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kikizoshi · 8 months ago

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Feeling discouraged, so here's a short, unfinished Godos piece that will never be realised. Nikolai's attempting (read: failing) to write his first draft of a play (an adaptation of Dead Souls, Part 2). Fyodor was going to cheer him up and inspire him, somehow, but I don't have any clue how, so this is all I could get out of that idea. (I do at least like how it turned out, though, unfinished as it is.)

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The words on the page taunted Nikolai like so many Sufi dervishes. They blurred, swirled into characters half-formed, who jumped and jeered just out of Nikolai’s sight. ‘Find us,’ they seemed to say. ‘Come and see our beautiful lives! And then depict us, reveal us to everyone, that we may truly exist.’ They beckoned him to find them, invited him to view their marvelous exploits, to laugh along with their absurd adventures—and then just as he reached to meet them, they slipped away, laughing. Unendingly they tortured him with scenes just beyond grasp, a perfect story hidden in the periphery of a dense fog.

Nikolai groaned, leaned back, and pressed his palms against his eyes. It was a perfect picture of agony, well-practiced and endlessly rehearsed. ‘Yet all the acting in the world won’t save a lacking script,’ he thought. ‘Ah, why can’t you just write yourselves? Hop along, I’ll even guide the quill, so long as you do something, anything, oh please…’ His entreaties, of course, prompted naught but more formless tittering. Nikolai sighed, and contemplated how effective bashing his scull against the door-jam would be at shaking something loose.

“Is something the matter?” an irritatingly calm Fyodor asked from behind him. Nikolai swung around in his chair, resting his arms on the back, and stared pointedly at his relaxed friend who lounged so serenely on the green recliner, a book nestled under his folded palms. The question itself was preemptive, a set-up, a frivolous first line of a three-line script which always arrived at the same conclusion. Nikolai recognised the offer for friendly—and perhaps even needed—advice, but took it no less bitterly. He smiled mirthlessly. Nevertheless, he played his part.

“Whatever gave you that impression? Was it the willful suicide of the last of my creative expression? Or perhaps you hear them laughing too?”

“Your characters won’t work with you?” (Here, the second phrase, to be replied with…)

“Oh, far beyond that. They won’t speak to me at all! I’m being shunned.”

“I see.” Fyodor concluded and stood, pulling the curtain on their impromptu play. Nikolai watched him go, mildly curious which remedy Fyodor would prescribe this time. “I need to visit the theatre,” he said finally. “Would you like to join me?”

Nikolai laughed flatly. “For what? The stage doesn’t—and I say this from great experience—do anything for one’s imagination. If anything, it’s worse, because you see everything that has been and none of what could be! Can you imagine that? I know, I know, you’re ‘not that way artistically inclined,’ but imagine for a moment that the sentences of your computer codes were jumping and jaunting about in front of your very eyes, and so to fix it, you decided to stare at someone else's pages. Well? Would that help you very much?”

“Most likely it wouldn’t.” Fyodor smiled. “But we won’t be going to the stage. I need to stop by the costuming department. Misha talked one of the women there into parting with an unused costume design for Verenka, but couldn’t pick it up himself.”

“And you just so happen to be free?”

“No,” Fyodor said, a bit dejected. “But I couldn’t stand to stare at my colleagues’ ‘pages’. As you say, it won’t do any good.” He sighed wearily. “Some fresh air and new scenery, tea, something else to think about… I need them greatly. And some company would be nice, too.”

Nikolai stood without ceremony (a shame, yes, but recall his lack of inspiration and forgive him), stretched, and said flatly, “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

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As it turned out, Nikolai was quite quick to regret those words. A lovely stroll down the uncharacteristically sun-touched streets of St. Petersburg wound down into a bustling cafe.

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Surprisingly, all went well at the theatre. The lady was quite nice, expressing her condolences and well-wishes for the ‘poor young woman’, and waved them on their way. Pattern safely secured, the two stopped by the next-door cafe, ‘The Stray Dog’, (home to aspiring and established artists alike), for a spot of tea. And thence all collapsed.

#writing #bsd #bsd fyodor #bsd nikolai #godos #fyolai #the projection is strong with this one #I wanted to try a story more from Nikolai's perspective #adding his way of viewing the world into the prose #because usually I do a more third-person omniscient style and Дом в котором inspired me #the Fyodor really wasn't Fyodoring in this one though...#by the way: 'The Stray Dog' isn't just a BSD reference #it's an actual cafe that was frequented by a lot of prominent silver age Soviet artists #and still exists today I believe after having been shut down for a while #it also happens to share a building with Mikhailovsky theatre. which is near-ish to the apartment they're in right now #(their apartment being on Grazhdanskaya street)#also to ramble a bit about Fyodor and Nikolai's living situation #they share a one-room apartment. which is why Fyodor was reading in the same room #Fyodor works on his laptop in the kitchen but prefers to read in the bedroom #Nikolai's writing desk is also in the bed/living room so it's often that he's writing/rehearsing while Fyodor's reading #which personally sounds like a living hell but they both grew up sharing rooms with siblings so ig they're already used to it

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youremyonlyhope · 5 months ago

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I'm not a "new musical theatre style music" person. Never have been.

Even when I was doing voice lessons, I'd steer towards the golden age or jazzy musical theatre songs. My voice teacher would have to drag me kicking and screaming towards adding anything new musical theatre to my repertoire. For a while, the most modern song in my book was I Know The Truth from Aida, and I wouldn't count that as new musical theatre style since I mean more the Pasek&Paul or Joe Iconis type.

And now I have an audition coming up for a small production of a show in that style and I'm supposed to sing a song in a similar style. And I'm looking at all my sheet music like... let me do some Cole Porter... or Gershwin... at least Sondheim please...

#look i do have SOME newer musicals in my book. but like i said. kicking and screaming.#i'm probably gonna end up doing 'I Think That He Likes Me' which is not IN a musical it's just new musical theatre style #as part of a songbook for some writing duo that i can't remember the name of and it's 2:45am so i can't care enough to look it up.#and it's the only one in my sheet music folder that i'm like 'ok. this is TRULY the right style' and i know it's good in my voice #and it's a cute song and i do like it and it definitely fits the overall vibe of the show #and though i haven't sung it in like 4 years i still remember 90% of the words and have time to study it before the audition #but while trying to find that song deep deep in my folder i pass by other songs i just love so much more #and i'm like ahhhhhhhh why #and i'm not even like 'god i hope i get it' (see A Chorus Line. that's more my type) i truly don't care if i'm cast or not #and yes i can technically audition with any song i could ever want it's just suggested to do the same style #but i know the entire creative panel who i'll be auditioning for and the last 2 times i auditioned for them i sang the same song #only because it's a GOOD song that fit both shows i was auditioning for (Can't Stop Talking About Him by Frank Loesser)#(perfect audition song since it's short at like 28 bars and you can pick the tempo and do a lot of character stuff)#(but see this is what i mean. like 1/3 of my entire sheet music folder is golden age musicals. then half is 60s-90s.)#(and then the last chunk are the few new-ish musical theatre and some pop music.)#(if i took performing more seriously i'd have a wider range but this is truly just for fun and just for me. so i do what i like.)#i don't want to go in for a 3rd audition with the same creative team and doing the same song. especially since it doesn't fit this time.#so once again. dragged kicking and screaming. over to new musical theatre territory. unwillingly.#if i get cast we'll have to see if the show itself even grows on me since honestly i think there's maybe 2 songs i like in it.#it's definitely not the worst new musical theatre style show but it's also not one that drew me in.#ok wait while looking through lists of 'new musical theatre' shows to find one i actually like (i think just Legally Blonde sorry guys)#(every other new musical in the last 20 years that i like did something interesting with the music like Come From Away)#i ended up finding out that apparently 13 was adapted into a netflix movie? when did that even happen?#i mean i don't care for that show either but i thought i was at least up to date on movie adaptations.

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mariana-oconnor · 1 year ago

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I must not compare myself to others. I must not compare myself to others. I must not compare myself to others. I must not compare myself to others. I must not

#Sometimes you read a thing and you just know you could never do that or think of that #and the crushing weight of your own inadequacy threatens to bury you forever #and you have to remind yourself that everyone is different and just because your style is not the same it is not worse #and no one else could have come up with that story and told it that way because every story belongs to its author #and you might write differently but that is not a value judgement #because the stories you write could only be written by you #but still #*incoherent screaming*#and no I will not specify #because this is universal and happens to me at least once a month #Cleaning out my drafts #I Qd #also don't remember which fic this was about anymore

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rowenabean · 2 years ago

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Inspired by @thestuffedalligator 's wonderful post: please enjoy the first installment of the Weird and Wonderfuls Ward: Sleeping Beauty Syndrome!

(I don't know if there will ever be any other installments, but this concept grasped me like a rattlesnake and wouldn't let go. No, I've never been grasped by a rattlesnake so I don't actually know what that's like. I feel like I'm only beginning to get to the interesting bits, but I have a low-key migraine and I decided the better part of valour is avoiding being on my computer when I have a migraine.)

“Hi!” the girl in front of Larissa said brightly. “You’re our new intern? Welcome to the Weird and Wonderfuls Ward!”

Larissa blinked. “Uh – I was expecting ward 4?”

“That’s us!” she said. “We just call it that. You know, it takes a lot to be managing some of this stuff, so it’s better to be cheerful about it! I’m the fellow here, we do have a consultant but he’s in and out so mostly it’ll be just you and me. Marie. Where have you come from?”

Larissa seized on the last question with the grasp of a drowning man.

“Just been on general surgery. It was my first run, so medicine is all brand new! Hoping it’ll be a bit of a change of pace.”

Marie squinted. “That’s optimistic? Dr Faustus should be in this morning, so we’ll see. Good luck? Probably best to grab the notes now, he moves pretty fast.”

“Ah – yes!” Larissa gulped. “Where are they?” She looked around. This wasn’t at all like the previous wards she’d worked on. For a start, she’d had to come underground to get here, which was the first time she thought she might have taken a wrong turning. She’d been expecting the tunnel to pop back up to the surface, but it had merely kept going down until she felt like she might be in some kind of wartime bunker. For some reason, there were still windows in some of the walls, but they looked out on excavated earth around 10cm from the glass, which did nothing to help her discomfort. This room appeared to be the nurses station, and it did have the classic whiteboard bearing patient details, but beside each name was a collection of sigils that bore no resemblance to the terms she’d learned in medical school.

At the back of the room she located a stack of binders. The first one had a name on the front, and she flipped open to reveal the first page. Yes, that was their ID details, and it looked like there were clinical notes behind her. Upstairs they had moved to computers, but the hospital she’d trained at had paper notes, and this looked sufficiently familiar to work with. She went to close the notes, but stopped as something caught her eye. Why was there a space for “species” on the registration form? And what the hell was a trow?

A door slammed behind her, and Larissa turned with a squeak. A dark-haired man had entered the room, his face narrow and tapering to a pointed chin with a small tuft of black beard. He wore a pair of tiny round glasses perched on his aquiline nose, and a long dark gown in place of her white coat.

“Ah, fresh meat,” he said, and held out a hand with an unpleasant smile. “Dr Faustus.”

Larissa concentrated on keeping poise, but her hand still trembled as she held it out to shake. “Larissa. I believe I’m your new house officer?” Her voice cracked on the question. “Marie was just – introducing me to the ward?”

He nodded curtly. “Hand me your pager,” he said.

Larissa slipped it from her belt and passed it over, confused. Dr Faustus passed his hand over it in a complicated motion, then handed it back. “There you are. That should be more useful now.” He turned and walked out the door without further comment. Larissa blinked after him stupidly. It wasn’t until Marie hissed “Ward round!” that Larissa gathered herself and the teetering stack of patient notes – seriously, computer was much more convenient – and followed him out the door.

The ward round was an uncomfortable flashback to her first day as a surgical house officer, straight from medical school. With a stack of a dozen folders to sort, it often took her several minutes to find the correct patient, by which point Dr Faustus was walking out of the patient cubicle and expected her to be ready to see the next. She tried to at least write down the diagnosis, but that was a flurry of half-understood words in itself – “bog-standard lycanthropy,” he said at one, “full moon’s tomorrow so just make sure he’s somewhere safe,” and then the next was “that’s a simple curse, just send down the curse-breakers and they’ll have her on her feet in no time.” The only case she recognised was the second to last. Dr Faustus stoped in front of the patient and talked for a minute, then turned to the nurse manager in disgust.

“This one’s just Lyme disease. Why is she here? Get her back upstairs.”

The patient behind him tried to say something, but she was cut off by his protests, as was the nurse manager.

“Not everything weird is us, you know. This isn’t supernatural at all. Those general physicians, trying to get out of their responsibilities. I don’t want to see her here when I come back.”

Marie poked Larissa quietly. “That’s you, you know. You’ll have to call upstairs to make it happen.”

At the end of the ward round, Dr Faustus stalked away upstairs, and Larissa sat down with relief. She still had no idea what was happening, but at least she had a moment to figure it out. Her list of jobs was intense – beginning with “write down nine tenths of the ward round notes” and leading through such gems as “figure out who the curse-breakers are” and “where do we find a silver pentangle” to “try and persuade the physicians they want to listen to a lowly house officer about taking over a patient,” but she’d done this before, she reminded herself. It wasn’t like the surgeons hadn’t made her work above her pay grade at times.

Marie disappeared at some point while Larissa was still sorting out the notes. She hunted around the ward for a bit, and eventually managed to find a nurse who might be able to help her figure out what was going on.

The nurse was called Joseph. He was a slightly-built younger man, wearing the standard hospital nursing uniform, apart from one thing: he had no shoes. Instead, his legs protruding from the sensible polyester trousers ended in goats hooves. They made a faint clopping sound as he walked, like the finer grade of court heels that Larissa had long-since decided to avoid in the echoing hospital corridors.

He ran over her list with a practiced eye. “Curse-breaker’s easy – they’ll be here for MDT anyway in an hour – ah yes, I’ll show you were we keep the silver items. That werewolf’s just staying till the full moon and then going home? Ok, we’ll pop him down the end, there’s a single room he should enjoy in the daytime, and it’s not like the moonlight gets down here. Best part of the location. You’ll have to figure out the physicians yourself, I’m afraid, I try not to go upstairs. It’s a whole hassle putting the concealment spells on my feet.”

By mid-morning, Larissa had moved the patient with Lyme disease upstairs – her one triumph, in that it was the only thing she managed to achieve on her own – and had found the silver gear. Marie eventually returned, and she managed to corner her to show her what to actually do with it – “they don’t teach this any more in medical school?” and they took it down to that patient, who was screaming in pain. The touch of the silver left a faint burn mark – although it was neither hot nor cold – but the pain left her, and Marie pronounced her cured. Or rather, exorcised. Larissa completed her discharge paperwork, and was just starting to feel on top of things when her pager rang.

It took her a moment to realise it was the pager. Whatever Dr Faustus had done to it, it wasn’t beeping in the usual way; instead, a squeaky voice said “Emergency! Emergency! Your presence required! Emergency!” and then was interrupted by Dr Faustus himself.

“Incoming patients in ED. Spell gone wrong - looks like a sleeping beauty situation. There’s at least ten victims in transit at the moment, likely there's more we can't find yet. All hands needed in ED.”

Larissa looked down at her list. It was starting to look more manageable than it had, but she had been counting on having the rest of the day to get all her paperwork done (even the weird and wonderfuls ward had paperwork), and being on call hadn't entered her radar. She hadn't seen any other doctors down here, though, so maybe it was just the one team. She gulped. What a thought.

Marie started running for ED, and Larissa followed her. It took a while to get there - up and up through the subterranean corridors, and when they rose to ground level they were still on the far side of the hospital - dodging around elderly ladies on walkers and young kids in moonboots, as well as the hordes of doctors going around their own ward rounds upstairs. Marie glimpsed her old surgical team, new intern in tow, but didn't stop the helter-skelter run through the corridors. She sped up next to Marie.

"What's the hurry? What does sleeping beauty mean?"

"Sleeping - beauty," Marie huffed, "patients not - technically - alive. No pulse - not breathing for themselves. One person breathing for them all - if they stop breathing - everyone dies."

Larissa swallowed. "And do they stop breathing?"

“Don’t – know” Marie said. “I’ve only seen a source once. Usually we just see the blast radius.”

“What do you do then?” Larissa asked, then corrected herself. “We. What do we do?”

“If we can – get them breathing – we can get them stable enough to break it. Usually. It’s not an easy one to break.”

They arrived at ED, and Marie led Larissa to the side. There was a curtain there that Larissa had never glanced twice at, and Marie led her behind it. In front of them was a whole second department. It had the same clear-glass cubicles with the same flimsy privacy curtains, and the same air of barely-contained chaos. The similarities ended there. Half the staff were dressed in long robes instead of scrubs, and candles and incense burned around each of the monitors in the staff workstation. She could see more of the sigils from below, and actually recognised a silver pentangle that was a larger counterpart of the one Marie had shown her downstairs. In one corner, a tired-looking paramedic was wheeling in a patient on a stretcher. Even from here she could see that they were uncomfortably blue-tinged, and their chest was rising in a forced, stilted manner, as if they were on a ventilator, even though there was no machine anywhere near their mouth.

#OP I hope you are ok with me running with this! it's such a fun idea and i used to work in a hospital so it was very vivid to me #weird and wonderfuls ward #my writing #medicine #loosely speaking although this is VERY much informed by my hospital work like in a this could have been my first day way #i realised writing this that i struggle to write a case of the week style because i just can't believe that there's not at least twenty #other things happening at the same time #like it is SO rare that you get to stop and focus on just one case as a junior doctor #(or a GP)#maybe this is different if you work in ICU or somewhere like that

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musical-chick-13 · 1 year ago

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I wish I liked the books. I really, really wish I liked the books.

#like I don't. dislike them.#I just. the way the prose is written is tedious on a level I have rarely experienced #they were a SLOG getting through to the point where I'm not even sure how much I remember about the differences between the books and the #show. like I do remember that some of the characters I was less interested in during the show felt more complete in the books. and some of #the politics were tighter. but like. straight-up I cannot read these last 2 if they ever come out. I can't do it.#I love the characters but the actual writing style makes my brain cry #and it's just so frustrating to hear 'but the books are so much BETTER' because like yeah I guess on some level they are but I CAN'T FUCKIN #READ THEM. AND ALSO THE SAME THINGS THAT PEOPLE HATED IN THE SHOW ARE PROBABLY MORE OR LESS ALSO GOING TO HAPPEN IN THE BOOKS #idk man. it's one thing to be told that something you love sucks. it's another thing to be told that the act of loving it makes you stupid #and like. idk anti-intellectual or something. there are plenty of books I like and make an effort to read. I just didn't like these.#I wish I saw what the rest of you did I really really do but I just don't #In the Vents #genuinely I am so sorry to like half of the people who follow me I know this will be a profound disappointment #I just HAD to get this out of my system #this blog is first and foremost A Place Where I Scream About Things #unfortunately. for everyone. including and especially me lmao.

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dandyshucks-moving · 1 year ago

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woah rare other system part sighting lmao, here's a Guz drawn by not-Juno

#I was working with the base they laid out so I had to fudge some shit because they'd laid out the neck and shoulder weirdly RIP #like the head is too far over to the right lmao but I didn't feel like erasing a bunch of it to fix that #the hand behind the wrestling box corner thing is also goofed lmao #turning rbs off but Juno (Dandy is vaguely a cross-system name so it feels weird calling them that) might post the art later better #I don't know how they edit their photos but I think I maybe got close lol #this guys fun to draw tbh love a rough n tumble boy lol he's got the same body type as one of my OCs except Stasis is mostly a robot LMAO #dandyshucks #dandy doodlebugs #<- I'll add these just in case ig ?? idk Juno do what u want with this even if it means deleting it lol hope this is fine for me to post #ALSO THIS WONT BE A REGULAR OCCURRENCE LMAO I was just super bored tonight and happened to switch in during Juno drawing this guy #probably won't ever happen again lol #our drawing styles arent super different I think but also this is using a base they laid out so I would've done it differently lmao #maybe it is different though - apparently I'm not a good judge of shit like this bc they say I write and play accordion differently somehow #but I thought I was doing a pretty good job the other day of doing it like they do lmaooo but nah they said it was all noticeably different #I'm chatty tonight sorry lol been a hot minute since I've had any time in front but I'll scoot off now #💜so good at being in trouble

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arklay · 2 years ago

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cont. I'm not smart, clearly. Anyways how about the 1996 prompt I want to know the rest of the conversation why does she call him babygirl

wip title meme ♡

— uncle albert why does diana call you babygirl?

a classic. so you know this meme? (which omg thank you to @weskersdogboy for making this edit lmao)

well, yeah. this is basically how a conversation goes and i just had to make that the wip title. it's a beloved fic for me that i wrote back in march, and it's the one i'm currently like all in trying to rewrite right now, as well as the migraines one cause it happens on the same night, because i really want to share this all

so, diana goes over to his house for dinner, like they do so often, and they haven't put a label on their relationship at this point (they haven't even acknowledged that they have feelings for each other yet), but there is an unexpected guest because he had to pick sherry up from school because her parents were busy

anyway, she ends up asking if diana is his girlfriend, literally goes "are you uncle albert's girlfriend?" and this man goes as still as can be while cooking dinner, like omg she did not just ask that... diana is also like oh no, but she decides to have a little fun and push his buttons by playing along, saying "i'm not quite sure, perhaps you should ask uncle albert that question"

the moment sherry opens her mouth to speak again, he cuts her off and says that dinner is almost done so she should go and wash up. and sherry is just looking between the two of them for a second before she rushes off. he's all tense, well, even more than before, and diana realises she may have struck a nerve there. but it's fine. she apologises if she overstepped his boundaries by playing into it, but she reassures him that she doesn't care to put a label on things, she simply likes enjoying his company

there's a lot more to this fic just in terms of this moment kind of unintentionally causing a bit of a shift between them, making it so the tender moments between them aren't as restrained, and that night also serves as a catalyst for diana realising what she's been feeling have in fact been feelings. but yeah, this is a special one, and although it's serious, there's these fun little moments with sherry in it which i love

#asks.#anonymous #pair: ewskers #oc: diana #thank youuu so so much!!! i always love talking about them and this fic is so near and dear to me and i am in the process of rewriting it #because the old one is good and it all stays the same but i just want it to flow better because i never posted it so i feel okay with going #back to it and just redoing it because my writing style has changed and i want to add more depth to it and descriptions. but yeah hehe #it's just that funny little joke is literally how that interaction goes and that wasn't intentional at all!!! theo sent me that meme after #i was talking about it and i went omfg you're so right... that's literally what happened huh???#ALSO no saying not smart around here!!! entirely a fun little thing and up to your interpretation with last ask like it's all a good time!!

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inkskinned · 1 year ago

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which is fine, because love is love, and you're getting gay-married, so it would be kind of ironic if love was only sometimes love.

except The King Of Demons (his is Edmund) is always late, to everything, always. which is fair, because time doesn't work in hell, and it's not like he can just catch a bus. except that you specifically asked him not to do this, didn't you, because he's always doing things like this.

He splays out his hands, the light catching on long, ivory claw tips. god, doesn't he know not to wear white to a wedding?

so many people are screaming right now.

it's not that he's the golden child. you guys had normal parents, middle-class. your mom was kind of an "almond mom," according to your fiancée, who pursed their lips when they found out about how your mom used to wrinkle her nose any time you asked for an extra snack in your lunchbox.

you close your eyes for a moment. think of your beautiful almost-spouse. ashe. their name like a bloom inside you. how the dress looks on ashe's body, their shy little smile. how they'd walked down the aisle, and you'd both been half-laughing, half-crying. your hands had trembled when you saw them. like the whole world was pouring down your throat, golden. like you were catching a moment and casting it in amber.

ashe'd been the one to help you when your parents were pushing for you to invite edmund. god, the amount of fights you'd gotten in with your parents - the same six sentiments, over and over again.

you'd been sitting on your bed, biting your lip, your fingers hovering over the little button send. ashe'd nuzzled your neck. you used to be close, and i think that's important. but you know your relationship to him the most. i'm willing to make the effort, and i love you no matter what you choose, they'd said. we don't have to if you don't want to, though, no matter what your parents say about him.

you'd thrown yourself down, supine, arm over the eyes. he's just... we are just.... you tried to phrase that-which-is-love-and-rage.

you're the normal twin. your "big thing" was only "being a lesbian." in high school, edmund started being able to make birds die by looking at them. you came home, trying to tell your parents i kissed a girl. i think i'm - and they just kind of nodded at you. edmund was eating the bible in front of them, like a goat.

on the bed, you'd held your hands out vaguely to ashe. edmund is a just always a lot.

ashe had shrugged. don't invite him then. and it was that - that they were okay with either of your decisions - that is why he even got an invite, in the end.

and now here he is, like how you wanted (?), and your hands are red, clenched hard around your bouquet. the officiant is crying. some people are on their knees, praying. some are trying to touch your brother, like he could impart a blessing.

"i made it!" he's triumphant. "i know i'm late, i'm sorry, there was - do you know anything about right-wing politicians?"

"i'm going to fucking kill him," you say, although you're not actually sure who you're talking to, or if he can be killed.

ashe is blinking, their face in a tiny oh of surprise. you take their hand, drop their hand, take their hand again. they blink at your brother. their voice is low but steady. "there's, um. is there a dark halo around him?"

you duck your head to meet their eyes. "fuck, ashe. i'm sorry. he wasn't supposed to -"

"did i miss it?" Edmund is swinging his head around far-too-wide. his 2 sets of horns leave little red mist any time they scour through the air. "I didn't miss the kiss, right?"

the town clerk is in the audience, and she's frowning. you send her an apologetic look. she shakes her head. "as we've discussed," she manages to throw her gentle voice over the din, "the wedding isn't official if someone objects. that is the legal statute. which people tend to be understanding of." she sends a dirty look to edmund, and that makes you love her. she seems completely calm, which makes sense, because she works in the town hall, and this probably isn't even her first demon-showing-up-at-a-wedding.

he somehow hears her, holds his hands up. "i'm not objecting!" the back of the event hall catches on fire. of-fucking-course. "i'm not - don't mind me, uh, please continue." edmund sends a look to the back-of-the-room fire and it whimpers and gutters out. he flashes you a winning smile, and then puts his hand to his king's-garb chest and mouths sorry! and then cartwheels his glittering talons to say go ahead.

"i think i'm going to throw up." the officiant's voice is barely a whisper.

you watch in horror as edmund tries to awkwardly slide into a waiting line of chairs. the sound of begging follows him, people on their knees at hell's king. he pats a few of them on the head, holding up his finger in a sheepish shh! while his touch leaves a bleeding rune on their skin. his hooves click, and his footprints leave ruby-bright fireroses in his wake.

he tries to sit down, but the wooden chairs are made for people and not the lord king of demons, so he has to span his furred hindquarters over two seats. he smiles again, offers you a little wave.

the room is dead silent, minus the weeping. you look back to ashe. you ruined this. you shouldn't have invited him. you spent so much money on this event, and ashe looks so fucking handsome, and you haven't even gotten to kiss them. to make it official.

ashe looks up at you, manages a little smile. "could be worse?"

you feel yourself start to smile too, but then edmund's chairs give out, and he falls directly on the floor, and with his startled yelp, everything around him bursts into the cold whip-crease of hellflame, disintegrating everything that isn't-a-person, including the flowers and the decorations and the cake and the tables. everything you saved for months to be able to afford. the venue that you both agonized over choosing. you picked this place because it was significant to both of you and was equidistant from both your parents and had a deal with the local hotel for people coming out of town. two years of planning, literally burning down around your ears.

edmund manages to stop the fire pretty much immediately, but it's too late. the officiant faints clear away. the town clerk gives you a sympathetic look and mouths see you soon and steps neatly out of the room, taking ashe's parents with her, chatting gently. an arched flower frame collapses into dust with a loud whoomp. pretty much nobody is left in the building, and you're standing at the top of the steps, at the fucking hour of your marriage, and there is nothing left but blue-cold embers, the lights blown out in favor of the eerie hellfire glow.

you sit down, hard. after a few seconds, you feel ashe sit down next to you. you put your head between your knees so you don't puke with rage, which would be somehow more humiliating than everything else happening at the moment.

"okay, it's definitely too soon," they whisper in your ear, "but i have to admit there is something that's going to be so funny later about my name being ashe and my wedding going up in flames." they wrap their hand in yours. "i can't believe we worried about candles. we should have just gone with them instead of worrying about safety. are you okay?"

you send them a look. "am i - am i okay? this absolute bitch -" you gesture with your free hand out to where edmund is trying to piece together the cinders of his chair, "ruined my fucking wedding."

your mom is standing awkwardly in what used to be the "family" row of chairs. your father is absent, of course. she makes a noise at you. "don't call your brother a bitch."

"oh my fucking god." you have to put your head between your knees again, fighting that stupid fucking rage-puke urge. your blood pressure has obviously reached "skyrocket".

"he's here, isn't he? you're not being particularly grateful," your mother says, because of course she does.

"oh my god! ohmygod. ohmygod." you feel yourself hyperventilating, and then you start laughing, and you hate the hyena hysteria of it, the way it pitches dangerously close to a sob. "this is just - this is just like you! this is the fucking - you blow out the candles on the birthday cake! you curse the kids i'm trying to babysit! you get straight-A's on every test without studying, and get all the friends, and everyone is obsessed with you! and then when i graduate from art school, do i fucking get a party? nope! but hey, let's throw edmund a party for his 300,000th tortured soul! and his 300,001st! and fucking everything else. and fuck me, i guess! edmund gets hurt on the playground, let's burn down the playground. i got fucking bullied, and our parents don't even notice. i am fucking struggling, but we need to pay attention to edmund. he gets fucking everything. while we're at it, why don't we let him fucking ruin my wedding!"

you are dimly aware of ashe wrapping one arm around you and then the other, and then you are sobbing into their shoulder.

"oh, come on. stop with the hysterics," your mother chides you. "you had a perfectly fine childhood. all kids fight. you should have gotten the ceremony done faster. and you know i didn't approve of you spending all this money when you have student loans to -"

"respectfully," ashe's voice is cold and cutting while they rub circles on your shaking back, "and i know you're about to be my mother-in-law, but -" you hear them force a smile, "maybe you could choose this moment to leave your daughter the fuck alone?"

you are so fucking in love with ashe at that moment that it stops your weeping like you got hit by a truck. you look up at them, and want to go back to crying, just overwhelmed by the sheer fucking amount you care about them, but then you look over at your mother, and her shocked expression, and you burst out laughing.

your mother makes a few almost fish-like motions with her mouth, and then turns on her heel, stomping over cinders on her way out. and then it is just you and ashe and edmund and how you are half-crying half-laughing quietly to yourself, like a tap that won't stop dripping.

edmund has put the chair down. he is staring at his hands. he is at least 500 pounds and over 7 feet tall (he doesn't use metric, he's the devil). and somehow, right now, he just looks... small. crestfallen.

"yeah, i mean." his voice cracks. there's no boom of thunder or hellhound echo. he sounds like he did as a kid, before the strange powers and the levitating and the souls of the damned. he sounds like he did the night he accidentally melted most of the pieces in your first glass art show. he sounds - like your brother. he puts the heel of his palm against his eye. "i ruined my sister's wedding."

ashe offers him a little half-grin. "i do just want to say i love the aesthetic, by the way. but you did very much ruin my wedding too."

he points at them, finger-guns. "....ruined their wedding too." something in the attempt at humor - how his voice breaks on the words, how lonely he sounds. it makes you have to close your eyes against the sound. "....you seem cool," he says. "it's... it was nice to meet you."

you hear him come over, his hooves clacking slowly on the floor. when you open your eyes, he's sitting closer to you.

he opens his hand. inside are two little ceramic figures. wedding cake toppers. "i... i made them for you two. i figured i would try - how you make art, without magic. i... i took a class, and i made - i made them." he looks down at the little white-dressed people in his wide, calloused palm. "it's... i wanted to be ... good. i..." he looks at you, and then at ashe. "i tried, you know?"

ashe reaches up, lets him roll the figures into their palm.

he stands up. folds his hands in front of himself. "i don't. know how to be good. i know it doesn't come naturally to you, either. i saw you... choose. to be kind. you could have treated me different, too. like everybody? i was weird, and everyone knew. if you'd been ... mean? it would have been okay. but you." he shrugs. "one time you tried to kill me in the bathroom."

you don't know why you're crying. you look up at him through the cracks between your fingers. "twice," you croak. "but the second time i had a knife." you tuck your hair behind your ears. "but that was only after you pushed me down the stairs at grandma's and i broke my leg before a dance performance. you fuckin' deserved that one."

"i pushed you because you were being a wretched bitch."

"hey now," ashe says, a little edge to their voice, "that's my wife."

you squeeze their hand. "no, he's right. i had deleted his pokemon gold save file right before the elite four."

ashe drops your hand like you scalded them, showing the only horror you've seen this whole time. "you - girl, what the fuck?"

you shrug a little. "i was being a wretched bitch. and he did break my leg about it."

edmund shifts a little. "i just - you are...." his voice dies.

in your family, you don't say i love you. in your family, you don't touch each other or show affection. in your family, you just show up for each other, quietly. neither of you knows how to speak or process what needs to be said. you can see that lacking flashing over his face, literally playing out in shades of crimson. you get that weird twin-sense of something unsaid.

ashe sets the little ceramic people to the side. "she treated you like a person when everyone else treated you like a prophet."

you cut your eyes to them, and then edmund, who gives you one very short, sharp nod. "i, uh. i can. never try." he clears his throat. "i can never try hard enough. for that. i can - what you gave me. by. doing that. by ... just. i made. one thousand. wedding toppers. so it could be perfect. because - i ... it needed to be perfect." he appears to be dying of embarrassment, which does imply he might be capable of dying. oh good. in case i need to try to kill him a third time.

the thought makes a weird, wet laugh bubble out of you. "remember that one time i failed my math test and you set mr. fog's car on fire about it?"

edmund looks shyly at you, and a very small grin spreads across his face. not the dark lord - just a 30-something year old man who has just upset his one-and-only twin.

"you're throwing us the most ostentatious, egregiously expensive wedding," you tell him. "above land."

he frowns a little. "okay, but i'm not doing anything in miami. the vibes there give me the heebie jeebies."

ashe holds up their hand. "and you'll be repaying the deposit on literally everything. oh, and replacing the cake."

you kiss their cheek and then point to him. "and you'll be on time for it."

he shrugs a little. "okay, i literally can't perform miracles, so like. set the bar lower. i can't promise i'll-"

you look down at your feet. "i'd like you to be my man of honor this time. like. by my side. so. you can't be late this time. okay? we do it the right way. finally."

"huh," ashe says, looking between the two of you. "you guys have the same smile."

edmund's grin becomes a little wider, a little easier. he raises an eyebrow at them. "okay, i get that you're cool, but you're like, very cool about this whole thing."

ashe lifts a shoulder. "used to work for the monster under the bed."

"oh shit, simon? fuck." he points to them. "remind me not to mess around with you."

you want to tell edmund i love you and i missed you, but you can't. instead, you pick up the figurines. they're not perfect, but you can tell hours of his life went into each. his hands are so big - it must have taken him so much work to make these things so small. you picture him with his back bent over a workbench, trying to get a face into a tiny clay figure. the ceramic version of you is smiling. he's given you little fangs and a unibrow. he gave ashe a tiny yellow crown. you make the two figures kiss.

snow is falling indoors, little icicles of hellfire. ashe reaches out and take edmund's hand, and then, very awkwardly, he reaches out and takes yours too.

for a moment, it's just the three of you, and the beautiful quiet of the room.

You’re standing at the altar, about to get married to your beautiful fiancée. When suddenly the king of demons bursts through the door of the room, which naturally causes panic. You tried to warn everyone that inviting your sibling to the wedding would mean trouble, but they kept insisting.

#SO long.#but also about like. siblings.#in this is one of the only times we learn the writer is in fact a middle child #i keep my family out of my writing which means i almost never write about sibling dynamics #but it's out of respect for their privacy #so gettin to play with the dynamics of siblings is fun when it's clearly not about us :)#but im very lucky to say im close with both of them!!#also somewhat been on both sides of this - being both like the Good Kid that is Unnoticed #and also the Complete Mess that fucks things up for their sibling without meaning it #this author has been permanently fucked up by that one scene in lilo & stitch #some of the real ones will identify ashe as being one of the only characters i've ever repeated #in the inkskinned universe #ps: i very carefully called it an event space and not a church :) they are not getting married in a church!!#1. they're getting gay married. so they might not even be able to get married in a church. & 2.#she really did want him to come. she chose a place he could come. he was just late and accidentally ruined it #(based on what my anxiety thinks will happen if i am late to events. im like. oh it would ruin everything and burn the place down.#better be safe and be there 3 hours early and then wait in my car for an hour and a half)#ps ps ps this is based off my relationship with my siblings so some of it is just like. sibling sense . i cannot explain #but the reason he brings up the fact she tried to kill him 2x as evidence she treated him the same is like -#she tried to kill him bc he is her brother and u try to kill your siblings sometimes #she was on that cain instinct.#but usually people respond like how we see in the story - screaming and worship and yes he absolutely has ppl tryna kill him #to like ''save the world'' when he's really just there to like do a job. HE didn't invent hell. he just runs it #and like i fully believe even before he had his powers he had the Sibling Instinct of like - she's not killing you bc of what you are #(the devil) she's tryna kill you bc of what you are to HER (her brother) . and i think that . really mattered to him #tbh low key became obsessed with this concept and was like. it would be such a good short-run tv show . fleabag style #bc i would write the demon king to be like. what it feels like to be neurodivergent. that no matter what you do . it STILL feels like you'r #never able to hide how inhuman you are. that you're always going to be alien to these people.#and just have the entire first season start here and be about him trying to throw a wedding for his twin sister #second episode is him in a farmer's market trying to find a good florist for it . just picture the dialogue with me. please.

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phagodyke · 17 days ago

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#told my roommate ive been depressed this weekend and she kindly offered to watch a movie but i knew shed be too tired and need to cancel #bc of the clocks changing and its ok i know how tired she gets i was the one to suggest it was okay if she cant + it was still a nice idea #but now im alone for the evening again ive been alone all weekend and weekends are the hardest for me and i thought i was feeling a little #better but im not and theres nothing to stop me from harming which is okay i keep it safe and its always a choice i make to do it or not #not anyone elses responsibility but i didnt want.to be alone tonight thats all. and offering something she knows she cant fulfil makes me #feel rejected too and i also wanted to talk abt some of her behaviour that upsets me sometimes but gently bc i dont want it to seem like #im blaming her bc its not her fault im so bad at communicating and neurotic and weird abt shit that doesnt even make sense #but its been bothering me for a really long time and it comes up again every time we meet with other people and i get really upset over it #and im the one that keeps putting off talking about it but its so hard when its been gping on so long and i find it so hard to express #anything and communicate especiallt when its shit like this but im so so so so tired of sitting on it i just want it resolved one way or #another and now i wont see her for a few days bc of this family trip and itll be on my mind the whole time and the thought is making me #feel insane already ive wasted so many hours and hours being upset by her and not being able to talk abt it i need it to stop its not even #that big a deal.it just is to me. and i dont know how to say anythign ever #and she wants to make plans with friends next weekend which feels like hoisting an anvil above my head bc if i dont go i risk having a #rejection sensitive episode bc im vulnerable rn and this is exactly what happened over the summer and it took me months to recover from but #if i do go ill get upset bc ill feel unwanted there and ill be dealing with the same issue that comes up every fucking time and either way #ill end up harming in response to it bc i cant handle how intense my emotions are and i dont have any better outlets right now #for these specific feelings and i dont want to do that i want to be a normal fucking human being who doesnt lock themself in a #stupid fucking iron maiden style repression over completely innocuous shit that no one would even know im reacting this way to #i cant do it i cant do thjs anymore i cant i want it to stop im so tired and it hurts so so much feeling so much like this #they should make a mind for me that is capable of not inflicting distress this intense on itself i need to explode #actually. maybe since i wont see her for a couple days i can write a long discord message about it instead. i know its a shitty way to #deliver information but maybe it would be easier that way rather than trying to summon the courage to say anything in person when im #usually actively upset abt it at the time and my immediate response to getting upset is to shut down and not express which doesnt help #and its so stupid but i need it to not be like this i cant keep living with her and getting so upset so regularly it has to stop now #ill think about itand maybe draft it. and then i can decide. but right now i need to eat. and pack. and then cut sorry. but its ok #ughhhhfdhf. please let this week be better ill try harder ill say something i have to im the one inflicting this on myself by not talking #about it!!!!!!!!! so. man and i think my dinner is cold now too. oh well #.vent #tw self harm

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pedroscurls · 9 days ago

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runaway bride (one-shot)

summary: on the day of your wedding, you find out that your maid of honor and husband-to-be has been hooking up behind your back... and you run directly into the arms of a stranger to help you cope with the sudden betrayal. pairing: old man!logan x fem!reader content warnings: smut (18+, mdni), oral - f receiving, dirty talk, manhandling, light choking, unprotected p in v sex (be safe folks!), doggy style, cowgirl, public sex in his limo, creampie but logan just keeps going, mentions of cheating (but not from logan), toxic relationship / friendship, implied age gap (but no mention of how old reader is), no use of y/n. word count: 3.6k a/n: ok, this is complete filth. i'm not even sure how this story came about or how it even came to mind, but here it is... i wanted to write old man logan so badly so what better way to do that is to write a smutty one-shot???

“Are you fucking serious?!” you exclaim, having opened the door to see your fiancé and your maid of honor in a heated kiss, hands exploring each other’s bodies. They both pull away from each other abruptly, eyes widening as the sudden realization of getting caught now settling in.

“Baby, it’s not–”

“Fucking save it.” You remove your engagement ring and toss it in his general direction, tears trickling the corners of your eyes.

Your best friend tries to step forward, but you raise your hand in the air and glare at her. “Don’t fucking get near me or I will lay you on your ass.”

“I’m sorry–” your fiancé begins to say.

“We’re done.” you interrupt, anger fuming in your veins. “You can go out there and tell everyone that the wedding’s canceled because fuck you,” you tell him and then point to your maid of honor, your best friend of over fifteen years. “And fuck you.”

You don’t even bother to hear their protests, already having turned on your heel and left the building without telling anyone. You see two limos parked out front, knowing that one belonged to your bridal party and the other belonging to your fiancé and his groomsmen. You don’t have time to think which one was the limo you rode in, already wanting to leave far, far away from here.

Pulling open the door, you slide inside and then finally allow yourself to let the tears fall. You bury your face in your hands, your breaths coming in pants.

“Just– Just take me anywhere else but here,” you tell the driver, looking up and expecting to see the same driver from this morning. When you realize it’s someone else entirely, you bite your lower lip and shake your head. Of fucking course you chose the limo that your fiancé had been in.

“A bit early to be leaving your own wedding, isn’t it?” he says, looking at you from the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, well, the wedding is off. Can you just take me away from here?”

Logan clears his throat. It doesn’t take a genius to know what might have happened, but he also knows that you’re not the one who he’s meant to drive and he’s certainly aware that you aren’t the one who’s going to be paying him either.

“Listen, darlin’, I’m supposed to be driving the groom and–”

“Well, he can go fuck himself. Can you please just drive?”

“Last I checked, he’s paying me and you ain’t.”

“Oh, he’s gonna still pay you. Now, drive.” you tell him, holding his gaze. “Please.”

Logan stares at you. He isn’t sure what exactly happened, but based on the conversations he heard the groom and groomsmen having earlier that morning, he has some idea that it had to do with the groom cheating on you. He just lets out a grunt and then starts the engine, pulling away from the curb and driving away from the venue.

He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go or where you want to go, so he just drives. Logan continuously looks at you from the rearview mirror, now fully taking in your features. Logan wasn’t a man who ever cheated on a woman he was with; he’s always been so loyal, especially to the ones he cares about the most. He never understood why men (and women) cheat, why they just couldn’t end the relationship if they were no longer happy.

He hears you sniffling from the backseat and Logan slowly comes to a stop at a red light. He turns his head to look at you from over his shoulder. “Bub, you gotta tell me where you wanna go or else I’m just gonna keep charging him.”

“Good. Let’s take a trip to fucking Mexico and make him pay for it,” you say through gritted teeth.

Logan lets out an amused chuckle and then presses lightly on the gas once the light turns green. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel as he uses his free hand to enter Mexico on his phone and–

“Wait, I wasn’t serious.”

“No? Then, where do you wanna go, darlin’?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Anywhere but here.” you mumble to yourself.

Logan nods to himself and then sets his focus on the road ahead of him. He doesn’t know where to go, but he does find that he doesn’t want this ride to end. Even in the silence, he finds your presence soothing, comforting. He knows you’re having a shitty day – after all, you probably had woken up this morning expecting to be married by the end of today.

He does keep stealing glances at you, finding you completely captivating. Even when your eyes meet his from the rearview mirror, Logan feels like he had been caught staring and a blush slowly blooms across the side of his neck. He’s too old to be feeling like this, like some kind of a teenager with a crush on the most beautiful girl who’s out of his league.

“How about some food?” Logan asks after driving for about twenty minutes. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he sighs. “Wanna go to a bar? Drink your problems away?”

“No.”

Logan tightens his jaw and then pulls into a gas station, putting the car in park as he turns around to look at you. You bite your lower lip, getting a good view of just how handsome your driver is. He’s definitely older than you, gray in his beard and hair, crow’s feet at his eyes, but you can’t help the attraction you feel towards him. Suddenly, you’re well aware that you’re staring too long at him because when you finally meet his eyes, he’s smirking.

“Why’d we stop?�� you ask.

“Gotta fill up, especially if I don’t know how long I’ll be driving you around,” Logan replies. “You want anything from inside?”

Just as the question leaves his lips, you climb out from the backseat and walk inside. Logan sighs and steps out of the limo as he follows you into the small store. He towers over you and he can’t help but get a good look at the dress you’re wearing. You look so angelic, so beautiful and serene – how could anyone think that there’s better than you?

“Get whatever you want,” Logan calls out and you suddenly turn around to look up at him. He watches your lower lip pull itself between your teeth, sees your eyes take in his frame from top to bottom, and suddenly, he feels very shy under your gaze. Logan clears his throat, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, tilting your head up at him. “Just didn’t think… Well, not all limo drivers look like you.”

“Not all limo drivers are like me either,” he mutters to himself. “Right. I’ll be up at the front. Just meet me there once you’re ready.” Then, Logan turns on his heel and slowly limps his way to the front, only glancing over his shoulder to briefly look at you. Your back’s already turned as you reach for a few items in the freezer section.

After a few minutes, you meet Logan at the front of the store and drop two bottles of water and a cherry-flavored popsicle. Logan eyes you suspiciously, but you keep your eyes trained on your feet. He has to wonder if your mind is drifting to your fiancé. Once Logan pays the cashier, he motions for you to walk ahead of him with a slight nod and then he follows you outside. Logan quickly limps to the door and opens it for you, staring down at you.

“Here,” you tell him, handing him one of the bottle of waters.

Logan arches a brow. “Thanks,” he mumbles, the close proximity almost making him weak in the knees. His eyes deviate to your cleavage, clearing his throat when his mind begins to drift. All Logan can think about is seeing you come undone underneath him, trembling and moaning because of him. He has to take a step back, has to create some distance between your bodies.

You then remove the wrapping of the popsicle and then wrap your lips around it, the deep red popsicle now coloring your lips. You keep your eyes locked on his and smile mischievously before you climb back inside. Logan shuts the door once you’re inside, the image of your lips around the popsicle giving him a clear image of your lips wrapping around his–

He hears the window roll itself down and Logan quickly walks around to the other side to fill up the tank, not bothering to look into the backseat as he feels the center of his black pants begin to tighten with each passing second.

Logan hasn’t been intimate in a very long time, his main concern being Charles and his own health, but you… Well, you’re stirring something in Logan that he thought lay dormant. He craves you and he knows that you’re also very vulnerable, having just ran away from your own wedding after finding out your fiancé was cheating on you. Logan doesn’t want to take advantage of you, despite sensing that you might want him too.

Once the tank is filled up, Logan then walks back to the driver’s seat and climbs in, starting the car. He looks at you from the rearview mirror, still sucking on the fucking popsicle with a dark gaze in your eyes.

“Where to?” he says, not realizing how quiet his voice comes out.

“Anywhere.”

“Making it real difficult for me, bub.”

You pull the popsicle away from your mouth a quiet pop! and then lets a small smile line your lips, deeply red from your cherry-flavored popsicle. Logan’s hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white and his claws threatening to come out as a result.

“Fine. How about your place?”

Logan lets out a quiet cough, not thinking that you’d be so forward and straight to the point. He shakes his head and then looks over at you from over his shoulder. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, darlin’. You’re only going to regret it and–”

“Listen, I just found out my fiancé and maid of honor were screwing around behind my back. The only regret I have right now is saying yes to marry that man and being friends with that woman. I don’t think I’m going to regret fucking you, though.”

Logan isn’t used to women saying what they want as bluntly as you do and it excites him. He doesn’t answer, just begins driving away from the gas station. He’s so hard beneath his pants, glancing over at you and seeing your eyes locked completely on his. He pulls up into an abandoned parking lot and parks the car, thankful that the windows on his limo are tinted. Logan climbs out from the driver’s seat and then opens the door to the backseat, gently reaching out to take the popsicle from your hands and tossing it over his shoulder.

“Let’s have you suck something else, huh, darlin’?”

You grin and then gently tug on the lapel of his jacket, pulling him inside with you as you shut the door behind him. You’re glad that the backseat of his limo is actually rather spacious because now that he’s hovering above you, he seems so much bigger than you, so much more broad. Your hands immediately move across his chest, feeling the chiseled muscles underneath your fingertips.

“I don’t normally do this,” Logan groans, feeling your lips move along the side of his neck, teeth grazing his skin.

“And what’s that? Fuck your passengers?”

He growls lowly, moving his strong hands to your hips and pressing himself firmly against your lower half as he settles himself between your legs. “You always got a mouth on you?”

You smirk and pull the ends of your dress higher up your legs until you bunch it at your hips, your white lace panties in full view for him. “Only when I want something.”

“Yeah, and what do you want?” Logan asks, hands moving to play with the waistband of your panties.

“A distraction,” you grip the lapels of his jacket and bring him down to press your lips against his. He growls against your lips and tugs down your panties, hand moving quickly to your folds and running the length of his finger across your wet heat.

Logan slides two fingers into you, not giving you time to get used to his thick digits. You let out a quiet gasp, pulling away from his lips to toss your head back at the intrusion. Logan moves you to sit back against the seat as he lies on his abdomen, lowering himself until his head settles between your legs.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him between your legs, your fiancé having never done this for you. When you feel his mouth latch onto your clit, his tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves repeatedly as his fingers thrust in and out you, you have to let out a loud moan. Your hands move to his hair, gripping it tightly as your arousal drips onto the leather seat.

Logan pulls his fingers out of you and laps at your juices. He stares up at you, watching as you toss your head back in ecstasy, your mouth agape as continuous moans escape your lips, and he can feel your walls begin to tremble, begin to tighten around his tongue. Logan knows his joints and muscles are going to ache after this, but he knows it’s going to be worth it. Knows that he’s going to want to do this again with you.

With his free hand, Logan undoes the buckle on his belt, followed by undoing the zipper and button on his pants. He pushes his slacks and boxers down his legs to relieve the pressure against his manhood. He pulls back to look up at you, his chin and beard dripping wet from your slickness.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he growls.

“About fucking time.”

Logan narrows his eyes and moves up your body, hand coming up to rest on your throat. He leans down and gently nips at your jawline until his forehead rests against yours, eyes staring deeply into your own.

“You like this, don’t you, bub?” Logan whispers huskily, the grip around your throat tightening to add a bit of pressure. You gasp, eyes staring up at him as you feel the tip of his length brush against you repeatedly. The grip around your throat only makes you wetter and you lift your hips impatiently, chasing his hardened length to slide down onto him.

“So impatient,” he grins. Logan releases his grip around your throat and then grabs your hips, turning you over onto your stomach. He grabs you roughly, pulling you back into him as he grips the fabric of your dress. He pulls you to prop yourself on your hands on knees as he kneels behind you, gripping the base of his manhood as he rubs his tip along the length of your sex.

“Please!” you say impatiently, trying to push back against him.

Logan smirks and then pushes himself into your tight heat, not wasting any time in filling you to the hilt. He groans at your wetness, at the warmthness of your walls, the tight hold it has around his girth. He pulls back to his tip, only to slam back into you. Logan was telling the truth that he’s never done this before. Driving had only been a way for him to get extra cash, to keep his mind busy, and he certainly didn’t have time for this, but now he can’t even imagine parting ways with you after this.

His thrusts continue, your walls sliding along his manhood and milking him with every movement. Logan moves to rest his chest firmly against your back, his lips hovering near your ear as you moan continuously with each thrust he delivers.

“This what you wanted, huh, bub?” Logan growls, gently nipping at you earlobe. “Wanted me to fuck you like this?” He thrusts roughly into you, his skin slapping against yours.

“Y–Yes!” you exclaim, slowly pushing your own hips back into his. Logan groans, leaning away from you and briefly pausing his movements to watch you move along him. He grunts to himself, lightly slapping your backside as he watches you push back against him.

Logan watches himself disappear within your depths, only to reappear when you pull back, his entire length glistening with your arousal. He groans to himself and gently pulls out of you. You’re about to protest when he sits against the backseat and grabs you by the hips, placing you to sit on his lap. He grips your dress and rips it in half, causing a loud gasp of surprise to leave your lips.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Fuck the dress,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pay for it anyway.”

Logan smirks and then feels you lower yourself down onto him, groaning at your tight walls wrapping itself once more around him. He reaches around and undoes your white lace bra, watching it fall from your body as you now sit firmly on his lap, completely naked and exposed for him.

“Fuck me,” he grunts, watching your breasts bounce with your movements. He feels your hands begin to undo the buttons on his white button down shirt, removing it from his body. Today, he opted to forgo his usual white tank top, so when you lean in to press your chest against his, he can’t help but groan at the sensation of your erect nipples pressing firmly against him.

Logan feels your walls begin to tremble with each movement and he leans in to press his lips against yours, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. With one hand, he moves to grip your throat lightly, sliding his tongue past your lips when you let out a loud moan. He stares up at you, thrusting his hips upwards when your body begins to shake and the grip around your throat only tightens a smidge to cause pressure.

Your eyes shut tightly and you reach down to grip his shoulders, slamming yourself firmly onto his lap as he feels you to the hilt. Logan doesn’t falter his movements though, chasing his own release. It comes out of nowhere there, hand dropping from the grip around your throat to grab his base, thrusting upwards once, twice, before he pulls out to see his release trickle out of you.

You’re breathing heavily and you’re looking at him with a small smile and hooded eyes. When he looks down between your legs, his come continuing to trickle down your leg, it only ignites a fire inside of him and he suddenly feels hard again.

“One more, bub,” Logan growls. “One more.” He thrusts his tip inside of you, grunting lowly before he slides back into you, hands gripping the meat of flesh on your thighs as he feels the stickiness of your arousal mixed in with his come against the base of his lower half.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging them down his arms as your walls are already overly sensitive. Logan doesn’t falter, but his thrusts do become more erratic. “Oh god,” you whimper, trying to pull yourself away from him, but Logan holds you firm on his lap, making you take his assault on you.

You wanted a distraction and you were certainly getting it.

Logan leans up and gently nips at your jawline as he plants his feet on the floor of his limo, driving his hips further upwards. He does this a few more times before he holds you against him, releasing into you a second time as he paints your walls with his thick spend. He’s breathing heavily, forehead resting against your chest as his hands on your thighs move to rest on your hips.

“I uh, fuck,” he mumbles. “I should have asked first and–”

“Stop,” you interrupt. “I like that I can still feel you inside of me,” you smile, feeling him slowly pull out. Even though you miss his girth, his release remains and fills you up. You reach down to wipe the trickle of his come off your inner leg and capture it on the pads of your fingertips. You stare into his eyes and then bring your fingers to your lips, wrapping your lips around it and sucking his release off of it. “Mmm, yum.”

Logan growls, feeling his length stir awake once more. “That want you wanted?” he asks again. “A distraction?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But I think I’m gonna want more distractions from you.”

Logan smirks. “That so, bub?”

“Oh yeah, I need someone to help me through this breakup,” you say honestly. “As long as that’s okay with you…”

Logan nods and then looks down at your exposed front, hand coming up to slowly knead your breast into the pit of his palm. “Yeah, baby. That’s more than okay with me.”

You grin excitedly, letting out a quiet whimper. “So… Your place then?”

��My place,” he confirms. “But how about you ride up front with me?”

“Yes, please. I do want a taste of you,” you bite your lower lip, hand moving to gently run your fingertip along the length of his manhood. “And I want to do it while you’re driving.”

Logan groans. “Oh, you’re fucking naughty, aren’t you?”

You nod shyly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’ve been suppressed,” you admit. “My sex life has been… boring, to say the least.”

“Blessing in disguise,” Logan points out. “Thank god you’re not getting married to a man who doesn’t take care of your needs.” He leans in and then pecks your lips. “Don’t worry, though, bub. I’m happy to take care of you until then.”

---

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