bored.

mickey (09:06 AM): Fiona doesn't need you for an entire fucking week.

ian (09:10 AM): 😬 just five more days

ian (09:10 AM): Fiona says hi!

mickey (09:11 AM): I'm horny, this is stupid.

ian (09:12 AM): handy-dandy hand 😁

mickey (09:12 AM): 🖕🖕🖕🖕

mickey (09:13 AM): ...something to work with?

ian sent a link (09:14 AM)

mickey (09:15 AM): you did not just send me the benefits of a cold shower, you bitch.

ian (09:16 AM): loveeeeee youuuuuu

mickey (09:16 AM): 🙂🔪

incoming call from ian (12:33 PM)

incoming call from ian (17:29 PM)

incoming call from mickey (00:12 AM)

---

THURSDAY

---

ian (08:12 AM): I'm horny.

ian (08:13 AM): mickey

ian (08:13 AM): mickey

ian (08:13 AM): mickey

ian (08:13 AM): MICKEY

ian (08:14 AM): babyyyyyy

ian (08:14 AM): pleaseeeeee come on, you're not sleeping rn

mickey sent a link (08:16 AM)

ian (08:16 AM): i deserved that.

mickey (08:17 AM): handy-dandy 🤛

ian (08:17 AM): hate myself at this moment 🙂

mickey (08:17 AM): 🤭😘

-

ian (09:44 AM): coffee on facetime?

incoming call from mickey (09:45 AM)

---

FRIDAY

---

ian (14:22 PM): sorry for the ghosting

ian (14:22 PM): Fiona's been killing me with the whole apartment cleaning shit

ian (14:23 PM): And Lip's hiding from her so he's always with me.

ian (14:23 PM): i know it's been a day.

mickey (14:25 PM): well, well, look who decided to text their husband finally

mickey (14:25 PM): it's been a whole day, ian.

mickey (14:26 PM): we are no longer on speaking terms.

ian (14:26 PM): 😲😨

ian (14:26 PM): i'm sorry.

ian (14:26 PM): i miss having breakfast with you.

ian (14:27 PM): i miss sleeping with you

ian (14:27 PM): i miss kissing you

ian (14:28 PM): and doing other things with you 😏

ian (14:28 PM): miss you so fucking much.

ian (14:28 PM): mick?

mickey (14:30 PM): ugh fine, you sap

mickey (14:30 PM): call me

incoming call from ian (14:31 PM)

---

SATURDAY

---

incoming call from mickey (18:55 PM)

ian (19:24 PM): phone sex is cool, but we should try sexting 😳

mickey (19:26 PM): i don't need a reminder of your disgusting ass dick anywhere on my phone.

ian (19:26 PM): hm? 🤔 not what you were saying ten minutes ago.

ian (19:27 PM): you sure you ain't ready for round two? 😏

ian (19:27 PM): bet facetime sex is even better.

incoming call from mickey (19:28 PM)

-

ian (02:22 AM): i miss you. i really fucking miss you.

---

SUNDAY

---

ian (08:02 AM): flight is at 10

mickey (08:04 AM): i'll be waiting for you when you land.

---

It had only been a week. A week filled with phone calls and text messages and a whole bunch of facetime—but, fuck, it had been a week.

Did Ian really have to go on and visit Fiona alone with Lip? Was it really that necessary for him to travel all the way to the alligator land just so they could help Fiona switch apartments? Mickey didn't see the point of the long-ass trip to Florida just so Ian could complain about how humid it was and how it was a blessing he didn't share a room with Lip anymore.

Mickey missed him. He missed him a lot more than he thought he would, and he really should've considered the fact that he and Ian spent most of their time together. They may have been apart before for long periods of time, but it was hard to tear them away from each other nowadays.

So maybe it wasn't that much of a surprise he'd had a hard time adjusting to the empty space of their apartment and the coldness of their bed. The lack of dad jokes during their long rides at work and the unmistakable scent of Ian that had been slowly fading and was almost gone now.

That was Mickey's excuse for not doing laundry. He didn't wanna lose Ian's smell from their home. The sappy excuse would probably work with Ian, he thought.

And even if it didn't, Mickey could distract him from his annoyance in other ways.

Airports sucked.

Being in an airport, waiting on Ian and Lip with their family of twenty thousand—or six, whatever—sucked even more.

But the plane had already landed and it would be just another couple minutes before Mickey saw his husband for the first time in a week. Before he wrapped his arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. He didn't even give a shit if anybody saw him and thought how big of a fag he was.

Husband. That was the only thing on his mind currently.

"They should be here already," Tami said, bouncing Fred up on her hip.

Debbie shrugged from beside Mickey, one hand tightly holding onto the redheaded girl between them. She was fisting the fabric of Mickey's jacket, and it made Mickey smile. It eased the anticipation a little.

Who was he kidding? There were swarms of bees in his stomach, poking and stinging. He felt slightly nauseous.

"I think I see Lip!" It was Liam who exclaimed.

Mickey didn't see Lip.

But he did see the redhead trailing right behind him, a suitcase in his right hand, recently bought for the trip. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes were sleepy, the jet lag probably hitting him in full swing.

Still, the green orbs Mickey missed so much lit up the moment he noticed Mickey, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a wide smile.

Mickey wasn't any better. He could feel the grin stretching across his face involuntary, yet he did nothing to hide it. Nothing to stop it from spreading. He didn't care to hide the excitement he was feeling upon seeing Ian for the first time in a week.

A week.

His legs moved on their own accord, and in what felt like no time at all, he was engulfed into a hug, Ian's long arms circling him—it was familiar; comfortable, and warm.

"Fucking finally," Ian choked out against Mickey's hair, his lips pressed to the top of his head, cradling his body gently. "I missed you so much."

Mickey tilted his chin up and their lips connected in a brief kiss. Just a peck that turned into a couple more, all loud on the pullback, their limbs still wrapped up in each other.

"Missed you more."

They stared into each other's eyes longingly for a couple of moments—it was probably too soft and sappy for them, but who gave a shit? They hadn't seen each other in a week.

What interrupted them eventually were a few short coughs, as if somebody was clearing their throat.

Mickey glared at Lip, practically forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the man he was holding.

"We done with the reunion or you guys wanna continue making out in the middle of the airport...?"

Ian was the one who flipped him off, finally disentangling himself from Mickey so he could greet his siblings properly and pick Franny up into a long hug. It made Mickey frown, the loss of contact. He forced himself to endure it, though—half an hour of a ride longer and they'd be home alone, free to do whatever the fuck.

Still, as soon as they were done with the obligated reunions and the questions about Florida and Fiona, Ian found himself next to Mickey again, gripping Mickey's palm and intertwining the fingers with his own.

Who gave a shit if anybody was looking? Who gave a shit if Lip was rolling his eyes at the obvious display of affection or if Carl was making obnoxious kissy faces at them as if they haven't been married for a while now—Mickey saw none of that shit.

All Mickey saw was Ian.

[ohkate]

This is related mostly to what I see happen in fanfic.

People are entitled to their opinions, but I honestly don't get the hate for any of the kid-Gallaghers. Sometimes I get into a fic and suddenly Fiona is some evil bitch out of another fucking dimension trying to break Ian and Mickey up. I mean...if you're doing some AU fic or something and it's a plot point, okay, I'm fine with that. But Fiona literally raised them from the time she was 9, always had a job or 4, derailed her own life for a long time. She deserved the right to be a little selfish toward the end.

Debbie was a child who yearned for her father's love so much and was so destroyed by that rejection that she has serious neglect issues and, yeah, maybe that means you aren't going to like every move she makes. She could be a bit selfish and neglectful/has attachment issues with Franny at times. But she also would kill anyone who messed with her family. She was always ready to help. I hate the -I hate to say sexism but it's kind of right there- when comparing her extreme behavior to, say, Carl's. Whereas Carl is looked at as 'he's just a boy', funny and cute- torturing animals, starting a gang, being generally crazy for a good chunk of the show while even the theme music for some of those scenes were upbeat and fun- and Debbie is reviled for similar extremes just trying to figure stuff out without any real help.

Lip was Ian's best friend and was always accepting of him being gay. Was always ready to rally for him. Yeah, he didn't treat a lot of his girlfriends very well but he was a generally good guy who tried really hard to do right by all of his siblings and sometimes got little to no help.

But I especially hate it when this is done to further some idea that Ian and Mickey were angels who could do no wrong. I have things about them I don't like, too. Mickey was a pimp. A thief. He hurt Ian on more than one occasion. He had Nazi regalia on his walls that Svet made him take down. And yes, it wasn't really his thing as he was regularly living a huge lie just to fit in so this was no exception. He was both scared of Terry and yearned for his approval to the point he didn't try to improve his circumstances at all by leaving. And we can talk about the psychology of why he didn't- of course there are traumatic reasons- but it doesn't change it. He was a decent guy underneath and a wonderful, loving person in the end. But as much as we soften him for ourselves, he was not always a good guy.

Ian was ungrateful sometimes. Could be sanctimonious. He was a little self-absorbed. He sometimes seemed like moving on from Mickey was easy or that he wasn't as dedicated, although toward the end I think he got a lot better. There was no character on the show who wanted to do the right thing and be a good man more than Ian.

In the end all of these characters became exactly what they were scared to death of becoming. Fiona left her family. Lip wasted his opportunities. Ian didn't get to fulfill any of his original goals. Debbie became a little neglectful of Franny in a way she hated coming from her own parents. Carl became a semi-responsible cop. Mickey became a married gay guy living on the West Side with a guy who wants to plant tomatoes. And yet they were still better off, happier and made their lives exponentially better than where they started.

I mean do what you want. It's fandom so it's not like you can't hate a character if you want to. But why hate on Debbie-or any of the kids- when characters like Terry, Frank and Monica existed? They were just trying to make the best out of the rubble they were born into.

Sorry for this Tolkien-length post.

"I hate Debbie" okay and? Me and my tumblr followers disagree

[apolloloki97]

"Solid as Stone" Ian Gallagher x Mickey Milkovich

Summary: What if when Monica came back, Ian went to find Mandy that day, but found Mickey. Instead of going right to the store for a hookup, Ian runs away distraught after not finding his best friend. Mickey can't help but follow and comfort the redhead he has clearly fallen for.

Or when Ian is freaking out, Mickey is there to comfort him.

Word Count: 2679

Warning: Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Stone" by Jaymes Young

Note: This is just a bit of an AU what if kind of thing. I just liked it and I love comforting and soft Mickey and I know that day he could tell that Ian was torn.

-----------

Monica was back and Ian didn’t know how to deal with any of it.

As soon as she rolled back into town, Ian felt as if he was suffocating and he had to get out. He didn’t even care if Terry was home at that moment, he needed to see Mandy.

His thoughts kept flicking to Mickey but he knew that regardless of the kind of situation they were in, Mickey would throttle him before he even considered offering Ian a comforting hand. Mickey had been very clear about the nature of their relationship if you could even call it that. Ian knew that there was more to them just random hookups, but he didn’t have time to unpack any of it at the moment.

Mandy had to be the one and he needed her now.

Ian arrived at the front of the Milkovich house and barrelled up the steps, his breathing still labored. His fist made contact with the wooden door, frantically begging someone to open up. It took a moment before the front door was wrenched open and it wasn’t the Milkovich sibling Ian had wanted to see right then, but one he was always wishing to see no matter what. Mickey, who had a cigarette in his mouth, seemed surprised at Ian’s frantic look. “Gallagher?” he asked.

“Mandy, is she here?” Ian breathed out, trying to see behind Mickey and into the house.

“What?”

“Is Mandy here?” Ian asked again, his breathing still sporadic. “I need to see her.” Mickey frowned as he took in the state of Ian as the younger boy seemed to be running off pure anxiety. Something was definitely wrong with him and it surprised Mickey as he realized he was incredibly concerned about Ian Gallagher. However, after all the time he had spent around the kid, he had come to pick up on all of Ian’s idiosyncrasies.

“She’s not here,” Mickey told him, glancing over his shoulder where Terry was passed out on the couch. “She went away with Iggy for a couple of days.” Ian let out a breath, still very jumpy, as he looked back and forth, trying to figure out what he was going to do. “Gallagher, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he rushed out as he glanced behind him, almost as if he expected Monica to be running after him, but the street remained silent. “I… I gotta go,” he stammered before nodding to himself, turning around, and half-stumbling down the steps. Mickey watched after him for a few seconds, still very confused at Ian’s behaviors. Ian shuffled out into the street and then Mickey nearly jumped out of his skin as a car screeched to a halt right in front of the redhead. Honking blared through the neighborhood as the man behind the wheel cursed at Ian who was raising his hands in apologies.

As soon as Ian was out of the street, the car sped off, leaving Ian to stare at it for only a second before he moved to run down an alley in between the houses, still somewhat out of it. Mickey glanced back inside his house for a second before swearing, “Fucking Gallagher.” Grabbing his coat, he shut the door behind him and took off after the redhead.

It didn’t take long for Mickey to pick up on Ian’s trail as the kid had the loudest footsteps on the Southside. Mickey kept telling himself that the only reason he was doing this was that he wanted to know if Ian was on something and if he could get a hit. However, behind the denial, he knew the truth. He did care about Gallagher and he could tell Ian was going through something.

It was only another block that Mickey finally found him. Ian was on the ground, his back against the wall of the empty alleyway and he was breathing harder than he was when he had shown up on Mickey’s porch. Slowly, Mickey approached him, keeping an eye on the redhead’s hands. He knew Ian well enough to know that the kid could punch just as well as anyone on the Southside and he wasn’t looking forward to being on the other side of one of those freckled fists if he startled him.

“Gallagher?” Mickey tried, but Ian remained frozen, his eyes only on the cold asphalt. “Gallagher,” he tried again, but still, Ian remained oblivious to his presence. With a sigh, Mickey ran a hand through his hair before finally stepping right into the other boy’s view. “Ian?” he asked, softer this time. Ian’s breath stuttered for a second before his eyes flicked to the worried blue ones above him.

“What do you want?” Ian asked and while the words sent a dagger to Mickey’s heart, it was a valid question. Why had he followed him? Ian had no reason to trust that Mickey Milkovich cared for him. Mickey hated that he had led him to believe that he was only using him for sex, but he understood. Mickey was never one for affection, but it wasn’t as if he had any role models to learn from. Colin had tried to somewhat raise his younger siblings, but there was only so much he could do. Mickey was on his own in this department, but he was hoping Ian could be the beginning of his effort to show the compassion he clearly felt.

“What happened?” Mickey asked, finally crouching down to get on Ian’s level. The boy in front of him looked frailer than Mickey had ever seen him. The Gallaghers were known to be tough sons of bitches, but everyone had their breaking point, Mickey supposed.

“My mom,” Ian said. “My mom came home and just fucked it all up.” Mickey nodded, understanding immediately. If you knew about the Gallaghers and especially if you knew about Frank, you knew about Monica. Terry hated the woman and Mickey finally could see why. If the way Ian was acting was evidence of how her kids felt when she came back, she definitely should have stayed gone.

“Hurricane Monica,” Mickey simply said. Ian looked at him in surprise. Mickey sank to the ground next to Ian, their shoulders almost touching. “Fiona’s mentioned her a few times at the Alibi, Frank, too. I think we all get the picture enough to know she ain’t exactly mother of the fucking year.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ian said and Mickey was glad to hear that his breathing was sounding a little better. Ian let his head fall back to rest on the bricks behind him. “She always does this, Mickey,” Ian began and Mickey remained quiet, just letting Ian talk. “She comes into town and makes it seem like she’s going to stay. Debbie and Carl don’t deserve that shit.”

“Neither do you,” Mickey said automatically. Ian’s eyes flickered to Mickey’s who was just staring in front of him, his hands playing with the cigarette he still held.

“She’s my mom,” Ian tried to rationalize.

“So?” Mickey said, finally looking at him again. “Frank is your dad and he’s a piece of shit. Terry is my dad and he’s...he’s… fuck he’s the fucking worse.” Ian could hear the hesitancy in Mickey’s voice. Everyone knew how horrible Terry was, but Ian was starting to think there was more to the racist asshole than nobody else knew. “My father hates me,” Mickey finally continued. “He hates me and he doesn’t even know that…”

“That you hook up with guys?” Ian offered, not wanting to push Mickey by slapping the “gay” label on him. He had learned his lesson with that before.

“He’d kill me if he knew,” Mickey said. “And if I had the chance to get the hell out of dodge to be away from him, I would. I don’t care if they’re our parents, they don’t owe us shit if they’ve never been parents, you know?” Ian was quiet for a minute before he nodded, letting out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know what to do, Mick,” Ian said, casually dropping the nickname he had been trying out for a while. If it was any other time, Mickey would have made a comment about it, but he just enjoyed the rush that went through him at Ian saying his name.

“What do you want to do?” Mickey asked. “Cause that’s all up to you, man.”

“I want her to get the fuck out,” Ian said. “If she’s leaving again, it’s gonna be on our terms this time, not hers.” Ian struggled to keep his hands still and his emotions in check. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Mickey. This was why he needed Mandy.

However, Mickey Milkovich surprised him as he always did.

Tattooed fingers suddenly covered freckled ones and Ian’s hand was enveloped in a warm and firm grip. Ian looked up at Mickey who was looking at him with actual concern.

“Don’t let her ruin you,” Mickey said firmly.

“She’s already done that,” Ian said, trying not to focus too much on the hand in his.

“Says who, huh?” Mickey countered. “Who says you’re fucking ruined? You’re not. You’re…” Mickey trailed off for a second. His eyes flickered from Ian’s lips and then back to his face. “You’re damn solid, Gallagher. A fucking tower of stone, so don’t think that some woman can just come back and fuck with you just because she’s your blood. Blood don’t mean shit when it comes to family anyways.”

Ian was looking at him with wonder in his eyes. He had never seen this side of Mickey and he was already mourning the fact that he may never again for a while once they left that alley. In case he was right, Ian clutched onto Mickey’s hand tighter, letting him feel the other boy’s pulse beneath his fingers.

“Thanks,” he breathed, almost afraid to speak any louder in case it shattered whatever peace they had built.

“Still wish Mandy was here instead?” Mickey asked and there was no malice behind it.

“Absolutely not,” Ian admitted as he glanced down at Mickey’s mouth. They were silent for a moment before Ian asked about something Mickey had just said. “Would you really leave to get away from Terry?”

“I wouldn’t go far,” Mickey admitted, looking at him through hooded eyes. “I could never go too far from you, could I? Who’d run after you when you’re going out of your fucking mind?” Ian smiled, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know, I’m sure I could find someone,” he said and then boldly continued, “maybe Kash has a friend around his age.”

That did it.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Mickey growled as he grabbed onto Ian’s neck and slammed his lips against the other boy's mouth. Ian reacted immediately, tugging Mickey closer to him. Mickey’s heart was slamming in his chest and he knew it was risky to kiss Ian out in the open, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He had been wanting to kiss him since the first time he had seen Ian smile. It wasn’t until they had sex for the first time that that need to kiss him had intensified tenfold. Mickey grabbed at Ian’s coat, trying to make the distance between them nonexistent.

When Ian slipped his tongue into Mickey’s mouth, Mickey was done for. He could never go back to just having sex after this. This was...indescribable and he needed it all. Mickey was as inexperienced as it got when it came to kissing men, but Ian seemed to be a master according to Milkovich. Ian ran his hands up Mickey’s arms and then up to his neck where his large hands took hold of Mickey’s face as he continued to devour the other boy’s mouth.

Eventually, they both needed to breathe and Mickey was the first to pull back, though he didn’t go far. “That was…” Ian began, his breathing heavy but this time for a completely different reason.

“Long overdue,” Mickey finished, his breath matching pace with Ian’s. “I didn’t mean to do that like this. You know in a shithole,” he said, gesturing to the disgusting alley.

“Our whole neighborhood is a shithole,” Ian pointed out causing Mickey to smile slightly. Ian couldn’t help himself as he pressed another kiss to Mickey’s lips before leaning back again. “Don’t think I’m not going to take advantage of being allowed to do that now.”

“Who says this ain’t a one-time thing, firecrotch?” Mickey asked, raising one of his very expressive eyebrows.

“Me,” Ian said simply and Mickey rolled his eyes, but didn’t move away from Ian. His expression then turned concerned once again.

“Feeling better?” Mickey asked and Ian nodded.

“Getting there,” Ian admitted, referring back to his Monica meltdown. “You helped quite a bit,” he said cheekily and Mickey just snorted. “Thanks, Mick,” Ian said and Mickey could hear all the sincerity behind his words. Mickey nodded and then sat back beside Ian, their shoulders pressed together as if they were afraid to not be touching each other.

“Don’t think you can’t come to me when you’re in trouble, Gallagher,” Mickey said. “I ain’t gonna fucking turn you away. Not you.” Ian nodded again and then leaned his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home,” Ian admitted. Mickey leaned into Ian and nodded.

“Me either,” said Mickey as he thought about his father back on their worn-out couch.

“Monica has to go,” Ian whispered.

“I could make that happen, you know?” Mickey said casually. “I still have that uncle down at the foundry.” Ian jabbed him in the ribs, but Mickey knew he was smiling.

“No thanks,” Ian said with a sigh. “Murder wouldn’t look good on you.”

“Please,” Mickey scoffed, “everything looks good on me.”

“And off, too,” Ian added and that got Mickey’s attention. Ian was looking up at him and when Mickey met his eyes, he could see just a hint of mischief in his green eyes.

“Are you coming onto me, Gallagher,” Mickey said.

“Always,” Ian said as his hands pushed into Mickey’s dark hair.

“I ain’t havin’ you get on me in some back alley,” Mickey said. “I have standards, asshole.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have keys to the store,” Ian said with a lower voice. Mickey chewed on that thought for a second before jumping to his feet and dragging Ian with him.

“You are a fucking menace,” Mickey whispered to Ian who just beamed at him, and then Ian’s smile turned softer.

“So, I’m solid huh?” Ian asked, looking at Mickey who wasn’t running away for once.

“As stone,” Mickey agreed. “You’re gonna be just fine, Red. Monica issues or not, you,” he said, poking Ian in the chest, “are gonna be fine.” Ian could have cried then, but he settled on grabbing Mickey by his coat and kissing him hard. Mickey kissed him back, still trying to get used to the feel, but he figured he’d get the hang of it soon.

Ian pulled back first this time and smiled at Mickey, grateful that he had been the Milkovich sibling to answer the damn door. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“You already said that,” Mickey reminded him.

“And I’ll keep saying it, dumbass,” Ian teased and then began walking backward, gesturing to Mickey to follow him.

Mickey just smiled and jogged to catch up with Ian. As the two of them headed to the store, Mickey forced himself to watch where he was going because all he could focus on was that Ian was back to being Ian and he, Mickey, had helped bring that smile back. Cautiously, he took Ian’s hand for just a fraction of a second before letting go. It was brief, but Ian knew what it meant. Sure, he was solid, unmoving, but to Mickey, Ian was his rock, the one that kept him grounded when everything else was trying to pull him away and if he’d let him, Mickey also wanted to be that for Ian.

[fansofvow]

Interview with Eve Golden Woods!

Many of you know who is Eve is. She's a writer and artist, a part of Dreamfeel studios whose beautiful game If Found won Best LGBTQ Narrative and Best LGBTQ Indie game at the first ever Gayming Awards presented by EA games. I am really excited I had the chance to ask Eve some questions about herself, her time at Lovestruck and her creative process.

Congratulations on the two Gayming Awards (Best LGBTQ Narrative, Best LGBTQ Indie Game) for "If Found" from your game studio, Dreamfeel. What was the inspiration behind making the game?

If Found... was a game that emerged out of a collaboration between Llaura McGee, the founder of Dreamfeel, and artist Liadh Young. Liadh's background is as a comic artist, and so when they started working together Llaura had the idea of showing off Liadh's art by making a diary game, and using an erasing mechanic she had previously developed to let the player move through the diary in a fun way. By the time I came on board at the start of 2019, the game had already been in development for a while, so in some ways my work on that game was similar to the work I did for Voltage, because it was taking existing characters and concepts and writing a lot of scripts for them. Unlike Voltage, though, my work for Dreamfeel was a lot more collaborative and I had a lot more creative input. I really enjoy taking something and helping to make it the best version of itself that it can possibly be, but I was also really happy that I got to reflect a lot of my own experiences in If Found. Llaura and I both grew up on the west coast of Ireland, and although If Found... isn't autobiographical for either of us, it was definitely really meaningful to be able to tell a story that reflected our own experiences of growing up as queer teens in a similar kind of environment. Since the game came out we've had fans reach out to us and tell us that they also connected to the experiences of the main characters, and as far as I'm concerned, that makes me feel like I achieved everything I wanted to.

You are a writer and a visual artist. Does one come easier to you than the other?

I used to think of art and writing as talents, and I always felt like my art was at a very mediocre level (that's probably still true, lol). So when I was younger I focused a lot more on writing. It was only later that I started genuinely trying to improve as an artist, but when I did, I think I had a much healthier mindset, and approached it as a skill I could learn with patience and effort. Because of that, even though I still have a lot more confidence in my writing, I find art more fun and relaxing, and I don't stress about it as much.

Did you always know you would follow a creative path?

Kind of? Both my parents are artists, and I grew up surrounded by artists and writers, so it was something that was always very familiar and accessible to me. On the other hand, I didn't exactly have a clear idea of how to make it into a career, or what kind of work would be involved. But there's never been a point in my life where I wasn't doing something creative, even if it was only writing fanfiction.

What did your path to working professionally as a writer/artist look like?

I did a creative writing masters in college, but after that I spent years teaching English as a second language. That was really fun and I got to live abroad, but it was so busy and tiring that I didn't have time to do any writing outside of the occasional fanfic. I only started to take art seriously again when I became interested in games and comics as ways of telling stories. I did some critical writing, which led me to speak at a few local events and get involved in zine fairs. That was how I met Llaura, the director and lead of the Dreamfeel studio, and it's also what gave me the confidence to start applying for actual writing jobs.

Is there any work of art, visual or written, that you look to for inspiration?

So many! I try to read and watch as widely as I can, although there are touchstones I always return to, like the works of Ursula Le Guin and Terry Pratchett. Right now I feel very passionate about the actual play podcast Friends at the Table, which manages to combine really thoughtful worldbuilding and storytelling with cool, fun characters and great action scenes. I'm also reading a book called The Memory Police by Youko Ogawa, which has extremely beautiful prose.

Do you have a favorite piece of your own art, whether it is something you’ve drawn, a screenshot of something you’ve written or something else?

My favourite piece of art is usually whatever I finished most recently (I think that's true for a lot of people). Especially with visual art, once a bit of time has gone by you look back on it and start to notice all your mistakes, which is very annoying. But actually I do still really like the first piece of Fiona fanart I did last year. I managed to use some effects to give it a kind of nineties anime quality that I find really fun, and I think it conveys an emotion pretty effectively. That's always one of the hardest things to predict with visual art, whether the different parts will come together to create the exact mood you're looking for.

I also really like the compass I did for Bycatch. Krissy (@xekstrin) was the one who suggested filling it with fingernails, which was such a good, gross idea! As soon as I heard that I knew it was perfect and that I had to try and draw it.

Many people who read this blog know you as a writer for Lovestruck. When you look back on your time there, what stands out in your mind?

Lovestruck was very important to me when I first started because it was my first ongoing, regular, paid writing work. It gave me a lot of confidence and helped me to get into the habit of writing consistently and rapidly, which is a really useful skill to have. I know I was right to leave when I did, though, because I am just brimming with energy to work on my own projects, and channeling that power into something that you can't control will always end up disappointing you. Also, I made a ton of incredible friends, through Lovestruck itself but then even more so through VOW (@vowtogether), and that is more than worth all the difficult parts.

Is there any character that you would have liked a crack at writing?

Oh gosh, what a fun question! There are so many, but one I do sometimes think about is Axia, just because I know there are a bunch of fans who want her route, and because I had fun writing her as a villain in Zain's route. I can see in my head the shadow of a storyline that takes place after Zain's route is over, where she's in prison and trying to understand how she lost the battle with Zain and MC. I think there's, like, a gap there, where you could see her downfall forcing her to reconsider her assumptions about power, and that could build into a very interesting redemption story. But maybe it's for the best I never got to do that, because I would have wanted full creative control over it, and also I think the story in my head is very different to the sexy, in control, menacing version of Axia that her fans enjoy.

Do you have any upcoming projects you can talk about?

Most of my current work is under NDA, but I will say that I'm doing something very exciting with other VOW members that we should be able to talk about soon(ish). Maybe I can even give a little teaser... It's not a game, but it is something you can read, and my part involves cakes, swamps, and a museum.

Do you have a favorite quote or song lyric?

It's a big long, but there's a section from The Dispossessed by Ursula le Guin that has stayed with me ever since I read it:

"For we each of us deserve everything, every luxury that was ever piled in the tombs of the dead kings, and we each of us deserve nothing, not a mouthful of bread in hunger. Have we not eaten while another starved? Will you punish us for that? Will you reward us for the virtue of starving while others ate? No man earns punishment, no man earns reward. Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think."

It's such a profoundly radical way of imagining the world, so different to everything I was raised with, but whenever I think about it I feel like I can see something very beautiful and powerful that I hope to come closer to understanding some day.

And of course, "Solidarity forever, the union makes us strong."

I was a big fan of the show Inside the Actor’s Studio. Host James Lipton asked every single guest the same 10 concluding questions. I’ve picked 3 of them:

-What is your favorite word?

My favourite word: for sound, I like words you can really roll around on your tongue. Chthonic, alabaster, insinuation. For meaning, I think simple words that encapsulate big concepts have a kind of power to them. We use them so often we forget how big they are, how much weight they really have, but they give us the space to imagine new possibilities. Love. Freedom. Revolution.

-What is your least favorite word?

I've heard that "moist" is a lot of people's least favourite word but it doesn't actually bother me. My least favourite word is probably one where I feel like the sound doesn't match the meaning. One of the Irish words for rain is báisteach, which I feel has a much weightier and more onomatopoeic sound than rain. Rain is just very flat and uninteresting.

-What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Oh, so many! I love history, and I think being a historian/archaeologist would be fascinating. Or something that had a physical component to it, like being a potter or a carpenter. I don't think I'd be any good, but I'd love to take the time to learn.

What would be your advice to anyone who wants to pursue a creative career?

All the work you do matters. Even the failed experiments, the things you hate when they're finished. It all helps to make you better. Also, creative career paths are often really unexpected, so chase any opportunity that seems remotely interesting. Don't work for free for anyone who can afford to pay, but work for yourself and put it somewhere. On a blog, twitter, whatever. You'd be amazed how many people get noticed and get offered opportunities because of something they made in their spare time. You'll probably have to work another job for a long time, so don't be hard on yourself if you're too tired to devote much energy to creative work. Try to make art consistently, but don't feel like that has to mean every day. Don't chase after celebrities. Make friends with your peers.

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

I know you talked about Sandy and Debbie before; but I avoided it because I didn't want to be spoiled too much; but I finally got to that and!! I don't really like Sandy?? I have abandonment issues too so I totally get Debbie and am on her side so maybe I'm biased but like Sandy's lack of communication really frustrated me + then her response to Debbie's emotions and insecurities being "you're a psycho" also frustrated me and overall I feel like Debbie deserves someone better than Sandy; fuck what Frank said

but I know you like Sandy and Debbie together so do you mind explaining why? maybe im missing something; and if youve talked about this before, you can just link me to that!

wow i love this ask so much

so i like them together, but once 11x05-11x08 hit i don’t really. i’m surprised i havent talked about this more, and if anyone wants me to i will, but sebbie and gallavich have so many parallels so i think that a part of why i liked them was because they’re very similar to gallavich.

^ and much like gallavich, they SERIOUSLY struggle with miscommunication. this is what ruins them, and this is what nearly ruined gallavich. one thing about them is that the way they were raised fucks with a lot of it. i think this applies to every single relationship every gallagher has been in (especially gallagher x milkovich ships, like gallavich and whatever lip x mandy was called) struggles with miscommunication because the way milkoviches are vs how gallagher’s are is very different. debbie was raised by frank, monica, and fiona. her perspective on what love was was seriously warped because she saw frank and monica’s love which was… well, you know, and then fiona and her many boyfriends who treated her like shit. on top of this, she has serious abandonment issues and is still yet to learn how to cope with them. in sandy’s case, we don’t know much about her childhood other than the fact that she was basically raised as mickey’s sister and got into a serious relationship with an adult at fifteen, so i don’t think it’s too absurd to assume that she didn’t have a great childhood.

sandy is more comfortable with leaving and has a hard time expressing her emotions. debbie doesn’t want anyone to leave her, ever, and can express her emotions but probably not in the most “healthy” way.

i think that i’m biased too because i also have abandonment issues so i get it. but idk.

they had potential, for sure, i think that the mere possibility that debbie could have a girlfriend who validated her emotions and stayed with her was great but unfortunately, it didn’t work out. that devestates me because i’ve talked about this many times, but i’ll say it again, debbie’s trapped in this endless cycle of attaching herself then being left, over and over again. it is literally her entire storyline.

i think that debbie’s feelings about not knowing a lot about sandy’s life were valid, i don’t know if i’d fully defend tracking her but hey, gallagher’s have done much worse- i don’t really blame her for wanting to know if her girlfriend was cheating on her or living a double life or what (*cough* jimmy-steve *cough*). but also, if i were sandy, i would be pretty pissed about that! regardless, why didn’t she tell debbie (her girlfriend of like, nine months at that point) where she worked or where she lived? i get that she was embarrassed but that’s your girlfriend, man. invalidating her feelings on that and calling her a pyscho wasn’t cool, but again, i’m biased and if i were her i wouldn’t be very happy. we have to remember the severity of debbie’s abandonment/attachment issues and how she thinks that’s okay and normal. she reached this point of feeling dependent on sandy and it makes sense that she freaked out the way she did.

but god, i hated 11x07. i mean, i loved it, but i hated it. i think it was a really realistic depiction of abandonment issues, and it was amazing for it’s awknolegment of debbie’s trauma (i wish we got more of that and i wish that people fucking listened to that part). overall, that was a very debbie-centric episode so i loved that, but god, the fight they had.

i have more to say but idk how to say it here, but i really liked sebbie in the sense that i thought they had potential, more potential than anyone else debbie had been with, but their ending was bullshit and i really don’t like the things that went down.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Here we are with more essays:

I don't think that Maeve was working with Fiona from the start. I think she said something about how the final plan was never going to work without getting Fiona's fingerprints on the gun or something like that so I think she was only working with her for a short time. Just enough that Fiona would trust her enough for her plan to work. Honestly I do wish we would have gotten a season 3 to see how the fallout between the sisters and Maeve and Janae as well would have proceeded. It hurt me a lot that Bronwyn was so angry at her. I know what she did was crazy dangerous but it worked out well enough. I was hoping they would hug it out but no such luck.

As for her reaction to the Jake thing, I'd just chalk it up to the fact that he was a monster and they didn't kill him on purpose. I have to admit that making them commit a murder - even accidentally - when they already spent such a long time being prime suspects in committing a murder was such a galaxy-brain idea. It complicates things even further for them on top of the fact that Jake's family is rich and could have sued them to hell and back even if they hadn't been suspects up until now and could have gone to the police.

Tbh, as much as I couldn't stand Jake and I was constantly dreading the possibility that Vanessa or someone else would uncover what happened and they could go to prison when they didn't deserve it, it was interesting seeing how Jake's family is dealing with the whole thing. I was a bit scared of his brother because he seemed to have some awful traits in common with Jake but I don't believe I thought he was blackmailing them (I can't remember anymore what I thought; it's been a year). It would have been too obvious. Anyway, seeing Jake's mother so brokenhearted was a great way to keep the situation complex and 3-dimensional because as much as Jake was the most hateful person in that show, his death still hurt those, who cared about him.

You know, it hadn't even occurred to me to look for a fic for season 3. I don't know why that didn't come to me as a possibility but yeah, I might try that as well when I'm in a fic-reading mood. The cancellations are such a slap in the face every time even though at this point I pretty much expect it. Capitalism is ruining art and it's heartbreaking.

Vanessa is so great in the show! Season 1 already added a lot of depth to her with her storyline there but season 2 absolutely knocked it out of the park. This is why I like the show more than the book - it just really loves its characters and tries to do everyone justice. Letting Vanessa explore her own skills and figure out she has the skills to do any task she engages with was really cool. And her deciding to work with the main four despite everything that happened was great. Showed that she can make choices based on the information she has and isn't just stuck in vengeful stubbornness. She did have a valid reason to hate Addy if not the others (because of what happened with their teacher) but she still focused on the right thing to do. Unfortunately, the book will be a terrible, crushing disappointment where Vanessa is concerned (and Simon as well). I have no clue if any of the characters appear in the sequel (my guess would be that at least Bronwyn does since she's Maeve's sister but she might be at college already so even that's not entirely certain).

Yeah, like I said, the book was slightly disappointing with how obviously it states the main 4's innocence pretty early on, especially considering the title. They are all lying about one thing or another but not about what happened in detention. The show did much better and like I said above, making them accidentally kill Jake after what happened was ingenious. I thought the new thing being a game of "Simon Says" was also pretty clever. The writers were really doing a labor of love and it worked out so well. Tbh I kind of disregarded Fiona exactly because she was the one who stabbed her teacher. I thought it'd be too obvious if it were her. As for who poisoned her, it could have been Cole or could have been someone else that we would have seen in season 3. I can't say that I really felt bad for Fiona because she was also terrible but I think the choice to make her yet another one of Jake's victims as he was just using her has very funny implications. Even in the second season he remains the true evil behind everything.

I feel that some of the nuances of Nate's character and his relationship with Bronwyn were lost in the show. I wasn't very fond of the changes made to their storyline in the show. I think that is one of the weakest points of the show but all the other improvements to the overall plot eventually won me over in favor of it versus the book.

I don't remember a lot of specifics from the book but I'm pretty sure Jake's secret was exclusive to the show. He's not really that much of a mastermind in the book but more a guy that saw an opportunity to hurt Addy for cheating on him and took it. I don't remember if they said where exactly he was during the summer but I don't think that subplot with all his photos being fake was in the book. So I think he was just on vacation and none of that ever happened.

Ooh, you watched One of Us Is Lying! I love that show! I read the book last year and I thought it was pretty good but then I watched the show and while I don't like some of the changes they made, I think the show is actually much, much better! It treats all the characters as people, not just our 4 main characters. It was definitely a big surprise and I'm glad to see you've enjoyed it too!

Yes!! Just finished it last week after watching it over a few months! I wasn't expecting to enjoy it half as much as I did, but the mystery each season really kept me on my toes! It was so hard to keep from binging it. Definitely gonna check the book series out! Do you know if the book series continues from the shows s2 cliffhanger? That finale was incredible, but the cliffhanger to finding out it was cancelled!! It's a shame the characters aren't as fleshed out in the books. I loved how the show got me to like characters I initially didn't. I'll probably have to mix book canon with tv show canon where possible.

I'm glad you enjoyed it! I gotta know, who were your favourite characters/ships and what were your favourite parts? Did you guess the murderer in s1 and/or in s2?

[2257-blr]

Behind your back pt 1 | Phillip Gallagher

imagine; youve been keeping a secret from everyone around you, rather than tell Lip, your boyfriend, you fabricate a lie to make him hate you.

WARNING: none

The soul-crushing truth. It ate away at me with every thought that consisted of him, and you can imagine how bad it was whenever he clouded my mind. It wanted out, it clawed at the barriers I made surrounding it wanting to be set free, it didn't care who it hurt in the process. It wanted to be known. But it couldn't come out. They'd look at me differently. He'd look at me differently. Lip.

He knew something was up, whether it was my tedious steps or paranoia that had seemed to be more noticeable than I had thought, he had brought it up with me a couple of times. But I always held up a front — confused —  unsure of what he was talking about but I knew, he was the one that was uninformed because I knew it all, I knew what was behind those barriers, what was so desperately trying to be set free. But he couldn't know.

I was sitting at the dinner table at the Gallaghers', trying to stop my heart from beating so fast and my leg nervously bounced on the ball of my foot under the table. My eyes were frantic scared someone would see through the cracks of my facade. Lip hadn't noticed. His eyes were trained on the bacon he was making me. Although it was around 9 pm and they had dinner hours ago. He knew something was wrong and he thought food might help. It wouldn't, but it helped the ache in my heart knowing that he cared for me.

But I can't be near him without feeling guilty, sick to my stomach kind of guilt, the one that isn't always so suffocating but is always there, in the back of my mind when our eyes meet or when his lips touch mine, guilt. Scared he'd find out what I'd done and hate me for it. I was scared for him to let me go, but maybe I'd have to let go of him first. Maybe he needed me gone, to stop the worry to stop him from hurting more than he already did.

"Hey, Lip. Oh, Jesus, Y/n you look like shit" Fiona said, rushing down the stairs causing my leg to freeze but my heartbeat increased as I frantically looked at her and back to my feet. I'm sure I was being subtle, but the pain in my chest increased. I felt so small, so weak. So, so weak.

"I-I'm fine," I say, glancing at Lip who had finally taken his eyes off the food and now had a growing look of concern on his face. I lean myself towards him, my mind scrambling, although he's so far from me, leaning makes me feel as though I'm standing beside him, trying to find the safety of his arms but I'm so goddamn far. "I'm alright, Lip. I promise." I reassured him, and myself.

He wasn't convinced, neither was I honestly. Fiona wasn't dumb either, she knew I wasn't okay. I didn't hide it as well as I thought, I knew they could see clear as day but I couldn't fix this, them bringing it up to me won't change anything. They don't want to know what's hiding within me, hell, I'd pay someone to make me forget it. But I lived it, It was me. I made the decision, no one else, me.

"We have movie night tonight, don't forget" Fiona reminds us, but I don't even hear her. My thoughts grew louder and the scratches began to feel real. I needed out of here. I couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm not actually that hungry. I'll come by later, I just need to get some fresh air right now" I scramble from my seat, rushing past Lip and Fiona. I notice Lip reach for me but his hand stops halfway and drops by his side, instead he painfully watches me as I nearly trip over my own feet, grabbing whatever coat was on the hanger since I knew it would be at least brisk outside.

Stepping outside I was glad I grabbed the coat, I shut the door behind me before trying to get off Gallagher's plot of land as fast as I could, and I felt somewhat at ease once I had exited their gate and began walking down the street, although the thought was still in the back of my mind. It felt better, not so suffocating.

Whenever I was around Lip it felt like I had a million voices screaming at me, wanting me to let the monster out of the cage. So tired of the constant scratching, the constant sinking feeling. I knew these were my own twisted thoughts speaking but I couldn't help but listen, Lip deserved better than me. A girl who lies to him just to hide the truth. Maybe this was better, for us both.

I continued walking, one foot in front of the other until I felt a hand latch onto my forearm, I instantly jolted away unsure of who they were until I saw his concerned blue eyes, I knew he wouldn't leave me out alone long, probably thought I needed a second alone but he probably just made the worst mistake running after me. Now I had to hurt the guy that I love with my entire heart. My entire body.

"Look, Y/n. You're going through shit alright, but I'm here. Don't push me away. Because when I was going through shit, you were there for me alright" Lip spoke, he sounded so fierce with his words yet they were so soft as well, warming me from the inside out. Pushing away from the guilt that gnawed at me. He was the one thing that distracted me but how could he also be the one thing that brought it so heavily into my head. "Just... Just talk to me."

I tried to look away, knowing that what I had to say was something neither of us wanted to hear, but it needed to be said. I'd rather tell him this lie than tell him the truth. He'd hate me but I'd prefer it this way. That way he never knows or has to. I feel his hand press lightly against my turned cheek, lightly pulling me back to face him. Revealing the tears that had spilled down from my eyes and the tears building up in his. He knew.

"I can't do this anymore, Lip. I'm so tired and I just need a break from this" I say, his hand falters from my face slightly before he places his hand on my opposite cheek, now with both of his hands holding my face, I'm unsure of his next words but I don't stop "Us. I can't do us anymore Lip, It was never going to work"

He shakes his head, the tears fall "Shut the fuck up. Alright, shut up. You don't mean that — you can't mean that." He kisses me "We love each other." Another kiss "Whatever you're going through, doesn't have to make us end like this" He shakes my head — not hard — trying to rid the thoughts that had compelled me to do this, but I grab his wrists and pull away but he only fights back harder, grabbing my own wrists in his hands leaving us stuck. "You don't get to do this, not now. Please" He begs.

"Fuck, Lip." I think, think of a way to make him hate me... I got it. I let go of his wrists, so now he's only holding mine. "There's someone else. I've been seeing someone else. And I-" The lie feels like acid on my tongue, and my nostrils burn but I continue "I love him, I'm sorry Lip"

He hasn't said a word, he hadn't even looked at me. How do you even react to a bomb like this, we were happy and now this. What had happened, oh, that's right. I fucked it all up. But this was going to happen one way or another whether it was from this lie or the truth. He lets go of my wrists, I had already let go prior. His head was bowed, I felt shameful. I let him down.

He finally looked up at me, with those beautiful blue eyes I fell for, the ones that held love, concern, happiness but now... now they looked enraged, betrayed, disgusted. I'd had rather die than known this look from Lip. He never looked down at me as much as he did right now. Hell, he'd probably never seen me like that ever.

"Don't ever fucking come near me again" He turns away from me and continues the walk back to his house but he stops, he fucking stops and he turns before saying "I should've seen it coming, dating a skank like you" With those last venomous words, he leaves. I hear the door slam shut behind him.

I stand frozen, appalled by my lie. I fell to the ground, leaning against the gate to the house I was unsure of. I hated myself so much for hurting him, for losing his trust that I would never gain back. But I reminded myself it was better this way. It was, for the both of us.

Now he'd never have to know about our miscarriage...

***

He slammed the front door behind him, his mind was swirling and he couldn't think straight. He wanted to punch something or — preferably the guy that had been fucking his girl — someone. He ignored the looks of concern on his family's face who were all sitting in the living room getting ready to watch a movie.

Lip hadn't seen it when he first entered but there was a spot on the end of the couch, enough space for two people. You and him. You were always there for movie night, Debbie would have your head if you didn't come. He wouldn't be surprised if Debbie is more hurt by the break up than him.

It felt surreal when he finally made it to his room, glad that no one was inside. He wanted to breathe, he didn't want to break anything but he wanted to break things like you had broken his heart. But hell, not even he was that merciless. He wanted to scream his throat raw and cry his sockets dry. But he felt so numb, so lost, so conflicted on his emotions that it frustrated him more.

"Fuck!" He yelled, slamming his hand into the wall. Ouch. Bad choice. But after the pain seared away, he wanted to do it again. You left his mind for a split second there. He knew that his pain wasn't in his chest but his hand. So he did it again. And again. Again. Aga- He heard the door open and he stopped. After a second, the pain faded and it reformed in his chest, your smile fading back into his mind. Dammit.

He could tell by the perfume that lingered around him that it wasn't one of his brothers, but his big sister. He wanted to cry, he felt so weak under her stare. So broken. Like he was some rusty ass toy that she had just found at the back of her closet. So overused and fragile. That's what you caused. He hated you so much right now.

"Lip... Your hand." Fiona points out, he notices the blood but he's silent, he moves away from her and sits on Ian's bed with his head in his hands. He wasn't even sure she was still in the room until he felt the bed sink beside him. "What happened? Where's Y/n?"

Y/n... Just your name, that's all it took for him to relive the moment all over again. The tears falling down your face, as you told him the truth. The distance that you had created between the two of you was so noticeable it hurt him, had you been so careless on purpose, did you want him to hurt, what had he done to deserve such pain from you. The love of his life.

"She loves someone else..." He mutters, it's hard to hear the words come from his own mouth. He wants someone to pinch him so he wakes up to find you sleeping soundly beside him, head on his chest and your legs tangled together but this wasn't a dream, if it was anything it was his worst nightmare. "She fucking loves someone else."

Lip hadn't noticed but Ian was now standing at the door, he heard the words that were said and that seemed to hang in the air. None of them knew what to do with it so it stayed floating waiting for someone to say something but what do you say to someone that had just lose their other half.

"Are you sure? I mean it's Y/n we're talking ab-" Fiona tries to make sure she's hearing things right, she knew you, you loved Lip more than life itself. There was no fucking way you had found someone else, someone new to love.

"Seeing as she just fucking ending things with me because there was someone else might be a clear fucking sign of that" He snaps at her, he doesn't mean to but he can't find a way to diminish this anger. Lip was now standing before Fiona, anger clear on his face as he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He turned to see Ian. His brother had been there for him his entire life. And he was here now. Of course, he was. Lip couldn't help but give him a small smile before it fell and Lip looked at his brother hoping he had the answer "What did I do wrong?"

Ian shook his head as Lip fell into his arms, sobs racking his body as he couldn't hold himself up anymore. They had seen Lip cry but never like this, never to the point of barely being able to hold himself up.

He loved you with every bit of himself, and when he lost you, well, he lost as much as he loved with.

[jennrypan]

I rewrote the part where Scourge and Sonic have that "Just like me convo" so it can fit my au of them.

____________________

Fiona cheating on him with his anti didnt make Sonic angry..

Fiona actively lying to him didnt piss him off, maybe annoyed him..but it didnt piss him off.

What did piss him off however was how she antagonized Amy and Tails, and how she seemed to preen at the slightest attention Scourge gave her..because she wanted someone to protect her..someone to care about her, he didnt know..and what set him off was how she slapped Tails away, mocked him for crying and all to impress his anti! 

"What the hell Fiona!?" 

Sonic snapped, though this just caused the vixen to roll her eyes before she looked at him..god her attitude was grating his nerves,

"What?" She mused as if she didnt just slap his best friend for no reason,

That ..that made him scowl, and without warning he moved- he wanted to actually..throw her, her attitude annoyed him, her disregard for his friends pissed him off- he hadnt accounted for Scourge actually protecting her, as when he moved..so did the green hedgehog and before he could touch Fiona a fist crushed into his cheek causing him to let out a sharp grunt and lose his footing for a brief minute, instantly turning his attention towards Scourge..he still had that same sleazy smile..taunting. 

"Bad move, blue." 

Scourge drawled out, and Sonic just clicked his tongue watching as Scourge slowly paced around him..hes been itching to fight him for who knows how long..that much Sonic knew, but Sonic just hummed,

"Oh so you can help other people besides yourself, I was beginning to worry you had no redeeming qualities!" He stated sounding visibly amused, 

Scourge just scoffed lowly, "Please, thats not a redeemin quality, raise your standards." He sneered, and without warning he ran forward..and the fight began.

Amy had since charged at Fiona but Sonic could barely focus on that as Scourge kept matching him blow for blow..only thing was Scourge was a lot more violent..a lot more aggressive.

It wasnt everyday Sonic worked up a sweat fighting an opponent as not many people matched his speed..Shadow and Metal were the only ones..now Scourge had been added to that list of people that seem to want to kill him for no reason.

"Jeez its hard to believe someone so bitter could be me, like damn dude, did your favorite jacket get discontinued?" 

Even during this fight Sonic didnt stop being taunting, as he landed on top of a rock- narrowly avoiding being kicked into a tree, watching as Scourge turned towards him, his eyes were surprisingly still shielded by his shades but Sonic could still feel him glaring at him, 

Scourge moved again and this time he successfully swiped Sonics legs from underneath him and when Sonic fell the blue hedgehog instinctively moved to the side as Scourges fist came crashing into the floor were his head had previously been,

"Lets see you keep makin jokes when I break your fuckin legs." Scourge hissed- despite his words he sounded delighted by the thought, pleased with the thought of hurting him and hes use to this from Shadow and Metal, they were both assholes who worked with Eggman on their worst days and they just genuinely didnt like him that much but Scourge? Theyve only met three times before this and he didnt remember antagonizing the male enough to make him want to hurt him that much-

Scourge charged forward once more and Sonic quickly moved to the side, arm pulling back before he crashed his fist into the side of Scourges face as he had done to him earlier..knocking the shades from his face which caused his anti to pause briefly, glancing down at the shades for a millisecond as they landed on the floor, cracked and lopsided.

That millisecond was soon forgotten as Scourge retaliated..his body moved lower and his leg rose before he kicked Sonic straight in the chest causing the male to grunt, stumbling back at the force but the kick wasnt enough as Scourge had soon punched him in the stomach,

"God- I still got a few more jokes- first, those shades were lame anyways- not a joke but a fact!" 

Sonic stated quickly, jumping out of the way from Scourge once more as the male just growled,

"Im not takin shit from someone who thinks 'Way past cool' is a thing people actually say!" Scourge retorted, 

"Hey people said it before!" 

"No ones ever said that shit before!" 

It went on like this for what seemed like a few minutes with both of them arguing with each other, Sonic just wanted to see exactly why Scourge was going out of his way to hurt him- even trying to actually break his leg if he was given the chance..the rage was so weird..he knew antis were different but he didnt expect his anti to be so..angry,  so violent- his anti seemed more like a very verbal Shadow with the way he kept attacking him, 

"Ya know being an asshole isnt as rewarding as ya think it is right?" 

Sonic questioned- grunting when he got into a tree, thankfully avoiding Amy as she chased Fiona around still, she had tried to help but Fiona kept distracting her.

"Pfft, its more rewardin than wastin my time saving a buncha useless dicks who dont deserve it!" Scourge replied, sounding amused by the sheer thought of saving someone else...Sonic couldnt imagine not wanting to save people..yeah sometimes he thought some people didnt deserve it but still, 

"Youre still a Sonic! Still me- you should want to at least try and help people!"

"Why? Cuz thats what you do?" 

Scourge just laughed and without warning he moved forward..punched him in the stomach, then his chest- he didnt wait for a retaliation as he kicked him into a tree, he found with the purpose to bruise and scar while Sonic fought to distance and distract-

His head spun for a split moment, the wind knocked out of him, 

"You dont get it! Rulin people with fear and hate, is soo much better than tryna be some glorified saint!" 

Scourge stated, his eyes were blazing..the rage was back..he looked nothing like him right now..something was off, Sonic didn't like how unhinged he was,  how cruel- 

"That isnt true, and it never will be."

Sonic declared and Scourge just sneered at him, laughing, fist pulling back as Sonic quickly moved from his spot, his knuckles slammed into bark instead of Sonics nose,

"When you finally realize not everyone deserves to be saved, when you see how much more freein it is to be above people than to depend on them- you'll be like me, all it takes is one bad day, one bad situation and you'll see that." Scourge hummed out, side stepping as Sonic went to kick him, only to have his leg grabbed and he was forcefully thrown down, causing him to grunt lowly, and without warning Scourge stepped on his chest, Sonic could only stare at him for a brief moment before he just grinned- 

"Thats where your wrong dude, a bad day doesnt just make someone a villain..but a good day? A good day could change a lot, all it takes is someone showing you an ounce of kindness, someone showin you the love you never got and you'll be like me, a good person..maybe even a hero." He stated, grinning.

He expected another mocking laugh instantly, expecting Scourges foot to press down but for a brief minute..the green hedgehog paused, eyes widening ever so slightly, and for that minute Sonic was sure he got to him..he knew deep down Scourge wasnt evil, he could just show him he didnt have to be like this, he could help him..he didnt know anything about his anti besides the fact something was severely wrong with his mental state and he took too much enjoyment in hurting him but he knew he wasnt evil.

Then.. the green hedgehog just smiled, his expression hardening as if it hadnt changed in the first place, 

"How naive." 

He sneered and that slowly shattered Sonics hopes of getting through to him..he just dismissed his words-

"Not naive..hopeful." Sonic retorted, moving his arm to grab his ankle but his foot had moved towards his neck and Sonic jolted- the malice in his eyes was so..floundering..he could never imagine that look on his own face.

"Same thing." Scourge stated dismissively, and Sonic didnt get the chance to reply as a blur of yellow and brown crashed into Scourge, pushing the older teen to the ground successfully allowing Sonic to sit up instantly,

"Get away from him you bully!" Tails screamed, Sonic heard Scourge cursing and soon Tails was thrown back, causing Sonic to quickly move to catch him.

"Thanks bud." Sonic murmured, staring at Scourge who just fixed his jacket- appearing inconvenienced as Fiona neatly landing besides him as Amy ran up next to Sonic, "Stop running you coward!" The pink hedgehog hissed, Scourge just plucked out a warp ring from his jacket, just smiling at Sonic.. His smile was so..mean looking, it was too sharp..too fake,

"Til next time blue."  

Was all Scourge said in a sing song like voice as he let Fiona into the portal first and he followed quickly after just as Amy chucked her hammer in their direction, who she was aiming at specifically he had no clue.

"Dammit! Stupid! Assholes, ugh!" Amy screamed, storming over to snatch her hammer up,

"Theyre such bullies! Why did I even like her!" Tails exclaimed, Sonic just frowned before he sighed quietly, glancing from Amy to Tails. 

"Lets just go, theyre gone now, might as well enjoy the peace." He stated with a simple shrug, giving them a small smile, the smile made Amy visibly melt while it comforted Tails slightly, the young pink hedgehog was at his side instantly, clutching his arm- which he allowed for the time being while Tails was a little slower to approach him, still dejected.

He knew his anti despised him but he'll never get the reason why, and unfortunately..Scourge was too far gone to talk down from whatever path he was taking..the friendly route was no longer an option.

[mewtonian-physics]

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it. 

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes. 

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck. 

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard. 

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one. 

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.) 

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments... 

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

[bluesockets]

HUGO WEIDERMANN ( HE/HIM ) is a CIS MALE, THIRTY-SEVEN year old THERAPIST & PSYCHIATRIST who has been living in Moorbrooke for TWO YEARS. They were born on MARCH 5 and right now, they are currently residing in REDGRAVE GROVE. It has been said that they look suspiciously like MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose HEAVY BALLOON by FIONA APPLE. ( ox, 21+, cst, he/him )

❮ it grows relentless like the teeth of a rat it's just got to keep on gnawing at me !! ❯ TW : ILLNESS, DRINKING MENT. !

full name : hugo weidermann. nicknames : he actually hates most derivatives of his name. calling him ‘huey’ is a one way ticket to getting your number blocked. pronouns : he/him. age : thirty-seven. date of birth : march 5, 1984. zodiac : pisces. gender : cis male. sexuality : gay. hometown : munich, germany. current residence : redgrave grove. languages spoken : german + english.

BIO !

—— hugo was born into a moderately wealthy family right in the middle of munich, germany. his parents pushed a lot of their #grindset on him and his baby sister. unfortunately for him, this meant a future of perfectionism and unrelenting gifted kid syndrome. he sacrificed a lot of his social needs for grades early in his life and after a while, it all became second nature. once in a blue moon he’d talk to his peers in scouting but he’d stutter, stumble over his words, and never quite found the right things to say. figuring himself a lost cause, he studied. he helped his mom with the garden. maybe occasionally played half life or duke nukem on the family computer. all of this dedication to perfection made him a shoe-in for harvard university, all the way over in the united states. his parents, father especially, encouraged the idea. that was all he needed to get himself on a plane to massachusetts. he was just glad his family could afford frequent flights back home, in case everything went to shit. —— when he first landed, hugo thought he’d only be in the states for school, but he ended up liking it a lot more than he thought he would. after finishing school and taking up a residency in downtown boston, he moved to new york. he made a good amount of money, was able to keep in touch with the few friends he met in college, and even secured a few long term relationships along the way. he hit his thirties and finally felt that he reached a point of contentment. this ... didn’t last long. —— right before he was able to buy his first house in the city he fell ill and, after seeing more doctors than he could count on both hands and feet, was diagnosed with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. this wasn’t something he thought he was going to be able to handle by himself, so his sister came down from her home in germany to assist him with his daily needs. the two of them definitely couldn’t afford new york and medical bills on hugo’s salary alone, which led them to pack their bags and head to ( what his sister considered ) the next best option. moorbrooke, maine !! he wasn’t too stoked about this. he’d be leaving most of his support system behind and he knew absolutely nothing about the area, but his sister found a job there and it was a good place for him to start a private practice of his own. he’s still struggling over the loss of independence and the complete change from where he was in life before, but he’s coping ! after spending a lot of time inside and away from the people of moorbroke, he finally thinks he might be ready to actually make a life here. even if he wasn’t, his sister isn’t gonna move the two of them any time soon.

TIDBITS !

he’s a very nice dude and will totally engage with people, he just cannot bring himself to let his walls down. you really gotta know hugo well if you wanna have a conversation about anything serious without him deflecting the whole damn time.

his accent .... god rest his soul. he’s been living here for 20 years and sometimes people still need to take a second to understand him. especially when he drinks. two beers in and the man needs a translator.

speaking of drinking, he doesn’t do it often, and he can’t hold his liquor. i’d actually advise people to never give him alcohol. like, ever.

was on the rowing team in college. please don’t ask him about it. he’ll talk about it forever.

if it weren’t for his dog and his bees he’d be at rock bottom. outside of writing ( which i will get to in a jiffy ), beekeeping is his favorite hobby. ask him nicely and he might give you a jar of honey.

before coming down with lupus and RA he wrote two very boring books for psychiatrists and psychiatrists only. now that his focus has shifted away from his career a little bit, he’s in the middle of writing a poetry collection.

you will find this man at every bookstore in a 10 mile radius. he can’t be in the sun for too long so instead he likes to look at stuff he promises himself he won’t buy and then buys it anyway.

CONNECTIONS !

clients

he’s got fifteen clients on his caseload just to keep himself from losing his mind. he specializes in family, grief, trauma, and stress but doesn’t limit himself too much because of how small the town is. what i’m saying is : let hugo prescribe your characters drugs.

fellow beekeepers

he’s kept to himself a lot during his time in moorbrooke but his sister used to force him out at least some of the time. she drives him to beekeepers association events and conventions often enough, i would imagine it’d be a lot easier for him to talk to someone who shares the same niche hobby !! if your muse doesn’t keep bees, i’m always down for him to talk to some of the people who buy his honey at farmer’s markets.

former close friends

hugo met a lot of people ( particularly on harvard’s rowing team ) in college and during his stint in new york. i’m sure it’d be great for him to meet someone he knew up here because he’s honestly so tired of having to get used to new situations by himself.

flirtationship but hugo is oblivious the entire time

this guy is definitely the type to flirt with people on accident. i think it’d be really fuckin funny if he was flirting back and forth w someone he wasn’t consciously flirting with in the first place.

😏

listen the only thing i love playing out more slow burn self improvement and found family is romance. he’s been single since he was in new york and i think he deserves a little smooch. please dm me if your muse is also deserving of a little smooch.

etc, etc, etc !

there’s definitely more i want. i want everything you have to give me. however, if you’re in need of specifics, i would love to see : his doctors, people he can become friends with + let his walls down around, people he can teach german to, other authors, beta readers, and neighbors !

what am i missing. ah, yes.

pinterest / spotify [coming soon!]