#but also life is strange 2 has been doing things to my head during all my replays as i experience it all differently

[aarontveit]

just realized in order to watch earth abides, i'll have to stop listening to this song on repeat. i realize i can just begin listening to it again once i'm done the episode, i'm just....bad at explaining my relationship with music but music, ya feel?

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

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

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

THE LOOKOUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

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

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

“Hey, stop!”

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

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

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

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

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

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

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

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

“You know–” he begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding.

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

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

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

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

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

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

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

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

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

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

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

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE CRAVING

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

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

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

“First time’s on the house.”

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

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

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

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

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

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

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

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

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

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

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

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

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

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

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

“What–”

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

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PUZZLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in acknowledgement.

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a quick study.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can pay next time.” 

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

– – – – –

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

THE PANTRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

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

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

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

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

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

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

You respond in kind. 

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

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

THE MEETING

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

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

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

You’d answered without saying a word.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

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

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

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

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

Logan scoffs in reply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe next time.”

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

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

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

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you do it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely,” you reply.

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

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

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

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

“See you.” 

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

THE SUMMER

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

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

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

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade,” Logan warns.

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

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

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

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

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

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PARTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you smile.

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

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

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

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you dance?”

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

“Logan,” you breathe. 

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

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

You like him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

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

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

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

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

But he might.

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

But it would change everyth– 

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

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

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

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

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

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

[drarryspecificrecs]

2024.12 ~ Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3

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Draco refuses to return to Hogwarts for his eighth year. Harry finds himself disappointed. Guess they will just go their separate paths and never figure out their connection. Draco will never learn his self worth or make a potion to help his mother, and virgin Harry will never learn the joys of making love. And neither will learn that there is life after Voldemort. Or maybe fate crosses their paths and Harry somehow, with help from an unexpected source, wiggles his way into Malfoy's private Potion sessions?

7. Want for Nothing by @syrahbat [M, 79k]

After his wife Astoria dies at the hands of a blood curse, Draco Malfoy falls under investigation; except the Auror assigned to his case is Harry Potter, and Harry Potter has a very different opinion of Draco than everybody else, including Draco himself.

8. Draco Malfoy and the Unlikely Guardian by Happymooncactus [E, 64k]

Hogwarts, Eighth Year. After the war, Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts, reluctantly completing his final year at the school he once thought he’d left behind. But his return is even more unwelcome than he thought. [...] When Harry Potter witnesses Draco being harassed, something shifts in him. Unable to turn a blind eye, Harry begins following Draco, watching over him from the shadows, ensuring no harm comes his way. As the two navigate their complicated pasts, an unlikely bond begins to form - one neither of them expected, but both secretly crave.

9. The Light and Dark Inside of Us by MaryWinchester [M, 64k]

Harry and Draco overhear a conversation they probably shouldn't have. Afterward, nothing is the same.

10. Queen of the Weeds by @beloved-child-of-the-house [E, 61k]

[...] Draco returns to Hogwarts for 8th year and finds himself a pariah. To his surprise, Harry Potter is the only person who seems to want anything to do with him.

※ HONOURABLE MENTIONS :

11. Heatwaves by KateBishopHawkeye [E, 58k]

Summer, 12 years after the war. It was not the worst heatwave in London's history, but Hermione and Harry would be damned if it didn't feel like it. Especially in 12 Grimmauld Place, where four unlikely housemates find things heating up in unexpected ways amid old hurts and new threats.

12. Is It Really So Strange? by @fantasticelement [E, 56k]

Harry Potter left everything behind just to teach a bunch of kids — but so did Draco Malfoy. /// A story about rebuilding a school, and rebuilding a bond that, for better or worse, never dimmed.

13. In the Woods Somewhere by @dracopetal [E, 54k]

Draco can't remember what the world was like before Fenrir took him. His life is the cabin and the woods that surround it. But one night in winter, Fenrir kidnaps a man he calls an old enemy, and Draco's life is forever changed.

14. The Theory of Fading by Antisceptic [M, 53k]

Ten years after the end of the war Harry decides to get the scar on his forehead removed. The only person capable of doing that is a brilliant alchemist from France, who publishes his research under an alias. His real name turns out to be Draco Malfoy. They navigate the situation quite poorly.

15. The Witch and the Sorcerer by burningcherries [E, 50k]

The days of the great wand-wielding wizards are long gone, but under the protection of Rome's growing empire, magic hasn't entirely faded away. All humans have it, but only one type. [...] Harry, a recently widowed sorcerer, leaves his hometown with his children and his wixen friends in the hope of finding a witch available for mating further north.

16. In A Hundred Lifetimes by nooraska [M, 41k]

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are destined to meet in any version of reality. Or: Draco is weird and Harry doesn't know why but feels drawn to him anyway.

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k

because my love is mine, all mine by @sachesky [E, 23k]

javelin (to have and to hold) by @garagepaperback [E, 18k]

The Loved Ones by Toffeemond [E, 24k]

Ride by @eurhythmix [M, 37k]

Something about dragons by @bakuko [E, 32k] --- translated by martir

Under Your Spell by SairleB [E, 23k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

25 Days of Draco and Harry 2024 | @slythindor100

H/D Erised 2024 | @hd-erised

Harry/Draco Owlpost 2024 | @hdowlpost

HP Soulmates Secret Santa 2024 | @hp-soulmates-secret-santa (1)

DCC Holiday Exchange

dual/ity (1)

Fifth Annual Dirty Festivus: Filthy and F*ckable (1)

Frond Flash Fic Fest (1)

HP Secret Santa 2024 (1)

Let it Snow - Quill Quests! (1)

Magical Menagerie Gift Exchange 2024 (1)

[giantmushyfriend]

Welcome back to the Ineffable lyric discussion (can I hear a wahoo)

In honor of the announcement of season 3 of our beloved Good Omens, I find it completely necessary for us to discuss one of the many songs on Aziraphale and Crowley's angelic playlist that made me scream my bloody head off. One of those songs is the one and only The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel. While I UNDERSTAND this song may have just been chosen to spell out SEASON THREE, I think it goes much deeper than that because of all of the parallels it draws to Aziraphale and Crowley. And ultimately, what I think is going to happen in terms of their relationship when they finally sort their shit out. So beware if you haven't watched season 2 of Good Omens because we're about to do a fucking DEEP DIVE into this.

First, the title of the Book of Love feels almost like a call to this looming threat to the Book of Life that was consistently used in series 2. The entire season, Crowley and Aziraphale have to work oh so carefully because with the Book of Life being confirmed, they know that either of them could get the other erased, and whether they want to admit it or not, losing the other is their biggest fear. We've seen this when Crowley believed Aziraphale to be dead in Series 1 when he couldn't feel Aziraphale's presence anymore since he got incorporated. When Aziraphale isn't there, Crowley is a mess. Likewise, we saw how both reacted during the ineffable divorce scene in series 2. Crowley is full-on begging Aziraphale to stay, and Aziraphale has finally admitted that he needs Crowley and full-on mouths for Crowley not to leave him. The Book of Life inherently, from how Neil set it up, feels threatening. The Book of Love, on the other hand, raises an entirely other reaction. Throughout the series, as corny as it sounds, love has been what grounds our protagonists. It is the love of Tadfeild and his friends that keeps Adam from kickstarting the end of the world; it's what keeps him from rejecting his father, the literal devil. It is the love of the earth, of humanity and all its strange creations, and for each other that keeps Aziraphale and Crowley attempting to prevent the end of the world when it could be so much easier to just accept the fate of it all. Love is the key theme that grounds our protagonists, that makes them tick. Love is safe; love is, at times, painful but overall kind. So when we see this title on their playlist, listed amongst heartwrenching tales of grieving a relationship, you could have had, and of loss, it brings a sense of salvation and safety. The Book of Love, unlike the Book of Life, is not a threat- it's a sanctuary for Aziraphale and Crowley.

Now, diving into the lyrics.

"The book of love is long and boring

No one can lift the damn thing

It's full of charts and facts, and figures, and instructions for dancing

But I

I love it when you read to me.

And you

You can read me anything"

The first couple of verses inherently feel like Aziraphale and Crowley's original view on this notion of love. As two supernatural entities who aren't bound by human emotion or logic, love may seem superficial and downright silly at times. The courting procedures that different societies have taken on throughout the centuries and the songs and dances that come along with it may all seem like a big waste. The book of love is a manifestation of love itself, and originally, it seems unappetizing to our protagonists. That is until they refind each other, and love goes from this thing that humans feel and jump through hoops for to this tidal wave of emotions. Love felt silly and unrealistic before, but with each other, they are willing and excited to explore it, even if it comes with things that feel inherently silly.

Also, these verses draw some cute parallels to headcanons and features of cannons. If you've been involved in the Good Omens fandom long enough, you've probably stumbled across the idea that Crowley asks Aziraphale to read to him for a multitude of different reasons. Some people say it's because his eyes aren't meant to read, one of the many punishments that came with him being cast down from grace, or maybe it's just because he finds Aziraphale's voice comforting. Additionally, the line about instructions for dancing is just so heartwarming when we look at the ball scene from this past season and Aziraphale's daydreams of a romance worthy of a Jane Austin novel.

"The book of love is long and boring

And written very long ago

It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes

Adn things we're all too young to know

but I

I love it when you give me things

and you

You ought to give me wedding rings"

I'm sure we've all heard this idea that you'll understand love when you get older, but even when you get older, it never seems to make sense. This idea that love is too old for any of us to truly understand, and that humbles us but in the best way possible. There is no point in trying to figure out what exactly love is because you could spend thousands of years feeling it and watching it happen all around you and still not know exactly what it is besides this all-encompassing feeling. And that is exactly the perspective of Aziraphale and Crowley. They have seen countless examples of love, true, unwavering love, and they have felt it for each other. And yet they themselves cannot begin to fathom what love, true unconditional love, is exactly. These two supernatural, ethereal/occult beings are humbled by the very concept of love like humans are- and that love is drawn from each other.

And then there is this notion of giving, which pairs so well with Crowley's primary love language, acts of service and gift giving. If the first chorus was Crowley talking about how he loves it when Aziraphale reads to him and takes care of him, then this is Aziraphale talking about how Crowley displays his love. And this final notion of asking for that final commitment, one of the key ways humans express their love for each other, is just amazing. Because in a way, Aziraphale moving to make this commitment, to fully be on their side in this way, is the resolution we have been wanting since the beginning. For Aziraphale to finally feel safe enough to let go and finally let himself settle to where he finally belongs, on his side with Crowley.

[thenightshadowqueen]

SFTH moments that live rent-free in my head, part 2 (in no particular order)

Because apparently I have more.

“Mmm, but I’m poison and you love it”

Creepy Jim 🏳️‍🌈

The hat-nose letter

“STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAAAWWWW!!!”

Sam losing his fucking mind during the expert game in HUGE

“Mr. André Beetroot, you’re my hero!” “Ah, I don’t like you.”

Luke as the horny goblin

Tom’s whole speech as Locomotion—it was so fucking gorgeous and it’s in my head all the time (especially “I’m older than the devil, sir” and “I am the Silver Line and the Silver Line is me!”)

“Don’t let the constant mental breakdowns get you down.”

The bit in the Suspicious Crème Brûlée where Sam yanks Luke around by his hair

“AJ stays with Luke…” (I’m sorry in advance for getting this stuck in your head)

Luke taking his trousers off in Nigel (and then using that to get Tom to do it in My First Bra)

“Lovely little Luke Manning!”

AJ’s rap about Disney princesses (Worst thing I’ve ever seen. 10/10.)

Tom holding up a fucking buttplug during one of the COVID livestreams????? (Also I can’t for the life of me remember which one it was and if anyone knows that would be very appreciated because I’m half-convinced it was a fever dream)

“Gavin, obviously there’s a difference.” (I don’t know what it is, but the way Tom says it has captivated me)

The Jane Austen bit in West End Big Boys

“Grab her by the face and DON’T LET GO! Because sometimes they run away and LEAVE YOU!”

“I’m just a writer, and I like to ride bikes. I’m not weird, I’m not strange; I enjoy juices, and I have a good family.”

“When the wind doth blow/to and fro/you must get your shit together/and fuck up them hoes”

The kiss in the prom Timewarp, and especially the way AJ and Tom were cheering them on

Also the kiss in the “what not to do with your coworkers” video, because the way Luke throws three of his limbs in the air at once is glorious

“Husband! Husband!” “Oh, darling, you’ve been down in the basement—” “The chinchilla’s a FUCKING NAZI!”

Sam calling AJ “CrossFit Voldemort”

On that note, “He looked a little bit like Henry Cavill if he had a wasting disease” (and Tom’s little sassy head movement in response)

“You’re keeping me on tenterhooks, like a piece of sirloin.”

The scene Tom and Sam did for Tom’s anniversary

“The camper the German, the more likely they are to win.”

“You said it was water under the bridge.” “Aye, and you know what’s good at drowning people?”

Giggly Luke from Hornchurch

The booba looba (and AJ’s glorious reaction to it)

“Can I call you Tony?” “You can, but my name’s David.” (“So, Tony—”)

Jackson from the COVID livestreams (“Sit in the well-done corner and just shut up.”)

Sam’s fucking apocalypse plan (which is still in my head despite my best efforts)

“I just wanted to have the talk.” “The talk? The boob talk?” “The boob talk that all women must have with their mothers.”

The wife from the casino scene (it’s the accent)

“Do you need a lie-down?” “I thought I already was.”

“Larger than a man, smaller than a dream”

Moriarty-Sherlock mental fuck chess

“Capitalism is blood!” “CHANGE!” “Communism is yoghurt!”

Tom bring an absolute menace during Puppets

“God bless the British Transport Police” (said in the most ‘what am I doing with my life’ voice I’ve ever heard)

“Stay on your stool bitch boy”

“Get your hand out of my car”

[aalinaaaaaa]

2024 In a Gift Box

Hey, everyone, greetings after another year that has flown by all too quickly! Featuring new friends, a few awards and 400% more holidays (rip my wallet lol), this has been a wild year for me. And that's only half of it.

For some strange reason, my desire to write increases with the hecticness of my life. Much of Obsidian Sapphires' revival/troubleshooting phase occured during the latter part of the year, from October onwards (though I had been tinkering with its plot for some time now). All because I woke up one morning with the solution to a plot hole appearing in my head.

Anyway, preambles aside, here's a few major highlights from my year (in writing terms):

First up, thanks to @druidx for the Year in Review Tag! The premise of the tag is to post one's favourite five or so pieces that they've written throughout the year.

To be truthful, some of Obsidian Sapphires' scenes would make this list only the respective chapters for them aren't completed yet 😅

A Pawn for a Greater Cause — I had a ball writing the starting dialogue, and the prompt gave me a few revelations regarding Petrius' character.

Regrets — This made me cry at 1am, the catharsis was unreal.

To Perpetuate Life — Amazing how almost falling asleep gives me ideas. This piece helped me answer a few questions about Orlaith's backstory, and also gave me extra questions surrounding the lore.

Blue Moon — This feels like a nice deviation from my usual style, it's more dreamy and whimsical. Also, this reminds me to go and work on its second part, lol (because the scope was too big for one piece)

That angsty pining scene — This is not posted as one scene, but rather in splinters because parts of it are dripping in spoilers for Obsidian Sapphires. However, I enjoyed writing this scene too much not to post some snippets.

WIP Roundup

First things first, an ode to the WIPs that I've put on ice to focus on Obsidian Sapphires.

The Lady's Lament, a brief idea born out of a plot bunny inspired by a plot on Wattpad. The idea sprouted in April 2023, but it lives on in the form of worldbuilding ideas for South Arobyre.

And then also, Flamebearer, one of my oldest wips but also arguably my most complex one. It's a story of grief, religious dilemmas and romantic/familial drama, all under the backdrop of sociopolitical turmoil. It's going to take a lot of research and planning, that much I know. Hence why I want it to be as perfect as I can make it, when I have the knowledge and writing practice to do it justice.

In April this year, one of my Flash Friday pieces (Duel to the Debt) sowed the seeds for another piece (An Endless Round) in May, and later on Soulswapped derived from it. I intended it to be a short enough story, a novella of sorts that would be woven into a larger compilation, but it's become its own thing. Already, I think it may get a sequel. But I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

Obsidian Sapphires

So its progress this year has been skewed. Like, 'a lot of its progress spawned in October or thereafter' sort of skewed. I woke up one morning and the cogs for the rigmarole surrounding what is currently Chapter 2 all clicked, to the point I yanked out my laptop and starting writing notes until I had to run for class.

Since then, I've had a bunch of ideas, but currently I'm deliberating on the story I wish to tell. It seems more cohesive and easier to plan for when I cut Eshani's perspective out, but at the same time, cutting her perspective would cut or at least hide much of her character development. That and I love her to bits, and she may/may not be a readers' favourite also.

In terms of actual tangible content, bits of the angsty pining scene got posted, as did sections of the first and second chapters. It even came with a few memes, lolololol. (And there's more memes sitting in my gallery/Scrivener notes, this story's quite memeable honestly).

The antagonists got their time of day, however brief so far. And not just the lead meshai, but also the septet of folks angry at the meshai and his fellows.

And this gets onto something that has existed as tags and headings and brief little mentions. A collection of pieces, leading up to answers surrounding some major events in the history of the country Obsidian Sapphires is set in.

That would be This Blood-Stained Charcuterie. It is going to be the anthology of short stories and one-off pieces surrounding Morilast's High Councillors (and indeed, the Court's other denizens and its namesake himself!). A lot of juicy details surrounding certain characters' backstories are going to feature here, I can't wait to get into it. (It's also my excuse to figure out all the bits of lore and convoluted ancestries [who murdered who], lol).

When I finish with Obsidian Sapphires, that is about when I'll start releasing this one. The title could change upon me getting to the end, but we'll see.

Flash Fiction Friday

I started doing these pieces in late 2023, so it's been about a year since my first one (Contemplations). In all, I've completed a total of 28 pieces so far :D

The masterlist came about in early January, because I was inspired by other people who had masterlists for their pieces. It's very satisfying to see it develop from a few pieces to what it is today, a decent few pieces.

Whatsmore, it reflects the trends in my writing, such as the wips that the prompts inspired me for, and what periods I was consistently doing it week-by-week and when the major gaps were.

For whatever reason, I have a tendency of getting inspiration for these at about midnight or so. Even if I get a handful of basic notes written down, it may not still be until late in the night that I can get a piece together, lol.

To commemorate the end of the year, I've started a series known as Flash Friday Flashbacks to celebrate what I've made and show off behind-the-scenes when it comes to notes, context, deleted scenes, etc.

There are a few pieces left in this year's version, which will be reblogged close to the end of the month (to celebrate the New Year).

Next year's edition is going to feature the December 2024 pieces in addition to all the 2025 stuff (which hopefully is a lot). There will also be a 2025-specific masterlist too.

Writeblr Community Events

What is writeblr without its community? It's beyond a pleasure to be part of a group so lovely and talented, everyone has something amazing going for them.

As part of this, there are some people here who create events, discords and/or other initiatives that bring people together. Shoutout to everyone who has done/is doing something along these lines ❤️

Special mentions in my case go to:

@flashfictionfridayofficial for taking the prompt submissions, making the posts, and reblogging everyone's stories (with fantastic comments) every week

@writeblrsummerfest for making a lovely event spanning the entirety of August, encompassed by a well-organised theme and all

@bardic-tales for establishing the @creators-club and doing all the various types of ask/tag games to foster interaction and support

@agirlandherquill for her first ever Writemas! These prompts are impeccable and it was really fun looking forward to the next day's prompts! I wish I could've participated more, but alas, that's how the cookie crumbles. (Also, high five, we're in the same timezone, woo!)

Plans for 2025

Continue with Obsidian Sapphires — I'd love to get the draft finished

Doing as many of the Flash Friday prompts as well

Reblogging people's posts more and hopefully improving at reaching out to people

Learning to draw is something that I've always wanted to do, but I want to get focused with it this year. It would be cool to put my characters in visual form

Getting a handle on the lore and background information needed to compile This Blood-Stained Charcuterie

The Tags

That brings this post to its natural course, the end. Merry Christmas everyone ❤️🎄

Giving a Year in Review Tag to everyone who is on at least one of my taglists (ask, comment, etc to be added/subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @original-writing @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @rae-butter @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51 @mundanemoongirl @scarletteflamerald @ceph-the-ghost-writer @flock-from-the-void @mattresses-and-macaroni @limitlesswritingvoid

...As well as all these people I'm tagging here: @winterandwords @finickyfelix @wintherlywords @anyablackwood @cherrybombfangirlwrites @kaylinalexanderbooks @angelfevr @thatndginger @thepeculiarbird @ominous-feychild @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes @veneritia @the-golden-comet @jev-urisk @cljordan-imperium @an-indecisive-nerd @mauannacreates @laureleavess @theeccentricraven @paintedbutton (@/bardic-tales, @/agirlandherquill, both of you are tagged for this too)

...And most importantly, here's a tag for everyone in the audience!

Here's to a hopeful 2025! 🎉

[siriuslysmoking]

Hi! I’ve never done an ask but I love your writing and I was just vibing to my autumn playlist and there’s this song by the backseat lovers, I don’t know if you know of them. But it’s called Maple Syrup and I guess creative part of my brain is on because I immediately thought of something based off of that song with Eddie. Like “I saw you dancing at the show tonight, I stood in the back and I think that we both know why” or “did it hurt? When I kicked you to the curb? Now I’m all alone. I guess I’ll never learn” has some pretty good lines. Sorry this is long I’ve never done a request before, but I hope you take a listen and it sparks something for you too! x

Cutting Ties

A/N: it's ex Eddie. Steve and Reader aren't dating, bu they are both there for each other on extreme levels. Also, I know that this trope is overused.

Pairing: Eddie munson x Reader | Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, talks of miscarriage, hurt/no comfort

Summary: When bad memories come strolling back into town you try to protect the few things that you hold sacred.

-Did it hurt when I kicked you to the curb? Now I'm all alone I guess I'll never learn-

He made it big, you always knew he would, you used to talk about it when you both were in high school.

It’s been four years since he left, not wanting to be tied down. Or whatever that means.

You were twenty when he left.

Now, you had your life put together, you had a job with a stable income, you had a roof over your head. You are able to support your daughter in anything she wants to do. She’s in gymnastics and she loves it, it’s a way to get her energy out during the day.

Steve… Steve is your rock.

From the start Steve has been by your side, supporting you in every decision you make. Holding your hand while you sit in doctors appointments. He held you as you cried when the doctor left the room after announcing that you might lose her.

He sat next to you during your twelve hour labour, rubbing your shoulders are you tried to breathe.

You made sure Wayne was in Mia's life, he deserved that much, Eddie doesn't call him anymore.

You didn't know he was in town, you wish you would've. Steve agreed to meet you at three to pick the both of you up after Wayne had made the both of you lunch. The three of you started a tradition, every sunday Wayne would pick you up and either take you out to lunch or one of you would make something.

It was nice. Steve worked sundays so he would pick you up after work.

You wish someone had told you he was in town.

But when there is knocks on the door at 2:30, you meet Wayne's curious eyes, "Did ya boy get off early?"

"I don't think so." You hand Mia her brownie that Wayne had made for dessert, giving her a kiss on the forehead while Wayne goes to get the door.

"Eds! W-what are you doin' here?"

"That's not the welcome I was expecting, old man."

"Wasn't exceptin' ya."

"That's usually what a surprise visit is." Wayne looks to you and it's not like you can't let him in, so you just nod, giving him permission.

Mia has noticed the disruption, stopping mid chew as a strange man walks in. You try to obscure Eddie's view of her the best you can.

Eddie walks in and meets your eyes. He opens his mouth say something but Mia interrupts him. "Mamma, I can't see."

Eddie's eyes go wide as you slowly move over to the side. "Hi! What's your name? Are you grampa's friend?"

"I-I don't understand."

You just sigh, turning to Mia, "Baby, I'm gonna go outside and you're gonna stay and eat this delicious brownie that Wayne made you, okay?"

"otay." and just like that she begins shoving her face once more.

You softly close the door behind you after motioning for Eddie to go outside. "What- Who is that?"

"That's my daughter." You cross your arms as Eddie moves to the picnic bench, you just sit at on the bench while he paces back and forth.

"How old is she?" He knows the answer, you don't have to give it to him, but you do.

"Three."

"You should've told me." Eddie finally meets you eyes, "You should've fucking told me!"

"How?! How was I supposed to tell you? Call you? I didn't have your number, I didn't get an address. You left and said you didn't want to be tied down. What more to tie you down more than a child?" You huff, rolling your eyes at his audacity.

"Even Wayne knew?"

"Once I had her, it was hard to keep quiet." You run your hands through your hair, "It didn't take him long to connect the dots."

"He didn't tell me." Eddie looks angry, he's completely fuming.

"You stopped calling!" You throw your hands in the air, looking at him from across the table.

"Does everyone know?"

"No, they think-" You get cut off by a door opening to your left, it's not the trailer door, it's a car.

"Hey hone-" Steve pauses, looking to you, then meeting Eddie's eyes, "Munson."

"Harington?"

"Steve, will you go get Mia?"

"Uh-yeah."

"Her name is Mia?" Eddie's expression goes soft at that.

That's when Steve walks in the trailer, the door open enough for the words Mia shouts to echo out to the two of them. "Dada!"

"Hey pumpkin."

Eddie meets your eyes, "Is that my daughter calling Steve Fucking Harrington Dad?"

"She's not yours."

"She isn't? So she doesn't have my hair and my eyes?"

"She was and will never be yours, you threw away that chance when you kicked me to the curb."

"I-" He doesn't know what to say and you have no more words for him. So when Steve comes walking out the door with Mia and your bag in his arms, you just turn and get into the car.

-

-

likes are reblogs are appreciated <3

[nocturnesmoon]

I have thoughts spurring around in my head like feral cats chasing a bouncy ball, and I'm making it everyone's problem.

What if we take the world of star wars, and smash you and the 141 into it.

There are so many different combinations and turns this could take, but what I'm thinking about is the 141, ex-military turned smugglers, and you a Jedi in hiding after order 66.

The clone wars have finally come to its brutal end, and the empire has taken over the known galaxy. The Jedi have been portrayed as traitors and have been promptly executed, and the rest forced into hiding.

It looks bleak for anyone still holding onto the hope of the republic, anyone not willing to adapt to the new world gets destroyed right along with the old.

The 141 being forcefully retired, not that they minded at this point they knew it was a losing fight. With their options limited, and not keen to do the empire's bidding, or anyone's bidding ever again, they chose the obvious choice, to run.

It wasn't the ideal outcome, but with a timer on their lives, and conflicted opinions, Price took charge of the group. He knew that right now survival was the only thing that mattered, that his men would still live to see another day.

The year of acclimating to their new life was rough, they were used to sticking together but they also normally had more direction than this. Being wanted in any area governed by the empire limited a lot of work options for them.

It quite honestly didn't take long before Price resorted to less moral means, it was how their career as smugglers started.

With Gaz's excellent piloting skills, Soap's weaponry and science knowledge, Ghost's brute strength and intimating demeanor, and Price's own smooth tongue and connections, it was the most optimal choice.

And much to the their own surprise, they're pretty damn good at it.

They make good money smuggling a lot of different things across the galaxy, food, weapons, illegal goods. They take almost any job they can get in the start; they don't have time to be picky just yet, they need the credits more than good morals.

Their wanted status is likely to never get alleviated, but they combat it by never settling in one place too long. They prioritize the credits they have and get a ship big enough for both their job and to house the four of them. They're already used to being close, while this is a step further it's nothing any one of them has anything against.

They all agreed that they would stay together, they started this together and they'll end it together.

A few years in they have gotten quite the reputation for themselves, at least among other known smugglers and wanted criminals. They get bigger job opportunities, higher pay, more risk.

The bond they forge between each other is something none of them could explain, but they embrace its qualities, it's comfort and pleasure.

Some things are better to just leave unexplained and enjoy while they last. The only thing they have is each other, and they've grown quite content with that.

That was until something unexpected crash landed into their lives.

Docked at some lesser-known planet in system of farmers, they had originally planned to stop there for a few days to stock up on supplies and look for less likely work opportunities. Farmers sometimes had some strange inquiries they were quite content spending massive amounts of the little credits they have.

It was a peaceful little community, none the wiser to the person hiding amongst them. You, a Jedi who somehow survived the purge of order 66, posing as mechanic. Outside of your Jedi teachings, you had clear proficiency in anything creating and fixing.

It had been the perfect cover during the last year, who would suspect that the innocent mechanic trying to get by would harbor such a grave secret. That the kind person living in the rundown house, would be so full of survivors’ guilt that it was nothing short of a miracle they were still going.

It had roughly been 2 years since order 66, 2 years since you had survived and fled, 2 years on the run from the empire and the usual calm feeling of the force now gone.

Images still fresh on your brain despite the time, of your master, of your friends, those you'd considered your family dying from blasters that once aided them.

Every time you reached out through the force it was now hollow, the echo going into your brain and body, reminding you of the terrifying fact that you were truly alone.

You had no idea why you survived out of everyone, not even a fully trained Jedi, a mere Padawan with few accomplishments to their name. You shouldn't have survived that, someone better should be here in your place, yet no matter how much you think those thoughts, you can't change the reality.

The small farmer planet had been a good hiding spot for quite a while, you even dared to make a few friends during your stay. Despite it being less of a good idea you still kept your blade, the kyber crystal within being the only thing giving you comfort in your grief. Though you hadn't expected to ever need it again, especially not this soon.

Never had you expected that the empire would set their sights here, nor had you expected your methods of hiding had actually been that horrible. It didn't take them longer than a few days ‘til the people you thought friends practically turned you in.

You couldn't find it in your heart to blame them, the empire had very convincing methods, yet it still meant you were forced into a run for your life.

When the 141 had set their sights on this planet they hadn't expected the empire to already be here when they arrived. Price had insisted that the planet was still free, and he was right, a week ago.

They remained inconspicuous, did their shopping, and didn't snoop around too long. There was no need to get the empire hot on their tails once again.

When Ghost and Gaz went into the market, they intended on staying out of trouble, and technically they weren't the ones roped into it.

When they first spotted you, running from a few storm troopers, lightsaber blade raised, they nearly didn't believe their own eyes. All the Jedi were supposed to be dead, yet here you were, a sight to behold.

Nothing about their next actions were ruled by logic, if you ask them later about what they were thinking they couldn't tell you, because the only thing that was a priority now was to help you.

Perhaps it was some sort of obligation, maybe a sliver of hope for something better, or maybe it was just something about you that tugged at them, making them want to protect and help you.

Backed into a cornered alley, almost having lost your pursuers you felt the new threat loom behind you. A technique that was familiar in ways you couldn't explain, and too fast for you to register and counter. You were knocked out cold, and the next time you woke you were on a spaceship in space.

To say that Price was furious with the two was an understatement, they had more or less kidnapped someone unprompted. While Soap found the situation hilarious, he also had a feeling there was way more to this, and a possible danger they could've avoided.

When you wake it's Price that greets you, making sure to establish himself to not be a threat to you, so you didn't do anything drastic. You were on edge, understandably so, but he managed to explain the situation while also avoiding the main topic at hand.

You knew it would come up, he was toying with your lightsaber in his hands while you talked, and no matter how much you stared it down you didn't dare lunge for it yet. The dreaded question, and the answer that people had such varying reactions to.

"You're Jedi?"

You had expected something else when you confirmed to him what you were, what you've been since you could remember. A part of you had expected them to be bounty hunters, ready to turn you over to the empire at a moment’s notice. The reward on your head would be great, you imagine, yet that's not what he does.

He reminisces instead, telling you of a Jedi he once knew, of how he and his men had fought alongside a few of them on special occasions. Never had you imagine that this is where you would end up, in the metaphorical arms of people who could care maybe just a little.

He gave you an offer, they could drop you off at whatever location you requested, or they could work a sort of partnership.

You don't know what to make of it at first. They seem genuine, but people have ratted you out for less. You don't have a lot of options, going somewhere else and trying to find another inconspicuous farming planet wasn't the most viable choice, but neither was bunking with them. Who knew what kind of people they were.

Your chances were not the best, and unfortunately you had a sneaking suspicion they knew that. Whether their intentions were noble or just pity, you decided to take the risk and stay. If it all came crashing down, you'd still have your training, it had gotten you this far, it could get you further.

The first few days you stayed with them was tense, they were all in agreement on keeping you, there was nothing hostile about it, but it was still tense. It was partially your own doing, you walked on eggshells around them, never letting any of them behind you, etc. etc.

They understood to an extent, the way they met you wasn't exactly on the best of terms, it was natural for you to be cautious. So, they let you have your space, they don't pressure you into anything but do try to coax you into a more comfortable environment with them.

The crack starts to form when you see them all gathered in the main area of the ship, laughing, talking, playing a game you're unfamiliar with. Soap is the first to notice you staring, with a big grin on his face he invites you to join them. Hesitant but interested you approach.

Price explains the rules to you, and you get to watch for a round or two before you join in on your own. They go easy on you but you're a quick learner, and it doesn't take long before you become quite vicious in your play.

It becomes a common thing, almost nightly that they all gather to spend time together. The bond between each other grows fast, and it's not long before you start feeling like this is exactly where you're meant to be.

Settling in with them becomes easier and easier, as if they had always waited for another person to welcome in with them. To fill a missing part, they didn't know they needed.

While keeping the secret of what you are is the topmost priority, you end up helping them out on jobs. Due to your training you're very adaptable, able to fill any position where something was missing.

You were an excellent mechanic when the ship was down, and with Gaz's magic touch it halved the time it usually took to repair.

Soap had a really fun time explaining a bunch of different things about weaponry and the science behind it. There had been a lot of different questions you had in the clone wars that was left unanswered, you could finally have someone enthusiastic that could explain them to you.

A lot of long rides were spent like that, of you asking him questions and then more questions because the math he talked about in the first question was confusing.

Even though you were just a Padawan back then, you still had made your fair share of connections during the clone wars. People that you and your old master had come across, and old friends outside of the Jedi order.

Price found it very useful, and though most of the connections you had were friendship and not business, it could still be used as such. A few of them he even helped rekindle, you've been grateful for that ever since.

Though the Jedi order is no more you still try to keep up with your training. You have no guidance any longer, nothing new to look at, but you can maintain what you know.

The others are happy to help you with it as well, they know it's important to you and a part of them have always found it fascinating how you train.

Occasionally you'd have them all surround you in a circle, setting their blasters to stun and randomly shooting at you. It helped sharpening your senses, helped you rely on the force to guide your hand, and to deflect more accurately.

You'd do a lot of training with Ghost that wasn't necessarily Jedi training. While you did a lot of mental training on your own, the physical part was something Ghost had a lot of enjoyment in helping you with.

Sparring, running, lifting, anything he could think of that would help you, he did, and it quickly became thing for you two to train together.

It wasn't anything you had expected with them, not in a million years would you have imagined ending up here. It was a thing you couldn't predict, but neither was order 66.

Nobody you knew had been able to foresee the collapse of the Jedi order. Some things were just left up to chance, and currently here with the 141, you liked your odds.

I just finished reading the book project hail mary, and not too long ago i reread the Ahsoka book. So safe to say i've been in a bit of a space mood, still am.

And what better way to utilize that, than combine my hyperfixation on the 141 and my special interest star wars hehe.

[ryik-the-writer]

No one:

Me: You know who would have been better as Belle's infidelity partner than Will Scarlet? Jefferson.

Before I begin, THIS IS NOT A BELLE HATE POST! Yes, I am going to address IT, but I am not putting her down for this...and I'll tell you why.

So after that god-freaking-awful twist in 4x11 when Belle sends Rumple over the town line, both he and Belle are left shattered at their dubious betrayals, the latter of which so much so she sought additional comfort (again, not hate, just hear me out).

That love interest ... for whatever reason ... was Will Scarlet, a cameo from Once Upon a Time's short-lived spin-off OUAT in Wonderland, which had ended a few months prior.

I, along with a good chunk of the fanbase, thought it was a unique choice, and most likely a way to acknowledge the spin-off in canon.

Don't get me wrong, I like Will as a character in OUATIW, but he was just off to me in OUAT. Like he was just shoved in there without a real purpose. Even his scenes with Robin Hood felt forced to me.

And honestly, it seemed strange to me that Belle, the logical scholar and fruitful romantic, would break her wedding vows of all things even after what Rumple did.

BUT THEN AGAIN, I also don't think it's established how intensive wedding vows are in this universe. I mean, Snow technically cheated on David with Dr. Whale, and while it's addressed comedically, it's not really addressed as an issue in their marriage but they comfortably move on from none the less.

Of course, it's obviously just the show's weakest attempt at *drama* and a way to baffle the Rumbellers into stunned silence so they can focus on *other things* (I am NOT going THERE today.)

And I think I remember an article or something about Will's actor's Michael Socha, feeling underused and wanting out especially since he had a kid at home. While he has a few zingers between him and other characters like Rumple and Hook, he looks so awkward when he's on-screen with Belle, like even he doesn't know why he's there!

But for the sake of *drama* Belle needs some side yum. Cool. Girl's gotta work out her frustrations some way right? But WILL SCARLET?!

This Will Scarlet?

"I love you Anastasia Tremaine" Will Scarlet?

Who ripped his heart out because her betrayal was just too much?

For freaking sake, they had a TLK!!!

I will only, and I mean ONLY accept the following two theories as a reason why...this happened...

1. This takes place during Will and Anastasia's break.

It's established in the OUATIW that the events in the spinoff are happening sometime in either late-season 1 or early season 2's canon. I think. But maybe, just maybe, it was actually around season 4's timeline? The timeline is screwed to hell anyway so...

Ana's presence is established in OUAT after Will, who broke into the library and vandalized a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, is arrested and held indefinitely. And while Will looks distraught at the mention of his former love, but he's not devastated enough

The scene subsequently serves as a pointless but sweet way to introduce Belle and Will. I myself wrote a fic few years back as a way to fill in how that played out afterwards. But the actual writers just kind of tossed it in there.

And dropped it.

Yeah, WIll just kind of disappeared after season 4. Thanks for stopping by, I guess.

And btw, you cannot convince me that a guy who reacts like this after watching the love of his life get killed in front of him:

Like I kid you not, Will's screams and cries were stuck in my head after that episode. I gasped and covered my mouth. I remember feeling the same way when Graham died in OUAT because Emma's grief was just as raw as this. This is not the kind of grief you just up and move on with so casually. This sticks with you.

BACK TO JEFFERSON

Okay, I swear, I have a point.

Again, if Belle just *needed* a love interest during her break from Rumple, fine, but why not use the opportunity to do some freaking fan service after that Frozen mess?

Bring. Back. The. Hatter.

Why Jefferson?

He has an established relationship with Belle.

Even if the ugly truth is Jefferson had to know Belle was being held captive in the hospital asylum, Belle would still, begrudgingly, be grateful he freed her and reunited her with Rumplestiltskin. Maybe he tried apologizing with coffee, and...things happen.

Plus he has an established relationship with Rumplestiltskin PRIOR to Belle.

No. You cannot tell me these two:

...were just "business associates". No these two were hitting shroons in Wonderland every Tuesday at happy hour, do I make myself clear? It's obvious they weren't friends but they worked well together.

That scene in the shop would have been BANGER if Jefferson had been in Will's place. I mean the possibilities are endless with their establishment. They could have opened up an opportunity to explore more of Rumple's deals with Jefferson to find a way to the Land Without Magic, or even their shared connection with Regina, established, beloved connections in the series the audience would be comfortable with.

And honestly, I think Belle and Jefferson could have very nice chemistry too.

Their both worldly, and I can see these two sitting at a booth in Granny's forever as Jefferson told her her stories about his travels, maybe even a few tales about his deal and possible friendship with Rumplestiltskin. And maybe he helps her heal a bit.

That scene in 4x12 where Belle and Hook talk about Rumple really rubbed me the wrong way. What Rumple did to Belle and, yes, even Hook, was awful, but Hook never had to answer for his part in Rumple's decline. What did he think would happen if he threatened to blackmail him with Belle of all people?

Not to mention, Belle and Grace would have gotten along so well.

At this point in the series, Grace is a young teenager, and could possibly use a female presence. She like Henry, would probably understand that her father needs more companionship and would support their relationship. And it would be great foreshadowing to Belle's own relationship with her child later on. And Belle LOVES kids and could have formed a very promising bond with Grace. Regardless on how her relationship with Jefferson could have ended, Belle would have this girl over for sleepovers every week.

[ocelot-t]

do have any Hazbin Hotel or just RadioRose headcanons? Like Rosie being a really good painter or Alastor technically being younger than he seems or something? (I just like reading other people's ideas on their favorite characters lol)

You arrived just in time.

There will be a lot of words I have mostly a lot of disconnected thoughts in my head, which I sometimes consciously or unconsciously implement in drawings. besides, I don't remember what the canon is, and what the old fanon is, to be honest. If you would like me to, I can share not only my headcanons, but also some of the AUs I have.

I understand where the theory comes from, but I don't like the idea of Alastor being forced to smile all this time. I think he wants to keep everything under his control so much that he smiles even in death. The idea that he is just a sick man, serial killer makes his eternal smile even more unnerving. I don't want to justify him.

I think Al would have enjoyed reading H.P Lovecraft’s works. The tentacled creatures and descriptions of people as nonentities suffering defeat in a fight with chthonic creatures... btw, some of Lovecraft's stories were published during Alastor's era. I have a small headcanon about Alastor's death, and I plan to create a comic in the future (if I can actually get it done).

There are 2 possible deaths of Alastor's mother in my mind, and I’m uncertain which one I want to illustrate. maybe both continuing the theme of Alastor’s human life. I sincerely believe that even if Alastor had really had an abusive father, Al would have been cruel since childhood. Guess what? I have an unfinished little comic with a hum!Al by another artist, and I'm uncertain when I’ll manage to complete it. The headcanon that suggests Alastor’s father is an abuser already seems like a canon; however, I don’t want to portray him as a completely terrible person. I like the idea of Alastor enjoying hunting, so let's say he learned it from his father. Just like all the dad jokes. on the other hand, as for the scars on Alastor, some of them probably came from his father, since domestic violence was a common problem. Regarding art, as you might have noticed, I have a headcanon that Al understands the arts in general, whether it's painting, cinema, or music. Perhaps I think this way only because I am trying to combine things I love very much. I imagine him as a person you could have a discussion about these topics with??? It seems to me that Alastor and Rosie would often discuss these topics over a glass of wine or a cup of tea. Suddenly, Alastor would show up at Rosie's and instead of hello I READ ABOUT FRA FILIPPO LIPPI. DO YOU HAVE AN HOUR FREE? BTW I HOPE YOU WATCHED THAT DZIGA VERTOV MOVIE THAT I RECOMMENDED Rosie would love art nouveau and I don't know rococo? and Alastor would be like no art nouveau is okay, cute, but rococo is bullshit. *2-hour episode of drunken dad teaching life* Continuing on the topic of artists, I repeat myself, I have a silly unfinished series of mini-comics about Alastor and Rosie as art academy students, the plots of which are based on real life (almost). I have thought about what kind of styles they would draw in, what kind of themes they would focus on, and so on. Again, there is a lot of text here already, so I'll wrap up this topic for now. P.S. I have a strange idea in my head about how to imagine Alastor in the USSR in the 10-30s. It was quite fun there: the World War I, the revolution, the civil war, the post-revolutionary years, famines and so on, and so on. For fun, of course, but Alastor the Communist has a good reason to hate Vox the Capitalist and his MMM I mean VVV or Lucifer the emperor of hell, if you know what I mean. Instead of telling dad jokes, he would say that life under Stalin was good and quote Lenin. Of course, these are all jokes, but I did have some abstract thoughts about how his life and his family's life would be arranged. However, I don't know enough about the history of USSR to actually implement this properly. so yeah

[missmaywemeetagain]

Paisley Dreams (Part 2) 🏵💛🔥

Pretty sure there's only a small handful of you still reading my nonsense, but to those who are, thank you for your patience. Also, special thanks to those who kept me going after various blocks and meltdowns over finishing this (among other things). Would've thrown in the towel completely if it weren't for y'all. You know who you are and I love you. 💗💗💗 Anyway, sorry, this is probably a bit of a mess, but so am I... 😬

If you need a refresher, here's Paisley Dreams Part 1 🏵

TW: SEXXX, a little macho-possessive!elvis, the usual era appropriate female frustrations.

August 1970

If Pepper didn’t know any better, she would think she dreamt up the surreal encounter with Elvis that happened a few days ago. The only thing tethering the experience to reality is the yellow shirt he left her with, the one she’s a bit ashamed to say she’s been wearing to bed the past three nights, just so she can languish in his scent a little longer.

Of course, she hasn’t heard from him. It would be absurd if she had, or at least she keeps reminding herself of that when she finds herself spacing out during the slow moments at the diner or when taking off her stage makeup after the show. Elvis Presley is a busy man, and it’s likely he hadn’t given her a single thought since he left her pining and wanting in her drab little apartment.

Sure, he’d been good in the moment in making her feel special, and she can’t help thinking about all the little vulnerable snippets of him he showed her, all the strange things they seem to have in common…

Stop it. This is stupid. I’m never gonna see the man again.

It’s been a mantra in her head for days now, but unfortunately her touch-starved body hasn’t gotten the memo. If she had any sense, she’d drop her delusional fantasies and move on with her monotonous life.

“Hey, Pepper! Some guy is here to see you. Says it’s urgent,” Paul, the show’s stage manager, tells her briskly as she put the final touches on her face.

With no clue who it might be, a tightening in her belly warns it could be another overzealous “fan” like the one who caught her out the other night. But Paul is skilled at getting rid of the creeps, so it leaves her wondering as she makes her way backstage to the green room.

“Oh, thank God,” the short man sighs with palpable relief when she walks through the doorway. He looks incredibly familiar.

“Who…wait. Charlie?” she gasps in surprise. “What—what are you doing here?”

The man looks so glad to see her it takes her aback. “You are a hard woman to track down. Aren’t you ever home?”

“I…uh, I work two jobs, so not really,” she finds herself explaining. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?”

“Well, the boss wants to see ya tonight, needs ya to come to his show,” he says, pushing a large white box into her arms.

“The boss?” she asks, confused. He can’t possibly mean who she thinks he does.

“Elvis. Elvis wants you at his show tonight, so here I am to get you there. And that’s for you, to wear,” Charlie says with a knowing smile.

Pepper thinks that maybe exhaustion has caught up with her because there is no way this is real. She laughs a little, a giddy feeling pulsing through her veins, until the cold wash of reality douses her.

“That’s nice, but I have a show of my own to do, Charlie,” she says, sweeping a hand over her revealing costume. Her heart sinks and she’s a little angry Elvis presumed she could drop everything to be at his beck and call. “Thank Elvis for the invitation but remind him I really can’t afford to lose this job.” She hands the white box back to Charlie, unopened.

He sputters a little with panic. It makes sense—most women probably bend over backwards to accommodate a man like Elvis, but she has other things to worry about. And Elvis knows this, which makes her even more irritated.

“But…but he really wants you there, Pepper,” Charlie says in a futile attempt to persuade her. “He’ll be mighty disappointed if you don’t come.”

Her heart kerthunks at the suggestion Elvis has been thinking about her at all, much less for him to be disappointed by her absence, but it doesn’t quell the anger starting to build in her chest.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, but it’s too short of notice and I have a show to do. Tell your boss it would be good for him not to make assumptions.”

Charlie looks like she’s slapped him. She almost feels bad for him because she gets the impression, as wonderful as Elvis was with her the other night, he is not a man who likes to be told “no.”

“I need to be on stage soon. Bye, Charlie,” she says, fighting the urge to cry both with irritation and disappointment. She can’t afford to ruin her makeup this close to showtime and walks out before she can change her mind.

The smile she plasters across her face during the dinner show covers her aching discontent. She’s almost glad for the distraction—it takes her mind off the fact she’ll likely never hear from Elvis again. There is certainly no reason for a man like him to chase a woman like her, especially when she’s rejected him.

Lost in her dismal thoughts, she doesn’t hear Paul when he comes up behind her after the show. She jumps out of her skin when he touches her shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Pepper, but you’ve got someone important on the phone for you,” Paul says, looking at her a little incredulously with a quirked brow, “and that little guy is back.”

What?

She makes her way back to the green room for the second time tonight, a racehorse running laps in her heart as she huffs down the hallway in her heels.

Charlie’s eyes brighten when they see her and he says nothing; he just holds out the phone receiver towards her. Trepidation makes her shake when she grabs it because as much as she wants to deny it, there’s no doubt who it could be.

“Hello?” she squeaks out, then races to clear her throat and relax her voice. “Who is this?”

“Peppercorn, you best be gettin’ that cute lil’ butt of yours down here, ‘fore I gotta come getchu myself,” Elvis familiar drawl growls commandingly in her ear.

It’s unfair the way it makes her toes curl and her thighs tighten, especially when a certain sense of fury at his orders slices through her arousal. If any other man talked like this to her, she’d hang up on him, but Elvis Presley is not just any other man.

“Well, hello to you, too, Elvis,” she says with ire. “I told you, I have my own shows and I can’t just up and leave on a whim.”

“Don’tchu worry about none of that, darlin’. I’ll take care of everything,” he says so smoothly it almost covers the impatience in his tone.

“What does that even mean?”

He sighs on the other end. “Honey, money ain’t an issue. I’ll give you more money than they’d pay you tonight to come to my show.”

The force of his words hits her square in the chest, her hand tightening around the phone. “And what about when they fire me for leaving without notice, hmm? You just gonna pay for my bills from now on? I’m not a whore, Elvis Presley. And I don’t want your damn money.”

That stubborn streak her mama always took her to task for has her seeing red, but somehow she has enough sense not to hang up on him directly. Instead, she just thrusts the phone into Charlie’s hand and storms off, not listening to the crackling voice yelling through the receiver.

Oooh, the nerve of that man, she thinks, her blood boiling at his insinuations. He’d been so nice and thoughtful the other night, not this demanding cad offering to pay her like some hooker off the street. For a man like that, offering what he did, it is blaringly obvious that there would be strings attached to such an arrangement, and she isn’t going to be some kept woman.

The audacity of his actions and words has her raging the more she thinks about him. The late show barely takes her mind off it, the entire exchange sending waves of adrenaline through her blood every time it pops back into her mind. By the time she is back home, she’s exhausted but wired, upset that her daydreams about this man were just that—fantasies.

Pepper convinced herself he wasn’t like any other man—that he was sweet and kind and didn’t just want her for her body. What a joke.He may be rich and powerful, but he certainly made his intentions clear with his demands.

Once in bed, she doesn’t bother to stop the tears leaking from her eyes and dripping into the mattress. A sick feeling of regret churns in her stomach as her rage cools and she begins second guessing all her choices. How she managed to ruin her chances with Elvis.

Buck up, kiddo, he’s just a guy. A famous, talented, and ridiculously handsome one, maybe, but still just a man in the end. He doesn’t matter. Your family does. She may not have much, but at least she has her dignity.

Or so she hopes, a certain yellow paisley shirt clinging to her body when sleep finally takes her.

*

An incessant pounding rouses Pepper from a fitful slumber. At first, she thinks it might be a whopper of a headache she’d felt coming on after last night’s events, but as she forces her gritty eyes open, she realizes it’s not that at all.

Someone is pounding on her front door.

Adrenaline kickstarts her body, despite the sleep that tries to reclaim her, and a quick look at the alarm clock on her nightstand shows it’s not quite four in the morning. She is cautious and more than a little scared as she slips her too flimsy robe on over her nightgown, pattering through the apartment with bare feet. Approaching the door with an element of stealth, which seems awfully stupid when she thinks about it, she peeks through the peephole, praying it’s not some drugged out creep looking for a good time or a maniac she needs to call the cops on.

But there is no mistaking the shock of black hair and the purple tinted sunglasses of the man causing such a racket on the other side of the wood. Her stomach drops and her heart flips.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She takes a shaky breath and opens the door before he can continue his barrage.

Elvis starts a bit when the door opens suddenly, his shoulders squaring and spine straightening. For a second, he almost looks self-conscious about his behavior, but it is gone and replaced with a narrow-eyed glare before she can dwell on it.

“You gonna let me in, sweetheart, or are we gonna do this out in the open for everyone to see?” he drawls, but it has a cutting edge to it she doesn’t recognize from their first meeting.

Now that he’s here in front of her, her earlier stubbornness is hard to locate behind the butterflies in her stomach and the sudden apprehension she feels about him being here again. He sucks all the air out of the room after she wordlessly opens the door further to let him stride through.

Pepper pulls her robe tight across her body, trying to cover herself as though he hadn’t already seen her bare, as if he hadn’t knelt in front of her to dress her in that dark alley. The thought, along with the waft of his cologne as he passes by her, makes her knees weak.

“Wha—what’re you doing here, Elvis?” she asks, the words sticking in her mouth with sleep and confusion as she flips on the lamp near the couch.

She realizes the mistake the moment it happens. Now she can truly see him in all his glory—his post-show glow giving him an other-worldly quality she didn’t know was possible. His tan skin and lustrous dark hair are indulgent to her senses and it’s almost painful how endless his sapphire eyes are when he takes off his tinted glasses and rakes those eyes over her body.

It sends a shiver right down to her toes.

“Peppercorn, you’re one helluva stubborn little girl,” he says huskily, pointing a long finger at her, “makin’ me come all the way down ‘ere to talk some damn sense into ya.”

It’s piercing and heated the way he says it and she feels somewhere between a scolded child and a wounded lover, neither of which fits the strange (non-)relationship she has with him, but she feels it all the same. Logic tells her he has no right to come in here like this, but the fact that he’s here at all, looking ethereal like some sort of angry god, has all logic flying out the window.

Digging her toes into the wood floor to keep herself grounded, she finally finds her voice again, “Excuse me?”

“And all this nonsense ‘bout ya being some kinda ‘whore’,��� he barrels on, “and I ain’t never said no such thing, would never say such a thing aboutcha.” The vehemence with which he says it makes it sound likeshe was the one who offended him and not the other way around.

Pepper is confused for a second because of this, as her first instinct is to apologize to make him feel better, but then she remembers why she was mad in the first place.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t offer to pay me to spend time with you and be there to satisfy your every whim, I wouldn’t think that’s what you meant,” she says quietly, her voice shaking only slightly, as she throws it back at him.

His eyes flash and narrow while his cheeks redden underneath his tan. The divot in his jaw ticks with tension, and for a split second she regrets her words.

She can’t for the life of her understand why he cares and has gone to all this trouble and seems so upset. She’s nobody of consequence, and God knows any number of women are lined up at the ready for him if he wants company. And yet he’s here.

This doesn’t help the way her heart knocks against her ribcage, though, and she squeezes her hands tight to try and control her rapid breathing.

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth, lil girl,” he growls, stepping towards her, backing her into the wall. Only the tiniest part of her is frightened despite his size and anger because his proximity and intensity ignite something molten in her veins. Her mouth parts but the quippy reply dies on her lips.

“Why don’tcha wanna come to my show?” There’s an element of hurt in his voice that surprises her, and it tugs at her heartstrings. He looks down at her and it nearly causes her knees to buckle. “I-I-I jus’ thought—”

“I would love to come. It breaks my heart that I can’t,” she whispers mournfully, the words popping out before you can think better of them.

An impish little smile plays at his lips. “It does, does it?”

Pepper can’t help but roll her eyes, tilting her chin to the side, mostly to avoid being swallowed up by those churning eyes of his. “Of course.”

“Then why you gotta be so stubborn, baby?” he replies, gently scolding her. His slender pointer finger grazes her jaw, then turns her chin back towards him.

She hopes he doesn’t feel the way she shudders from the contact. It’s embarrassing enough that she can’t seem to hold her ground with him in front of her like this. That she’s melting at his slightest touch. She struggles to get the words out, feeling heady with the heat of him so close.

“I don’t…it’s important for me to be able to take care of myself. I’ve had to for a long time. And you don’t need to give me anything for me to want to come see or spend time with you—you shouldn’t have to. Besides,” she adds quietly, looking down, “I’m not really the kind of girl who…um…takes advantage of things like that. So, as much as I want to, I can’t—"

The rest is swallowed before it can come out by the sweet softness of his plush lips pressing against her own. She gasps in surprise, but that, too, is consumed by his mouth. His hands cup her face, tilting it up towards his and Pepper flails for a moment in confusion until the gentle insistence of his kiss subdues her completely.

Warmth spreads through her limbs, followed by electric tingles which bounce around her stomach and suck the breath out of her lungs. Her hands land on his chest, feeling heat and dampness from sweat, his heart thrumming underneath her palm. It’s faster than she expects and in disbelief, she wonders if it’s because of her.

When he pulls away, lashes fluttering up to meet her gaze, it’s as if a rocket implodes inside her chest. She’s a goner—if she’s honest with herself, she has been since the moment he defended her in the alley—and she knows it’s a bad place to be with a man like Elvis. She struggles valiantly against her baser instincts.

“Wh-why did you do that?” she chokes out, still confused about the fact that Elvis Presley just kissed her.

His eyes go dark. “Did ya not like it?” he asks, concerned.

“N-No, no, it isn’t…it was lovely, I just—I mean, why me?” She looks up at him with earnest eyes.

Relief spreads across his face and he runs his knuckles over her cheek. “Honey, you are the realest person I’ve met in this godforsaken town—hell, anywhere, as a matter of fact—a-an’ the only one who ain’t asked o-o-or expected a damn thing from me in a long time. You jus’…understand.”

Surprisingly, she does.

“Now, with that said, I like ta—" His head comes down, pressing the sweaty warmth of his forehead against hers. “—give gifts and help those I care about.” He nuzzles his nose into hers. “You gonna let me help you, Peppercorn?” he whispers against her cheek.

Her mouth parts by its own accord as her insides go gooey, and those soft lips devour hers again before she can reply. Fisting the lapels of his jacket in her hands, she barely recognizes the moan that escapes her as being her own.

He pulls away slightly, pressing kisses into her jaw and down her neck. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“Elvis…” is all she’s able to groan out. He’s an assault to her senses in the best way, causing every nerve ending to go into overdrive, logic and caution be dammed.

“Gonna be good f’me?” he rasps, lightly brushing the backs of his fingers down over her breast. She gasps and her nipple pebbles hard in response under the silky friction of the fabric of his yellow shirt. Back arching, her body seeks more of him.

He hums, pulling her up into a blistering kiss that sets her on fire. Mind wiped clean, she leans into his touch when he palms the underside of her breast.

“Thought you was mad at me and here ya are wearin’ my shirt to bed,” he drawls with a knowing smirk, his finger toying with the top button. “Now why would ya do a thing like that, huh, darlin’?”

“I…” she says breathlessly but stops when she has no defense. Her cheeks turn fire-engine red, both from being caught out and from the fact he is much too deftly popping the first button, which due to the size of the shirt lies squarely between her cleavage, open. The fullness and heaving of her breasts push the fabric further apart.

“Hmm, I see,” he tuts. His finger traces its way down to work the second button. “Were ya dreamin’ about me, honey?”

Pepper whimpers and her thighs clutch together involuntarily at his whispered words, and he doesn’t miss this little tell, not by the little smirk on his face. The second button pops and the shirt falls open more.

He swoops her up against him for another kiss, his tongue swiping through her lips and rolling against hers. The rapidly-firming outline of his cock pressed against her belly is not lost on her, either.

“My lil’ Peppercorn, thinkin’ she’s gotta be all rough and tough all by her lonesome,” he murmurs as he makes quick work of the other buttons, his fingers grazing the bare skin of her abdomen. She trembles at his touch. “Don’t gotta worry no more, baby, I gotcha,” he purrs. In any other situation, she might find it condescending, this way he’s taking her to task for being cautious and independent, but she can’t quite bring herself to care so much anymore.

Elvis steps back a little, those shining blue eyes flaring a bit when he gets a look at her in her simple white cotton panties. He looks almost gleeful which banishes her self-consciousness at not wearing something sexier to bed. God knows the last thing she expected last night after she showered was Elvis Presley admiring her choice of underwear.

“Lemme take care of ya?” he asks dreamily, and the words go straight to her core, tingling her swelling lower lips in anticipation of what she hopes he is going to do to her.

All she can manage is a low whine of consent, nodding her head furiously just in case it isn’t clear how badly she needs him to touch her.

Elvis smiles and flits his fingers over the cotton covering her mound. The slightest brush of his finger against her clit sends her spasming like a live wire. It’s embarrassing, yet by the boyish dimple in his cheek, she reckons he’s pleased as punch.

“You been touched like this before, baby?” he asks quietly, circling over her so lightly she feels she might explode from want.

Blinking rapidly, she tries to focus enough to reply. “N-not in a long w-while,” she admits, relishing the sensation of him brushing over the soaked center of her underwear. She can’t help the roll of her hips towards his hand, desperate for more.

“Mmm,” he tuts, nodding to himself. Thankfully, he obliges her by pressing slightly upwards, pushing his panty covered finger up into her hole just a little, the palm of his hand putting pressure on her sensitive clit.

He only gives her a second of this, just long enough for her to gasp out, before he’s moving along. Her knees threaten to buckle and she whines. Then his mouth his on hers again, inhaling her exhale as he kisses her into complete submission.

Pepper loses track of how long they kiss, only that her lips are swollen and that she aches for him with every fiber of her being. The rhythm of his mouth is hypnotic and when he slides his hand down the front of her, into her damp curls, and finally gives attention to the place she wants him most, she cries out in pleasure.

Her legs falling open, he takes the cue and teases the hood of her sex. Nothing has prepared her for this—not her imagination nor her few previous experiences with men could ever match up to the blinding arousal she’s feeling right now.

Surprising her, he bends down, continuing his kisses down her chest, over the rise of her breasts and down her stomach. When he kneels in front of her, a waft of déjà vu comes over her, except this time he is undressing her instead, making the entire scene so erotic with his kiss-swollen lips and bedroom eyes and his hair falling in his face that she feels a needy, throbbing desire between her legs.

His tongue traces her belly button, distracting her from the fact he’s pulling her ruined underwear down her legs to puddle at her feet. It’s not until his lips are pressing into her mound that she realizes his intentions.

“Oh!” Her eyes flying open, she squirms a little in panic—she’s never had a man kiss her down there, and sure as hell didn’t consider that Elvis would want to do such a thing, but there he his, looking up at her, one eyebrow cocked. His eyes don’t leave hers as he swirls that tongue of his around her bud.

“Oh—omigod,” she cries, breath hitching. Her body goes into overdrive at all the new sensations, and he just smiles against her, snacking and lapping away at her, as happy as can be. The surreal nature of it all has her questioning her sanity, but the fleeting thought is quickly overwhelmed by the coil rapidly tightening in her belly. She hurtles towards an orgasm she’s not entirely ready for because she desperately doesn’t want this pleasure to end. Mewling and begging, it only takes one slender finger sliding up into her snatch coupled with the delicious, tongued assault on her clit to send her catapulting over the edge.

Her body tenses, then shudders violently against him as a silent scream catches in her throat. The heat rushing over her has nothing on any climax she’s ever had before which becomes evident in the way her legs shake and threaten to give way completely. Thankfully, Elvis holds her steady by the backs of her thighs, not letting her slump down to the floor like a sack of potatoes as her body relaxes. She can barely breathe for the way he licks her through the end of it, his enjoyment of her arousal obviously not just for her benefit.

Pepper vaguely registers her soft moans and her shivering limbs as she comes back into herself. Her head clonks back into the wall while she tries to get ahold of senses. She can’t seem to come down, though, not with this gorgeous man prostrated at her feet, enjoying her as though she were water in the desert.

Everything goes blank, everything but him.

Then he’s upright again, pressing his body into her, into the wall, his head nuzzling the soft spot under her ear. “Ya like that, honey? That okay?”

If she were more cognizant, she might think more on how he seems almost unsure of his abilities, but as it is, she barely manages a nod.

“S’wonderful,” she slurs, though she’s completely sober.

He smiles against her neck, chin sticky with her arousal. She doesn’t care. At this moment, all she wants is to be consumed by him, crushed by him, taken care of by him. All earlier arguments are forgotten, especially when he ruts against her bare leg, his erection hard and seeking.

“Can I, darlin’?” he whispers imploringly with a punctuated roll of his hips. “Hims need her bad.”

She wants to giggle at the cuteness of his baby talk and at the gallantry of his asking rather than taking—as if she would deny him—so instead she just nods yet again, pulling at the confines of his suit jacket.

In a near-frantic battle with his elaborate outfit, his belt finally clanks to the floor along with his pants and discarded jacket. When his cock springs free, unencumbered due to the lack of underwear, she is almost shocked, but is too distracted by what seems to be a wholly perfect representation of the male form.

It makes her look him up and down with an awed and heated gaze, somewhat disbelieving this otherworldly man wants her. By its own accord, her hand palms the heavy heat of him, sending a thrill though her when he groans out her name.

Needy and already dripping from the slit in his angry pink tip, he thrusts his cock into her hand. “Please, baby,” he breathes and all at once she realizes he is as desperate to have her as she is to have him.

She’s never fucked standing before and if she were in her right mind might be a little concerned about the mechanics of such a thing, but nature has a way of prevailing and without much to-do, Elvis lifts her long legs around his waist and braces her against the wall.

They both groan as he enters her. She’s more than wet, but his size and her lack of recent experience creates a stretching burn, nevertheless. It makes her hiss and bite down on her lip and being the observant lover he has turned out to be, he freezes partway in.

“You okay?” he asks, worried, and she nods emphatically because no, she doesn’t want him to stop but yes, it has been awhile since a man traversed this part of her. The bite of her nails on his shoulders is enough to remind him to go slow, despite the desire to fuck each other into oblivion.

With the utmost patience he works his way in with shallow, gentle thrusts as she coats him with her slick and relaxes enough to let him burrow deeper. The tight fit is delicious on his cock, which he makes note of in a string of murmured baby talk praises in her ear of what a good girlshe is and how tight she feels and how he’d just make a home in her pretty lil’ beaver forever if he could.

All this has her tingling and radiating warmth from the inside out and she begins to roll her hips to let him know she’s ready. It’s not long then before he’s nestled deep inside, his sweaty forehead pressed to hers before kissing her deeply. She tastes the tang of herself on his tongue, something that shouldn’t make her moan into his mouth, but she does, clinging to his shoulders as he finally begins to move in earnest.

And consumed by him she is—by his smell, his taste, the hard and soft planes of his body sliding against her own so deftly, thoroughly slotted as if made for each other. His rings cut into the bottom of her thigh as he grips her there in such a way that suggests he thinks she might float away and disappear without him there to anchor her.

He might very well be right.

Boldly, she meets his increasingly deep and pointed thrusts with the snap of her hips, as best she can at least, considering her lack of leverage. She chases him and he her, like some sort of erotic ouroboros eating its own tail. There is nothing but him and her and the joined chorus of breath in their near-frantic lovemaking.

Pepper has never come twice in a row with a man, not ever, yet as he plunders her just the right way in all the right spots, the telltale signs of that tension in her core spring to life again. He’s skilled in making her body sing, considering he barely knows her—or perhaps he knows her better than anyone else in his gilded town. Regardless, he coaxes her back to the edge with him with the softness of his lips and the scrape of his teeth and the caress of his fingers and hands in her most intimate places.

Skilled but sweet. Confident but desperate. The dichotomy of this man confounds her. Her back scrapes against the wall in time with the piston of his perfect hips, and the music of his soft moans has her near orgasm once again.

The build is slower this time and she relishes in every sensation, trying to commit them to memory. When she finally shatters around him at the crest of it all, Elvis shudders with a low groan and thrusts impossibly deep before pulsing hard, filling her with cum.

They collapse in on each other then, a panting silence filling the space around them. His breath is wet and heavy in the crook of her neck. She mindlessly runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, which is damp with sweat.

Oh, she’s in deep trouble with this one and she knows it. Part of her wants nothing more to stay like this forever, back scraping against the plaster, collapsed in a satisfied heap in Elvis’ arms.

A pleased hum comes from him, vibrating her sensitive skin, as he nestles deeper into her, despite the softening of his penis. It is needy and cuddly and unexpected based on the way he barged in earlier. But he continues to hold her tight, and she is powerless to deny him such a comfort.

She doesn’t want to.

“Come back with me, honey,” he whispers into the shell of her ear, causing her skin to pebble. “Please.”

Pepper wants to cry at the vulnerable way he says it and how it leaves her feeling so special because it seems to prove this was not just an angry, possessive fuck from a man who always gets what he wants. No, it feels charmingly sweet and melts her heart and body in all the right ways. It would be so easy to go, so tempting to fall into his arms again and again.

But things have never been easy for her and her damn pragmatic mind won’t let it rest why he showed up here in the first place.

“I—I can’t leave my jobs,” she whispers, her fingers carting through his dark hair by their own accord as his lips tackle her pulse point. She feels him smile against her skin, an action which shoots straight into her core, as if he hadn’t left her sated twice already.

“Well, I thought ya might say that, but it jus’ so happens the Hilton has a book-keeping openin’, if ya want it,” he says dreamily.

It takes a moment for her post-coital brain to make sense of what he’s saying. She pulls back.

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replies, forcing his pleased grin into a serious scowl.

Her heart pounds even more than it did when his lips were on her. She knows jobs like this are hard for people like her to come by. Most casinos don’t want to take a chance on a showgirl doing their books.

This could change everything for her.

“I…but I don’t have much experience and they’ll never—” she babbles, sending herself into a panic.

“Baby,” he shushes, finally removing himself from her and setting her down gently, “you’ve already got the job.” He smooths her hair, lulling her into relaxing.

She shakes her head in disbelief. Part of her wants to balk against the kindness, telling her she didn’t earn it for herself. Elvis gleans this, however.

“Let me help you, darlin’,” he coos at her, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Please. Let someone else take care of ya for once.”

Tears spring to her eyes. She can’t help it. The rollercoaster of the last few days has left her raw.

“You didn’t have to—it’s too much,” she sniffles, blinking back the tears.

“Wasn’t nothin’, baby. And you’ll be great, workin’ with all those numbers,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “And, it ain’t entirely selfless,” he muses, “considerin’ you’ll be workin’ in the same place as me and they don’t need you to start for a couple weeks. Those hours give you plenty of time to come see me. To be with me.”

She can’t help but chuckle at that. “But I have to—”

“Good thing about that signing bonus, too. Means ya won’t have to worry ‘bout leavin’ those other jobs of yours,” he says nonchalantly.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Nope, no siree.” His eyes twinkle at her.

Her guarded incredulousness disintegrates when she realizes he listened to her. Despite the misguided way he went about it, he figured out her need to be self-sufficient, solved the problem holding her back from him, and managed to get her a job she could barely dream of a few days ago.

It’s infuriating to her head-strong nature that he’s so deftly wheedled around all the obstacles and that she wants nothing more than to be in his arms and hear his vulnerability and go to his damn shows.

“Whadya say, Peppercorn? Will ya come be with me?” He says it with only the slightest tremor of doubt, those soulful eyes of his searching hers, dredging up feelings she knows will likely bite her in the ass later.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine,” she tries to say with a hint of frustration, but she’s unable to keep her hopeful smile from raising the corners of her mouth.

The dimple carved out beneath his apple cheeks makes it all worth it and sends a shower of tingles through her body. He swoops her up in his arms, kissing her deeply and hugging her so tight she can barely draw breath.

Suffocated by Elvis Presley’s kisses wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, she thinks humorously as he takes her breath away.

“I should go clean up and pack some things,” she pants when they finally tear themselves away from each other.

He nods, looking mussed and blissful, his bedroom eyes heavy as though the night’s events have finally all caught up to him. Holding her hand until the last possible second, she’s near convinced that he’s about ready to fall asleep standing up.

She’s halfway down the hall when he calls out to her, voice husky. “Hey, honey.”

Pepper turns back to look at him.

“Bring the shirt,” Elvis says, his dark brow quirking suggestively, “I like it on ya.”

He gives her an idea, a bold one she acts on before she can think too much on it. “Bet you’d like it off me even more,” she says, sliding the already open shirt off her shoulders. It falls in a soft heap around her feet.

His eyes go wide and take in her bare form from head to toe. “Damn, woman, I think ya might be right.”

And with a growl, he charges her, sending her into shrieking giggles as she flees into her room. Tapping some hidden reserve of energy, he lifts her and throws her on her unmade bed, and then climbs in on top of her, showering her with kisses everywhere.

Loving the way his long body presses her into the sheets, she feels utterly content for once in her life to let loose a little and live in the present without a care in the world.

“Gonna take care of ya,” he whispers, running his hand reverently over her naked curves.

And she knows he will.

*

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Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[folkwitchofthewest]

Hostage

Author’s note: Hello peeps! This is my first post here on Tumblr. I am very excited, and I hope you enjoy the story. This story was based on a writing prompt I found and immediately fell in love with it. Angst and fluff are 2 of my specialties. Also the reader in this story is a yokai, you decide what kind. Anywho, happy reading!

Description: ROTTMNT Donnie x F! Reader!

During the battle for NYC, reader is captured by the Kraang, and is held hostage. Used as a bargaining chip to force the turtles, mainly the reader’s genius boyfriend, into surrender. After the battle they wake up in a strange place with a familiar voice.

Reader’s guide: Y/N (your name), e/c (eye color), (y/s) your species.

Warnings: Blood, injuries, fluff at the end.

Word count: 2,838

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

This was bad. This was very, very bad, you thought as the leader of the Kraang slammed you into the floor for the second time during your fight.

A cry escaped past your lips, no matter how hard you tried not to make any noise, you didn’t want to give that thing the satisfaction of knowing how much pain it was causing you. A choked gasp was drug into your lungs as it pressed its seemingly unbreakable and ridiculously powerful robotic hand into your chest, restricting your breathing, like a snake constricting around its prey.

You were the Kraang’s prey, you realized with a shudder. And true to form, as prey would, you squirmed, and struggled as if your life depended on it. Because it did.

“Stop struggling, weakling,” Kraang shouted, as lifted you off the ground just enough to slam you back down again.

Another pained gasp slipped past your defenses, as you scrunched your face in pain, and bit your already abused bottom lip hard to keep from groaning. A ragged cough tore out of your burning lungs, feeling as if someone was raking rusted barbed wire through your chest. Thank goodness you were a yokai, or you doubted you would have survived this whole ordeal thus far.

“Your resistance is futile,” he growled, menacingly lowing his pink face closer to yours,” And yet, I might still find some use for you.”

You shudder as his hot breath brushed against your face. You wanted to gag, scream, cry, push the monster away, but alas you couldn’t make your body obey the simple command to move. Sharp claws wrapped around your limp body and picked you up as if you weighed no more than a feather.

“Come, let’s see just how much these menacing little pests care about you,” your pink captor sneered.

No, he had seen the bond you shared with the turtles, with Donnie. When had he seen it? The invasion had only begun a few hours prior. He planned to use you as a hostage. Oh Pizza Supreme in the Sky, no. You were going to be a bargaining chip in this deadly game of poker. Please no. Donnie would surrender without hesitation if it meant saving you. Your beloved purple turtle has always been your knight in shining technology, your rock, your shield, your everything. The Kraang could not do this. You wouldn’t let it!

An adrenaline rush shot through you, a grim determination settled over you, and you began to thrash, and kick, but to no avail.

“Stop squirming!” Kraang snarled, holding you up by the throat. Out of nowhere the metal fist of the suit punched repeatedly in the stomach. Blood spurted out of your mouth suddenly, coughing and spluttering. The fit left you gasping for breath as warm slick blood ran down your chin and neck. The coppery taste left in your mouth made you want to puke.

‘Coughing up blood after severe trauma is most likely a sign of internal bleeding,’ you remembered Leo telling you once.

Oh great, you would probably bleed to death before this was all said and done, and no one would be any wiser. You suddenly felt extremely light headed, and weak.

“Y/N!” the voice of your beloved boyfriend screamed somewhere to your right.

In a dizzying blur of far to quick motion you were suddenly face to face with Donnie, who looked as if he had just laid eyes upon the most horrifying sight ever. Claws dug into your left wrist and jaw, as your head was lifted slightly, your body going rigid, tears finally cascading down your cut and bruised cheeks. Tears of fear, for your life and your boyfriend’s, and pain as your arm was twisted cruelly behind your back.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, locking eyes with Donnie.

“Don’t apologize, dearest,” Donnie shook his head, ever so slightly.

His white knuckled grip on his tech staff looked as if he could shatter the device with his bare hands at any moment. His body was ramrod straight, and if you looked closely you were sure you could see a small tremble claim him.

“Let her go, and I might let you live,” Donnie snarled words dripping with venom, as he elegantly twirled his staff to point threateningly at the Kraang.

A nauseatingly amused laugh came from the slimy monster behind you.

“You are in no position to make threats, you wretched little thing. You see, if you do not surrender, I will kill this one,” the Kraang smirked, scraping his claws from your jaw to around your throat.

Donnie twitched. He was enraged, and terrified, feeling so many emotions he did not understand nor wish to feel. How DARE this monster threaten you?! The poor turtle stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity in his head.

“Oh, did I touch a nerve, threatening your mate? Lower your weapon and surrender. Or she dies,” Kraang smirked, a strangled sob escaped your lips as it’s cold, hard, claws pressed around your delicate throat a bit harder,” On your knees. Now.”

An ultimatum was laid in front of the genius, and for once in his life, Donnie did not know what to do. If he surrendered, he lost the world; if he did not, he lost his world. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute. You were not his mate, not yet anyways, you were both still teenagers after all. But in the few short years he had known you he had fallen hard, and knew you were the only one for him the moment he laid eyes on you. He could not lose you.

“NOW!” Kraang roared, wrenching your arm behind your back so violently a sickening pop filled the air, and you felt a blinding searing pain rip through your shoulder.

You screamed, loud, long, blood curdling. The hand around your throat the only thing keeping you upright as you suddenly feel your strength leave you. The marrow in Donnie’s bones seemed to freeze. The sound shattered his heart, and he knew what he had to do.

His staff clattered to the ground as he raised his hands slightly in surrender, dropping to his knees.

"Wait, don't hurt her. Please," His voice held tense resignation that you had never heard.

“D-Donnie, n-no. D-Don’t give h-him w-what he w-wants,” you begged, through the tears and blood streaming from between your tightly clamped teeth.

“Beloved, save your strength. Everything will be alright. I promise,” Donnie tried to reassure you, his voice shaking, barely above a whisper.

The sight of Donnie on his knees, head bowed, looking at you as if his soul had been crushed with those heart wrenchingly beautiful eyes, hands in the air to signal he would not put up a fight. The sight forced open a pit in your stomach that threatened to swallow you whole. The pain you felt now, looking at him, was so much worse than the physical pain plaguing your body.

Kraang's laugh echoed in your ears, taunting you and your dear boyfriend. Your eyes squeezed shut, you could no longer keep them open. Your alertness was fading, and icicles began floating in your veins. You were cold, and disoriented. Where was Donnie? You knew he was close, you could hear his voice, muffled as it may be. He always kept you warm and safe.

Suddenly you were flying, weightless and free. And then the world came crashing down, ever so painfully around you. It felt like there was fire everywhere, licking your skin, deep in your bones. Fire so hot, it felt like freezing cold water had been dumped all over your body. And then something soft, and strong lifted you from the fire. You cracked your eyes open, and purple filled your vision. Donnie? Was he…was he cradling you in his arms? You could barely hear his voice over the blood pounding in your ears, crushing your skull. He was saying something, but you could not make out what. All you knew was exhaustion, and pain. Darkness, blessed, sweet darkness beckoned to you. Donnie was here, Donnie was holding you; if he was then you were safe, and everything would be ok just like he promised. You let the darkness have you, while Donnie’s pleas for you to stay with him went unheard.

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

Something soft and warm was wrapped around you, and something squishy under you. These were the first things you were aware of as your muddled brain emerged from the void. Annoying beeping pierced through your consciousness next. What was that, and wasn’t someone going to turn it off? It sounded like the microwave announcing whatever delicious food it had been warming was ready to be eaten. The thought of food made you nauseous, or was that the oddly salty smell that filled your nose and mouth? You felt floaty, like you were drifting lazily on a cloud through thick and heavy fog.

“Y/N…….ome…ack. Lease…..cme…ba,” a smooth rich voice drifted into your awareness.

It was soft, and comforting. Whoever it belonged to seemed slightly distressed. Who did that voice belong to? You knew them, and you trusted them with your life. That much you remembered. Something soft brushed across your cheek, the touch light as a feather.

“Open your eyes darling,” the voice called again, still muffled, feeling like cool aloe on a searing burn.

Maybe you should do as the voice asked. It sounded important. And you trusted this person, what was their name again? It was right on the tip of your tongue.

“Y/N, please come back to me,” the voice was clear this time, desperate, longing.

A sharp inhale and your eyes snapped open, bright light came flooding in, blinding you. A small quake ran through your body, which felt oddly weak and heavy. A sensation ran through your body, one you had never felt before. It wasn’t pain, simply an uncomfortable burn in your muscles, especially your chest and left shoulder.

“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me, dearest?” A purple mask and wide, concerned, bloodshot eyes filled your field of vision, shielding you from the harsh lights above.

“Donnie?” your voice barely above a whisper, but full of deep affection.

“Oh beloved! Are you alright? Are you in any pain? Can you breathe properly?” he peppered your tired mind with concerned questions, his hands hovering over you as if he wanted nothing more than to touch you, but afraid you would break like glass under his calloused fingers.

“I’m ok, sore but perfectly fine. I promise,” you reassured him, your hand reaching out to grasp his.

Your throat felt like sand, dry and scratchy. Your e/c eyes drifted over to a cup sitting on a small table behind your dear boyfriend. Donnie followed your line of sight, and quickly scooped up the object of your desires. He gently held the straw to your lips and instructed you to sip, not gulp.

You did as you were told and a sweet reward met your parched throat. Your eyes drifted around the room’s bland walls and obnoxiously beeping machines, while Donnie’s never left your battered face. He looked pale, the bags under his eyes prominent despite the mask, eyes puffy, and red. Had he been crying? Once you had your fill and your voice felt suitable for civil conversation, you looked to Donnie once again.

“What happened? Where are we?” You inquired, softly.

Donnie explained that after the battle the family escaped to a yokai hospital in the Hidden City. After all, they couldn’t very well waltz into a human hospital with 2 frantic humans, an exhausted rat, 4 mutant turtles in varying states of injury, and a critically injured y/s yokai asking for help. Besides every medical center topside was surely flooded with casualties nor would they know how to treat the injured beings. Yes, the Hidden City was certainly their best bet to get the treatment they all so desperately needed.

He also gave you a run down on his brothers and his own injuries before moving to yours. An abundant collection of ghastly looking bruises and nasty gashes littered your body. Plus an unholy number of sprains, tears, and pulled muscles. As you suspected, you did in fact have extensive internal bleeding, a punctured lung from multiple broken ribs, a badly dislocated left shoulder, a severe concussion, and several broken bones.

“I thought I was going to lose you. For 12 deplorable hours I thought I would have to navigate my way through this dreadfully dark life without you, my light. You are the air I breathe, and while we were waiting for news it felt like I was suffocating, terrified of losing my air. My precious diamond, do not ever scare me like that again,” Donnie blurted out, rare emotion filling his voice as even rarer tears flowed from his expressive eyes.

He quickly buried his head in your shoulder. Whether it was to hide his tears, the blush that was rapidly growing on his cheeks, or to find comfort you did not know; however you were left speechless at the uncommon display.

“Donnie,” you stammered, failing to find your words just yet.

You settled for running your hand over his bandana covered head, and caressing his cheek. Donnie was never one for physical touch unless it was someone he was very close with, or he was in need of a way to express emotions he was uncomfortable with. He was never good with feelings either, so such an outright statement driven by emotion was quite unheard of.

“I’m sorry, I just - I was only - I was simply…..frightened. Beyond belief,” Donnie muttered into your shoulder, obviously having a hard time finding the words to express how he was feeling.

Now this was more on brand for your certified mad scientist. He must have put a lot of thought into what he was going to say to you when you woke up, and you suspected had a little chat with Dr. Feelings.

“Tello, look at me darling, please,” you requested, your fingers moving his chin up so his red rimmed eyes met your tired ones,” Dearest, I will never leave you. I swear as sure as Metro Tower is still standing I will always fight to stay by your side. What we have, well, you would think someone tore it right out of one of those nauseating love novels Leo reads. You are my guiding light, what makes life worth living, you are my everything. I love you, Donatello. I always have. Today, tomorrow, and forever.”

His eyes seemed to bore holes into your very soul as he soaked up the meaning and significance of your words. And suddenly more tears sprang forward in both your eyes as a smile graced his lips for the first time that night.

“I love you too. More than you will ever know,” he sniffed, as you brushed his tears away.

“You look exhausted. Have you slept at all?” you questioned, resting your hand on his cheek.

Donnie simply hummed and leaned into your wonderful touch.You let out a sigh, and painfully shuffled over in your surprisingly soft hospital bed. His drawn on eyebrows shot up in a silent question, rather alarmed. You couldn’t help but giggle at the expression on his face, you found it quite adorable.

“Come,” you said, patting the empty space in the bed,” keep me company.”

“Leo would freak if he saw us, spouting some nonsense about tearing your stitches or infection,” a sly grin creeping onto his features as he slipped off his battle shell, and climbed into bed with you.

“Well, it’s a good thing it's only us then, isn’t it?” You giggled.

After several minutes of readjusting making sure not to jostle each other's injuries, you were both comfortable, cuddled up close to each other. Your head rested on his plastron, and his arms were wrapped snugly around you. You began to gently draw patterns on his plastron, this always relaxed him, and you knew exactly how to get him to sleep.

A contented churr rumbled through his chest, deep, comforting. A contented sigh escaped your lips as your eyes became heavier.

"I love you, darling," you whispered.

"I love you as well, beloved," he whispered back, before drifting off to sleep.

In that moment, everything was perfect. Yes, you had all been through hell. Yes, it was going to be a struggle to return everything back to normal. But you would all be there for each other, because that's what family did. You were safe in Donnie’s arms, and he in yours. You had 0 intentions of letting him go anytime soon, vowing to keep away the nightmares you knew would surely come.

But for now everything was alright. You had all survived, and would continue to do so.

You finally lost the battle with sleep, and your last conscious thought was of your purple turtle, and the undying love you held for him.

[kkoct-ik]

what are we thinking

(explanations / elaborations under the cut)

confidence: ★★★ = most, ☆☆☆ = least

★★☆ mew-chan: there's a popular theory about Gin's apparent significance that suggests any number of things are hidden in mew-chan. i dont feel strongly on one theory or another, but i think it's a solid idea

★★★ Sara does not win (the game): i think it would be poetic if in spite of her win rate / being favoured she refuses to win or otherwise destroys the game

★★★ one bad end: like the mindbreak / Q-taro escapes ending, i think it would be fun if there was a way to fail during the minigame segment

★★☆ Keiji gets decimated: he's overdue and if i don't get to see his mangled corpse i'll be very disappointed. i do not think he is surviving to the main game, and if he does, i think he will be the Sacrifice (there's a convincing argument about how this is the only card he has not had thus far)

★★★ Kai & Joe: this is a loose end i hope is tied up. i'm very invested in Joe's relevance and how suspicious / strange some of his behaviour in chapter 1 is

★☆☆ mishima's head / collar: Midori assumes his collar is how Keiji 'cheated' the russian roulette, so the game clearly hasn't forgotten about it. assuming he is actually dead, i speculate it will be used to cheat / cause issues at some point in 3-2, depending on who actually has it

★★★ Meister doppelgänger: Safalin's clue that floormasters die after meeting their doppelgänger is never used during 3-1's russian roulette. one version of Sara's father and Meister have the same sprites. if Mr. C is not Meister, he is his doppel. if Mr. C is Meister, Dummy!Mr. C is his doppel (see two Mr. Chidouins square)

★☆☆ hospital bed: this is a loose end im looking out for. i've seen some insane cope theories about it & i'm not huge on any in particular, but i would love to see it cleared up

★★★ BANGER music: this should have been the free space but i'm really looking forward to it

★☆☆ we cannot save the Dummies: sorry dummy fans. the game has made a point to make the cast come to terms with the fact that human lives are more important than dummy lives. i think this theme of the value of life will become relevant at least one more time

★★☆ Hades' descendants: Q-taro is an orphan, Reko/Alice & Shin/Kanna are siblings (ie. have one set of parents between them), Gin has a step-father, Sara may or may not be adopted; i think there is some link between the participants' parents and why they were sought out by ASU-NARO

★☆☆ Midori's doll body: it's still out there. where did it go. this is not an insane cope that we see Midori again, i kind of hope we don't, but his fixed dummy body is still in the equation

★★☆ ASU-NARO Gin: ties into the mew-chan theory, elaborates on it. i don't believe he's a liar, but i do think there are a lot of inconsistencies around him. also Miley mother theory is solid and we are definitely not all delusional

★★★ Shin revenge: Shin swears to kill all of us. i specify Keiji because he could realistically be killed (Shin has a soft spot for Gin, and we are the protagonist). i don't really think Shin will anybody, but i think he will be given the opportunity to. (that said if there is an ending where he loses his mind and kills us all i will not complain)

★★★ suicide: whether it's a noble one like Kai's, or a deranged one like Gashu's, i am almost certain there will be a suicide

★★☆ floormaster collars: hey it's the reason i made this bingo at all. i think every single floormaster being trapped by the game (bar Midori, but i'll get to that) is an insane reveal (not just Gashu; if you look at them, all of their necks are hidden from us exactly where a collar would be). i'd love to see a floormaster executed or have their lack of autonomy highlighted in some other way

★★☆ cast revival: i think this would be fucked up, and the technology exists. it also ties into the theme of the value of life, the theme of grief, et cetera

★★★ two Mr. Chidouins: this is my personal tinhat theory that combines the fact that Mr. Chidouin has two distinct sets of sprites, and the fact that the Mr. Chidouin Kai speaks to says he is not Sara's 'real father' (commonly interpreted as adoption, but it's possible this is because this Mr. Chidouin is a dummy). accordingly i think Meister-like Mr. Chidouin (that we see in the winner's room with Sara) is his real/human version

★★☆ memorandum author: i have no strong copes on who (Mr. C / Meister / anyone else), but chances are they will become very relevant as the purpose of the game is finally revealed, and i am assuming we will meet them in person (ie. that they are not long dead)

★★☆ massacre / slaughter ending: either a Sacrifice win or a 'contestant kills everybody in a brutal bloody way' bad end. i will not accept anything ambiguous; i'm looking for an ending where everyone is Dead

☆☆☆ vows & trials: i was going to specifically manifest Gin's first trial being revealed, but i've decided this is my cope square. i want to know about all of them

★★★ Keiji's vow: Mr. Policeman had a kid. "jou" pun. i firmly believe Joe is Mr. Policeman's kid and Keiji's vow was to atone for / get closure for his crime by meeting Mr. Policeman's kid. i hope it recontextualises Joe's initial suspicion of Keiji / attitudes towards police too

★★☆ three new characters: in my mind: Ms. Shortcake (we know of), the dummy version of Mr. Chidouin (previously only seen in Kai's flashback, but likely to become relevant), and a secret third thing. i know this square is a little cheap, but you never know

★★☆ Midori is a huge liar: Midori is at the Least not a traditional floormaster (not a dessert, openly antagonistic & violent towards participants, can remove his collar, was originally supposed to participate), so i speculate that he does not have to follow the floormaster's code, and therefore is able to lie. this boils down to the fact that i simply don't believe that Joe was a handicap, and am suspicious about what is being told to us about AI Sara as well

[sssapplebottomjeans]

moon au braindump complete with plotholes! i infodumped this to my friend and it's going here too

so there's roughly four levels of power that you get from the sun and moon as a human

1.) no powers- normal human

2.) born with it- rapunzel's healing magic/glowing hair/likely stays healthier by default. varian has remnants of moon magic from the blast in the dark kingdom 25 years ago through quirin being directly shot by it, but because it was so many years after the blast before varian was born, the effects on him are milder (both due to that and also due to the moon being inherently less powerful than the sun) so, the stripe, more resistant to injury and that's why he didn't die during qfad cuz he was walking through that blizzard for way too long to be fine ok i'm rolling with this. and maybe he has insomnia because of it, and in high stress situations his eyes look a little too blue to be natural. strange but definitely not "my hair glows and heals people" type weird.

3.) stolen magic- both moon!cass and rapunzel's hair being indestructible via tbea fall under this category. (rapunzel didn't want this but since she did inflict it on herself i'm counting it in this category.) VARIAN- buckle up people this is gonna be a long one. so flash forward to cassandra's revenge. varian's cage has been brought in and rapunzel and cass are dueling it out. the moonstone cracks, this time varian catches the shard, but in the chaos of battle no one really notices and varian barely realizes what he did until he's headed home. he experiments on it later in secret, trying to harness its power into something akin to what project obsidian was, but it keeps failing and he doesn't know why. turns out- the moon's power (also the sun's too) only works on living organisms so basicallyyyyyyyy it needs a human host. (SIDE NOTE- in this au quirin stays dead in the amber because of that reason- the decay incantation just doesn't work because the amber isn't alive) varian kind of figures this out but he doesn't really want to try it on himself because a.) the rocks haven't exactly been a high point in his life, and b.) the reason he kept this whole project secret in the first place was because he didn't want team corona thinking he was doing nefarious things with it and turning against them cough cough cass and sporting this wouldn't keep it secret whatsoever

i haven't thought the next part out too well but he turns to trying to summon Moon herself somehow for answers because at least he has a lead with this. and i want it to happen at the great tree but i don't really know why. anyway he summons her, how, i don't know

4.) possession- okay so basically varian and moon don't hit it off at all. varian's extremely bitter about the rock situation that yknow. destroyed his home and indirectly led to quirin's death and moon-

(okay so vague incomplete backstory for moon. when edmund literally tried killing her in that same blast 25 years ago because she was deemed corrupted, she survived but it left her critically injured. gods have no known way of dying ad no one knows how to kill them, but they also have no way of healing from injuries, so that wound is still just as fresh as it was 25 years ago and she's in so much pain. the rocks are somewhat akin to blood/tears, and i think the way i'm going with this is that the only way gods CAN die/be born anew is by making contact with another god, aka the rocks chasing rapunzel/sun. so moon's body is trying to destroy itself as, ironically, a survival instinct but her mind isn't aware of it, to her it's just her blood tearing up the earth.) anyway things get heated and varian gets forcibly possessed out of moon's desperation for someone to understand what she's been through, so in the flash of a few seconds varian gets 25 years of unimaginable pain, all of her memories and thoughts, and the full extent of her powers. but being possessed by a literal god is way more dangerous than, say, being possessed by something from our world, like a ghost or small magical artifact (think: ulla) so i'm REALLY not sure how much damage that would do to varian, the human, even for the few seconds that moon's outburst lasted, but i'm guessing some pretty bad burns (think: cass's charred hand) and some level of mental damage. the longer you stayed possessed by a god, the worse it gets, so eventually you would just. die from the strain

this goes for the other levels too, to some extent. like cass's health will get increasingly worse over the months and if rapunzel tries to use too much of the sun's power, she'll start literally burning up cuz- cuz sun. sun hot. (side note: moon HATESSSSS cass for taking her stone, cuz not only does humans having the gods power drain the gods of energy and health too (sun can stand this more because she's inherently more powerful- she can take it but moon CAN'T), but cass stealing it and telling the sun to take a hike disrupts moon's subconscious decision to try and rebirth herself by colliding with sun) (zhan tiri's pissed off by cass's decisions too and she's constantly trying to make her and raps interact for her portal thing yada yada when honestly all cass really wants to do is get away from rapunzel and never look back)

i think it's possible that if moon realized why she was trying to collide with the sun, she COULD possess him and just ram him into rapunzel like a bulldozer, but that would definitely kill him and rapunzel too, so as long as moon stays ignorant, they're both fine-ish. she might could convince him to take the shard for himself for some reason but idkkkkkkkk. would definitely be a lot safer than outright possession but it would not have the same level of power as someone like cassandra, moon would have no reason to make him do this though and i seriously doubt that varian would take it for himself unless out of severe desperation

i think i'm done. if you've made it this far, congrats, have a homemade muffin <3

[nieded]

Hi! Not an ask, more like a confession. I just really felt compelled to tell you that #RainbowRoad is the absolute best fan-created work i’ve ever engaged with, and i’ve been a fan of many things! You are an amazing storyteller.

I also felt compelled to reach out because my friends & family are perplexed. I am perplexed. Primarily because:

1. I started watching DTS. Excellent. Normal for me to try on a new Netflix show….mostly. But is it really? Sports? Me?

2. I casually check out streaming options for the real deal, because you know, i’m curious, and oh! Would you look at that…it’s almost the end of fall break….

3. I subscribe and what’s this….I am absorbing F1. Like i’ve been starved for a sport to enjoy my whole life. Replays. Free practice. Fuckin Tech Talk.

4. Suddenly, I’ve watched 3 seasons of DTS and a disturbing amount of F1 content and it’s COTA Sunday and i’m on the couch, surrounded by snacks, insisting that we have to watch the WHOLE qualifying session not just the highlights because we need to get a feel for everyone’s headspace going into the race.

5. Post-COTA; We have decided Sainz is our driver to watch. I’m also really intrigued by McLaren rn someone pls help. We’re shouting as we watch live as Ferrari pulls a 1-2 and wow. When’s the next race?

6. Mexico City. MEXICO CITY. Sainz has been our man now for 10 days and forever. I suppose i’ll have to dedicate myself to Williams next season but I feel conflicted about that and WHY do I have an OPINION on that already. Who am I? Also can I watch the whole race again just tuned into Russel’s radio? Did he really ask mid-race for tea on Verstappen’s timeout? You don’t have to answer either of those questions i’m probably going look that up as soon as I finish writing you this manic soliloquy.

I’m not saying that you’re to blame for this complex crisis of identity happening over here, i’m really not. I just….I know the difference by now when i’m transfixed by something that’ll surely pass and…well…when I find something that compels me to sit tight & take hold.

On second thought, yeah. From one internet stranger to another, this is your fault.

And i’m enjoying every second of it. ♥️🏎️♥️

P.S. If there is going to be another #rainbowroad story I will be more excited about that than I am about GO3. This summer has been hard and engaging with your work has made it so much less so. Thank you ♥️🏎️♥️

hello! thank you sooooo much. i'm excited that you've gotten so into f1.

couple of things:

1 - i love carlos. he is my favorite himbo. he is so dumb sometimes. all that boy knows how to do is drive but damn does he drive well! i have felt for a long time that he's a sleeper agent. he just goes under the radar. you should look up the circumstances of his first few podiums. some of his biggest achievements have been afterthoughts, sidelined by other drama in f1. for example, when he did all those crazy overtakes during the sprint race and ended up in p2, nobody was talking about it at all! drove me nuts. it is such a sainz thing to be winning races and still losing his seat at ferrari.

2 - williams is worth being a fan of. they are one of the most historic teams and are wccs! i know that's strange to think if you're coming into the sport now, but there are many, many reasons to love williams. the other cool thing about the team is their principal, james vowles, was part of brawn gp. since you're diving into dts, i highly recommend watching brawn gp on amazon prime. you will also develop a love for jensen button.

also, i'm sorry your summer has been hard, and i am glad i could shine some light for you. my summer also was rough, and i still feel like i am recovering. i do have a story in the pipeline. it's still very much in its early development so i don't know if i will write it, but it does exist in my head!

[joey-smack]

i’m bored so here’s all the phases i can remember going thru in my life

2012-2014: thomas the train. i was literally so obsessed with that stupid show. i had hundreds of trains & had my bday at a train station when i was 3 (which, somehow i can remember back to 2 years of age — but i cannot remember yesterday. very strange.)

2015-2017: my little pony, monster high, lps. i was soooo into collecting mh dolls & lps it wasn’t even funny. i think i’ve seen the entire mlp series at least 4 times + the equestria girls movies (THEY WERE SO GOOD.) also, i do not care for the newer monster high movies. pre boo york was PEAK.

2018-2019: twenty one pilots, star wars, fnaf. actually, i started liking star wars at 8. i put it here for convenience. i still love fnaf & tøp to this day tbh. star wars has been pissing me off, though. anyways — padmé made me realize how amazing women are #gayforpadmé. love you natalie portman </3. i also obsessively watched thinknoodles play granny during this time 👍🏻. i liked that guy that took apart phones as well (i forget his name? i know there’s a bunch of people that do that. i was a weird kid.)

2020-2022: eminem, tyler the creator, radiohead. there were a few other small obsessions i wont mention, cause they were just strange. i was borderline insane for tyler and all of odd future tbh. i am thankful enough to actually own stuff from OF & gold wang 🙏🏻. i was honestly really cool when i liked them. i miss that era quite a bit. radiohead kinda happened in the middle of 2022 and then leaked into ‘23.

2023-2024: metallica (+ megadeth), radiohead, hole, nirvana, basically any band i listen to now, tcc. i don’t even know what i’m into right now — i am very confused. my brain is dying. speaking of borderline insane, radiohead!!! i quite literally convinced myself that me and jonny greenwood were MARRIED and knew each other personally. i don’t know how i didn’t get sent to a mental hospital. i listened to thom yorke talk so much that i can still hear his voice in my head sometimes. haha. normal stuff. uhh anyways i went a little crazy for metallica too, i have a shit ton of their stuff. i don’t think my hole obsession has died out like, at all. i am scared to see the next thing i fall in love with.