#but now that i have my new job and i know what my schedule is gonna sorta look like

[al-1-na]

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 ~ 𝟒

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

The move to New York happened faster than you expected. Drew wrapped up his commitments on the film and, true to his word, took some time off to figure things out with you. You found a small apartment in Brooklyn—tiny by any standard but perfect for two people who couldn’t bear to be apart anymore.

At first, it felt like a dream. Drew was there when you woke up, his sleepy smile the first thing you saw every morning. He walked you to the subway on your way to work, insisting on carrying your coffee and kissing you goodbye on the platform.

You introduced him to your favorite haunts—the bagel shop on the corner, the used bookstore where you’d spent countless weekends, the rooftop garden where you went to think. And he brought his world into yours, sharing stories about life on set, showing you his favorite films, and even letting you read an early script he was considering.

But as the weeks passed, the cracks began to show.

Drew had always been confident, charming, and self-assured. But in New York, where you had your own life and your own circle of friends, he sometimes seemed… lost. He wasn’t used to slowing down, to having days without a packed schedule or a clear direction.

One night, you found him sitting on the couch, staring at his laptop.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I guess I just feel… useless. You’re out there working, doing what you love, and I’m here trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

You placed a hand on his knee, your heart aching for him. “Drew, you don’t have to figure it all out right now. This time is about us—about being together. You’ve been working nonstop for years. Maybe it’s okay to take a break.”

He looked at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, but what if I’m not good at this? At being still?”

“You’re not ‘being still,’” you said firmly. “You’re building something here, with me. That matters, too.”

He smiled then, pulling you into his lap. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“I don’t,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “But I know you. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

❥❥❥❥

The next few months were a mix of highs and lows. Drew started auditioning for theater roles, drawn to the idea of performing live, but the rejections stung more than he let on. Meanwhile, your job became more demanding, with long hours and late nights that left little time for the two of you.

One night, you came home to find Drew in the kitchen, a half-burnt dinner on the stove and a guilty look on his face.

“I was trying to make lasagna,” he admitted, gesturing to the mess.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s the thought that counts.”

But as you cleaned up together, the stress of the past few weeks bubbled to the surface.

“I miss you,” Drew said suddenly, setting a plate in the sink.

You turned to him, surprised. “I’m right here.”

“Not really,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re always at work, and when you’re home, you’re exhausted. I get it—it’s not your fault. But I didn’t come here to feel like I’m losing you again.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Drew, I’m doing this for us. To build a life together.”

“I know,” he said, his hands running through his hair. “But what’s the point if we don’t have time to actually live it?”

Silence hung between you, the weight of his words sinking in.

Finally, you stepped closer, reaching for his hand. “I don’t want to lose us, either. Maybe I need to figure out how to balance this better.”

“And maybe I need to stop putting all this pressure on myself to figure out my next big move,” he admitted. “I think… I just got scared. Scared that if I’m not enough, you’ll realize you don’t need me.”

Your heart broke at his honesty, and you pulled him into a tight embrace. “You are enough, Drew. Always. This isn’t about what you do—it’s about who you are. And I love who you are.”

He held you close, his arms wrapped around you like a lifeline. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

That night, you stayed up talking, making promises to each other to try harder, to communicate better, to always put you two first.

❥❥❥❥

In the months that followed, you found your rhythm. Drew started working on an off-Broadway production, throwing himself into the challenge with his trademark dedication. You scaled back your hours at work, carving out more time for the two of you.

There were still tough days, moments when the city felt too loud or the pressure felt too heavy. But you faced them together, knowing that no matter what, you had each other.

And as you sat in the audience on opening night, watching Drew deliver a performance that left the entire theater breathless, you sat there admiring him, falling in love more than ever before.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥����𝐬𝐭: @maybanksgirl69 @raeven-marie43 @niktwazny303

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 7

2k+ Words

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling other's pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....

Chapter CW: Drinking, Mentions of Drug/Alcohol Abuse

Masterlist

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

Mid-January, 2006

Westchester, New York

~~

"Oh my GOD!"

Enough is enough. You storm out of your room and make way for Logan's down the hall. It's been a week of this nightmare bullshit, and you've only had two actual nights of sleep, not in a row mind you. Not to mention that even when you do sleep, his emotions are strong enough to flood your dreams and, worse, exacerbate any nightmare you might be having yourself. 

Waking hours haven’t been that great either. Just yesterday there was a disaster simulation the group had scheduled in the Danger Room. You, being new, not to mention mildly injured, spent it more or less shadowing Storm. But, your performance went about as well as your fight with Logan the day before. Of course, it didn't help that he was in the room with you during the simulation, always close by and shooting you venomous looks. It pissed you off. He had clearly hurt you badly and didn't seem to give two shits about it. The least he could do was apologize, even shallowly.

But, it doesn’t matter now.

As you make your way down the hall, you're not quite sure what your plan is. But, you figure you'll decide once you get there. Work begins again tomorrow, and whatever happens tonight can't possibly be worse than not sleeping at all. And, by God, you're getting sleep tonight no matter the cost.

When you hear Scott calling your name from behind you, you don't stop until you reach Logan's door. 

"Stop!” He whisper yells. “You're gonna get hurt.” Damn him. He must've heard you get up. Or, maybe he was never asleep to begin with.

"Look!" you said pointing a finger in his face. "You all may be content to let him scream out his woes every goddamn night. But, I have arguably the hardest power to deal with here, and I can't do my fucking job if I don't sleep well. I can feel every little thing he does from down the hall behind my fucking door!" You point to your room. "So, I suggest you march your ass back to bed and let me handle this the way I know how."

Scott just stands there taken aback, and you wager a guess that you're the first person to be this forward with him in a while. "Just be careful, alright?" He warns with a level of worry you didn't expect from him. Perhaps he was there when that other person got hurt.

You sigh, exhausted. "If I get hurt, it's my fault. Just...let me deal with this." 

Begrudgingly, Scott stands back. But, you can tell he isn't walking away, though.

You roll your eyes. You turn around and slowly open the door before taking in the scene before you. Clothes and empty glass bottles, mostly whiskey, lie everywhere, and it smells heavily of alcohol, sweat, and cigars. An unconscious Logan lies in bed, occasionally thrashing his head about. You can't help but notice there's a pill bottle on his nightstand and you press your mouth into a thin line at the sight. 

You only make it a few steps inside before freezing. The shift in atmosphere is heavy, palpable. Logan's emotions, the terror and anxiety, are a tsunami of dense air. Suddenly, it's no wonder he's such a hard head, and you feel your frustration towards him dissipate, replaced with a faint worry.

You shut the door as quiet as you can, an easy feat given Logan's loud groaning, before creeping towards him, painfully aware of every little creak the floor makes under you. You freeze completely when a bottle you kick rolls under the bed. The echo of the glass rings in your ears, but, when your eyes flicker back to Logan, he remains undisturbed. The closer you get the worse the pain is, and you grit your teeth upon realizing your chest flaring up. You quietly gasp for air and bring your hands to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself. It's not yours. The dread, the devastation, it's not yours. You’re safe.

You’re inches away from his bed when an arm thrashes out to the side, causing you to stumble back before catching yourself on the bedside table. The orange bottle staggers, and you scramble to catch it before it hits the ground. You can barely read the label in the dim moonlight, but your eyes adjust just enough to see "Nembutal" typed in large letters. Holy shit...

Logan lets out another grumble. He seems to be saying a name. Layla? Ella? You hear him loud and clear when he cries out, "Wait. Victor, no!"

Hardening your resolve, you return the bottle to its spot on the table and take a deep breath as you crouch down by his head. Gently, you place a hand on his upper arm. He groans a little but barely stirs. You steady yourself in preparation for what's to come, vaguely remembering how utterly incapacitated you were last time. But, you still slept fine that night. You still worked fine. You'll be fine this time, too. You have to be.

Focusing your energy, you make sure to conjure up visions of your father, some of the only pleasant images in life that you have left. They flood your memory. You see his face brighten after you shoot your first deer, feel his arms around you after breaking your leg from a tree fall, him laughing at your mother when she took a wrong turn to Vancouver...the week before the crash. You smile at the memories, still so vivid in your mind. The one from the boat with the orcas stands out the most, warming your chest as a faint smile manifests on your face.

You let out one more deep breath as you begin. Logan's yells slowly turn into groans. Groans turn to heavy breathing. Heavy breathing turns to silence, and a sense of quiet finally falls over him. It’s empty.

You collapse, falling back on your knees and hands dropping to your sides. You feel lightheaded, almost like little bees prick your brain, and your throat begins to close.

Meanwhile, Logan's face stares back at you. Beads of sweat still linger on his forehead, but a sense of ease rests over his features, now, a stark contrast from before. Nothing emits off him now. He must not be dreaming.

Lacking the strength to stand, you opt to push your back up against Logan's nightstand and bring your legs to your chest. You cover your ears with your hands and shove your face into your knees as the tears fall.

It feels like hours before Scott creaks the door open. You can faintly make out a voice whispering over your quiet heaving as you try to steady yourself, but it's hard to ignore the unplaced dread hanging over you like a lead weight on your body. A hand on your arm makes you flinch as you look up to find Scott’s face, your reflection dark in the red glow of his sunglasses.

He motions towards the door with his head, and you nod weakly. He grabs your arms and pulls you to your feet with little effort. You can't help but cling to his shirt, desperate for some sense of security, even if it is from Lord of Dicks himself. He helps you out of Logan's room and into the hall, making sure to close the door behind him.

The trek back to your room is long. The hallway stretches forever, and you struggle not to drag your feet as you go. You try to breathe slowly, to stop the tears from coming again, but your body does everything to disobey you.

Scott opens your door and guides you to your bed, releasing his arm from your waist. Quietly, you sit down on the edge and stare at the floor.

"You think you'll be ok?" He kneels by you and seems to be checking your face. It's still wet, of course. You're sure the thousand-yard stare isn't lost on him either.

"How does he get up in the morning?"

Your question gives him a moment of pause. You don't look up to meet his face. Finally he lets out a tired sigh. "Logan's seen a lot."

You scoffed. "I've been in therapy work for almost five years, Scott. I've never seen anything like that. What could a thirty-something year old man have experienced to cause...." Cause what, exactly? Shit, where do you start? Do you start with the horrendous amount of fear? Or, the way he acts as if everyone’s out to get him? Or, maybe the fact that the world seems to be ending and everything is meaningless every time you looked into his mind?

Scott sits, looking around your room before responding again. "He's been alive a long time." 

You don't like the answer.

Upon realizing he won't be getting a reply from you, he stands. "Get some rest, ok?"

“Yeah.”

Scott slowly backs away before walking out of your room, leaving the door open a crack. You don't bother trying to close it, opting instead to fall back into bed with a thud.

You stare at the ceiling, waiting for the emotions to cease. They never do. You should've known better. Your brain usually returns to baseline within a few hours, a day at most. But, it didn't last time when you absorbed what was maybe half this much. What possessed you to think you could sleep after all this? Still, you find it strange. Whatever he's going through, it's heavier than anything you've encountered before. 

You pray to whoever is listening that the cool down will start soon. Until then, you stare at the ceiling and just lay there, eyes closed, in your newfound, untethered sorrow.

You don't notice the sun climbing into the sky. You don't notice until your alarm goes off at 7:00.

~~

The set of footsteps stomping snaps you from your daze. You turn your head to see Logan walking through the kitchen threshold. Sighing, you turn your attention back to the cereal in front of you. The sound of the fridge door opening is a distant echo in your brain. You're on the verge of zoning out again when you see an unlabeled bottle and a bottle opener being pushed towards your periphery.

You knit your brows in confusion. "Bit early to be drinking, isn't it?"

"You want it or not?" His voice portrays irritation, but you can tell he's not that annoyed.

Giving him a once over before looking to the bottle again, you puff a sigh through your nose before taking it. If this was his way of extending an olive branch, even a small one, you might as well try, too. You sit in silence and watch him grab another bottle from the fridge door, puncturing the cap with one of his claws, the sight of which makes you flinch. 

Your blink away the sight when your eyes are drawn to the layers of masking tape on the shelf reading DONT TOUCH in crudely drawn black letters; something that hadn’t escaped your notice in the past week. How Charles let him keep beer in the fridge despite the fact the students used it, too, is beyond you. Maybe they knew better than to touch it? Hell, Logan probably counted them every day.

"I've been wondering who's these were," you say as you spin the bottle in your hand, casually inspecting the engravings of the glass.

"Guilty," he shrugs before taking a sip.

"And, you gave me one?"

"Takes the edge off."

Your face goes red as he echoes back your words from that night. Pressing your mouth into a thin line, you busy yourself with popping off the cap. It's just one drink. Maybe it's not a coffee morning, anyway. You can't help but revel in the short, satisfying hiss the bottle makes as it opens.

"Have you considered just relying on medication? Instead of mixing it with drinks, I mean. Could be dangerous." The words pop out of your mouth before you fully process them. In your groggy state, you clearly didn't consider that he had no idea you had been in his room, and, therefore, seen the bottle on the nightstand. Not until he stops mid-sip, and your body stiffens at the slip up.

"What makes you think I'm on meds?"

"Charles and I talk." You say too quickly, and you thank God he can't read your mind. "It's not an attempt to pry. He's just worried about you."

He smirks at your frantic body language. "He doesn't need to be." He goes to sit in the barstool across from yours. 

Another painful, awkward silence passes, and the clink of the bottle as you set it on the counter is uncomfortably loud.

"Were you..." He starts.

You look up at him through your lashes, avoiding his eyes.

"Were you ok after Friday?" The question catches you by surprise. "Meant to ask before but..." He trails off. There's a hint of embarrassment in his head and your gaze flickers to his face. You see he's avoiding your eyes, too.

"Yeah," you reassure him. "I healed fast."

He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Maybe not as fast as you, but I'm doing better."

"I see." He nods in understanding. "Maybe I gave you more than you deserved."

You snicker. "What? You don't try to give all your opponents head trauma?" 

"Not usually." He snorts, but the shame becomes all the more potent at your teasing. Serves him right, really. "But...I wasn't going to hurt you. The claws, I mean. Just wanted to scare ya a little."

"Mission fucking accomplished. But, I'm fine. Really," you reassure him again when he begins shifting in his seat. Maybe you could hold off on the critiques, too. 

Something in his gaze softens when you finally look him in the eye. A beam of sunlight peers from behind a cloud outside the window and hits his face. It's then you notice those deep brown eyes you saw in the bar have a light brown, almost green, tint to them. They remind you almost of spring with the mix in shades, and you feel a burst of a magnetic pull towards him when you notice.

"Uh..." you scramble to empty your mind. "Do you style your hair like that on purpose?"

He gives a confused look, raising his eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like a cat. The spikes on your head. They look like cat ears." You laugh when his mouth drops open in mock horror. You know you probably shouldn't poke at him for that, but they’re too cute not to.

"They do not!"

"Yes they do! I mean, I guess they complement your claws just fine."

"Give me that beer back." He swipes at the bottle before you, but you grab it just in time and hide it under the counter.

"Uh-uh! This was a gift." You give him a cheeky, prideful smile and he rolls his eyes at you.

"Yeah, whatever."

You watch in amusement as he takes another sip of his bottle.

[jrueships]

im going into my new work tomorrow, first time ever😐

[whentherewerebicycles]

question: when you're starting a new job, what do you most want out of your first week of onboarding? what's most helpful for you to know/understand upfront? also... what's not helpful? tell me your onboarding nightmare stories too lol

[seaofreverie]

So busy with Sparkstember that I almost forgot that I go back to school on tuesday

[nightfayre]

things have been rough lately… tale as old as time

[real-life-cloud]

im GOING to write today ........ i WILL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[la-galaxie-langblr]

screech

[adhdphilosopher]

im so full of anger every day that it makes it hard to function. what do i do

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

girlies I'm losing my mind.

[robotic-maid]

How things are going again… update I guess? Still can’t figure out how to read more on mobile. I’m just typing this out so it can leave my head.

[svnmouth]

I think getting a hysterectomy would either help with my migraine issues or just give me different problems but I wont be able to know until next year minimum and even then I dont know if I can do a second surgery so soon. the way that birth control just utterly and completely fucks you over when youre starting it, when youre on it, and when youre getting off it is so. Idk if its even worth it to change my birth control if Im gonna get a hystrectomy in the vague soonish future even if I feel like absolute dogshit for an entire month for 1/3rd of the year.

[pepprs]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

that moment when: everyone's lives are restricted and constricted and these imposed consequences are attributed to anyone's continual individual failures to seek, find, and follow the Correct Path through Life, and so everyone is left on their own to only be seeking & finding these failures as well as the only answer to how their lives can be better....versus Not seeing the world as the free marketplace meritocracy of everyone's personal failures/successes, nor everything in your own life, and thus not forever having to scrutinize Where You Must Be Bringing It Upon Yourself by fucking up or at least failing to do the correct thing, and exist only in perpetual punishment for your ongoing failure and occasional temporary reprieves from it. recognizing everything that wasn't & isn't & wouldn't be [this is because you're bringing it upon yourself] and thus having more capacity & capability to look at the realm of your personal individual self, reality, experiences, life through the perpetual instances of seeking, finding, and following your own needs/wants through one's inherent personhood and exercises of autonomy and recognition of where & when & how one recognizes moments of their existing freely & in more resonant genuine alignment with themself, you know? endless examples to be found in endless fractals of [where & how are people's lives made smaller]. and that of course this doesn't preclude the ability/option at any time to question one's choices, since you'll be able to find more Actual choices available to you (and, also crucially, find more actual choices made by others that are in the pursuit of limiting Yours) to look at, and people getting to exercise their autonomy isn't the same as "everyone doing anything they want regardless of how it affects others" since that [how does it affect others?] element instead being Regarded would be able to lead to recognizing that, in fact, an effect might be the infringement on others' autonomy, hence: There's A Problem....like the ability to just go ham with [questioning???] anything in existence, certainly including oneself, b/c the "norm" is such that rather you're only supposed to be able to question yourself for your failings (or those positioned as less than, thus, beneath you) and not even have the language to express a questioning of aspects of life beyond that b/c stop calling anyone "cis" they're just Normal, Just Be Normal and it would all be fine

[angelstrawbabie420]

this feels so insanely weird