#there are still beautiful things to look at and beautiful people to look at them with

[the-muppet-joker]

Reminder to go outside and breathe fresh air and look at the sky. This reminder has come from the corn, which has started talking to me because the midwest is haunted

[imaginespazzi]

can we please get a short birthday blurb of them since we basically got a hard launch with the “precious princess” AND how u wrecked us yesterday…

As always with these little blurbs, I wrote this in ~30 minutes (and somehow finished it 10 minutes before Azzi's birthday ended) and didn't edit but hopefully y'all like it and maybe everyone will finally stop yelling at me...

This is obviously fluff but there's a shit ton of underlying sexual tension + alluding to it and also since it's me obviously a warning for swearing lol.

***

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," a soft voice sings in Azzi's ear and she can't help the soft smile it sparks on her face, "happy birthday dear my Azzi," she sleepily giggles at the possessive preposition as she feels herself being nestled into the arms of a warm body, "happy birthday to you."

"Is it midnight already?" she asks groggily, keeping her eyes shut as she breathes in the scent of all things Paige.

Honestly Azzi had tried -as she often did (and failed) the night before her birthday- staying up, had even picked a loud action movie in the hopes that the sound of it would keep her awake. But in between the feeling of her girlfriend's arms blanketed around her and the calming sound of her breathing in Azzi's ear, she'd been too comfortable to not fall asleep.

"Exactly midnight," there's a smile in Paige's voice as she presses a delicate kiss against Azzi's lips, "happy birthday baby."

Azzi finally opens her eyes to find cerulean blue eyes, gleaming with love and adoration, staring at her as Paige gently strokes her cheeks. And she's sure she'll get a thousand gifts today, from friends, from family, from Paige herself. But no present will top the one that fate itself gave her seven years ago; the girl in front of her -with her silly quirks and beautiful kindness- is Azzi's greatest treasure.

"Thank you," she whispers back, stealing another kiss.

She means to keep it chaste but Paige has other plans, pulling the younger girl flush against her body, slipping her tongue past Azzi's lips as she pushes herself on top of the brunette, grinding their hips together. Kissing Paige is all-consuming, like coming home and going on an adventure at the same time and Azzi thinks she'd be perfectly fine doing this for the whole day.

A whine escapes her lips when Paige pulls away, causing Azzi to chase her lips as she smirks, "patient baby."

"It's my birthday," Azzi pouts, "I don't have to be patient on my birthday."

Paige laughs at the childlike sulking, "you're so precious," she giggles, pinching Azzi's cheeks, "my precious princess."

"People's princess," Azzi corrects as she petulantly looks away.

Paige's eyes darken as she captures Azzi's chin between her thumb and her index finger, pulling the younger girl's face back to face her, "no, my princess."

Azzi gulps at the intensity in the older girl's eyes but she stares at Paige defiantly, "don't look at me like that if you're not going to do it."

"Look at you like what?"

"Don't look at me like you want to fuck me if you're not going to do it," they both suck in a sharp breath at the profanity.

"Silly girl," Paige shakes her head, a smug grin on her face, "of course I'm going to fuck you," she says casually ike it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Azzi's tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip and she's mesmerized by the way Paige's gaze follow the path it takes.

"What's taking you so long then?" she asks coyly, bucking her hips up slightly against the older girl's, who practically whimpers at the action and Azzi can't help but be pleased with herself. Seven years and they both still have this impact on each other; seven years later and they've become experts in known which match can start a fire between them.

And then Paige averts her gaze, facial expression morphing into something much shier as she mumbles, "wanted to give you a gift first."

Azzi raises her eyebrows, unsure why this of all things would make her girlfriend nervous. Paige has given her a plenty of gifts before and Azzi has loved all of them.

"Baby you know I'll love anything you give me right?" she says as much as she gently tries to coax Paige's face back up to meet her.

"I know," Paige says quietly, "this one just uh- it means a little more."

Azzi furrows her eyebrows as Paige slips off their bed -well really it's Paige's bed but considering Azzi sleeps in it every other night, it's basically their bed- and begins to rummage through her nightstand. The brunette sits up from her lying position when she can tell that Paige has found whatever she's looking for. She waits patiently as the blonde sucks in a deep breath before turning back towards her girlfriend.

Azzi doesn't notice the present at first, keeping her focus on giving Paige a reassuring no matter what i love you smile first. And then her gaze drifts downwards and she gasps, eyes widening at the sight of a silver infinity band in a red velvet box.

"Paige-"

"Don't freak out," Paige says in a rush, cutting off whatever Azzi was going to say, "I'm not- I'm not asking you to marry me or anything. Not that I don't want to marry you but like you know- I'm just- I'm not asking yet-"

"Paige," Azzi says again, ignoring the flutter in her stomach as she cuts the older girl's ramble off, "can I see it."

Paige nods, nervously handing over the box so Azzi can inspect it. The infinity band itself is simple, encrusted with small silver crystals and it must've cost Paige a small fortune. But its the the encryption behind it that has Azzi's eyes swelling up with tears, for the half that makes me a whole.

"Today is your birthday," Paige begins again, her voice timid and quiet, "but I think it's a little more than that. For me today's the day my other half was born. Today is the day that the person I was meant to find- the person who'd complete me- was born. And so today, is the most special in the world. Because today is the day that you were born."

Azzi's quiet for a moment, letting herself be immersed in the warmth of Paige's words and the sheer sincerity in them. It's the truth, she knows, that Paige is without a doubt her other half, the person who makes her feel complete.

"I love you," she whispers, as she hands the ring back to Paige and then holds out her hand, "put it on me?"

And she thinks if she could memorize one still image of her life, it would be this one -it would be the way Paige's eyes glow brighter than the moon outside as she eagerly fits the ring onto Azzi's ring finger.

"I love you more," the older girl whispers as she brushes her lips against Azzi's knuckles.

"Not fucking possible," Azzi shakes her head as she launches herself into Paige's lap, arms wrapping around the older girl's neck as she pulls both of them back down onto the bed, "now can you fuck me?"

Paige laughs, "you say the sweetest things to me Azzi Fudd."

"I try," Azzi smirks, pressing her lips against Paige's briefly before she pulls away, the silver ring on her hand glinting in the moonlight as she caresses her girlfriend's cheek, "and just so you know, when you do ask, the answer will always be yes."

Paige grins, pulling Azzi back down to kiss her, "happy birthday baby."

[the-modern-typewriter]

could you write us more vampires !!!

also u the baddestt ❤️❤️❤️

"Your kind don't look so perfect in the sun," the human said. "It feels like shining a light through a counterfeit. Seeing all the flaws. I love it. Hi~"

The vampire stared at them, eyes wide and viciously frightened and simultaneously filled with a sort of bewildered wonder at the gentle warmth washing over them. It would have been adorable if they weren't a complete and utter monster, devoid of whatever humanity they'd once had. Poor mite. They were so new, weren't they?

"Gosh, really, though." The human leaned down, pressing a kiss to the vampire's forehead. "Just look at you," they murmured. "I could just eat you up, pumpkin. Who were you when you still had a beating heart?"

The vampire's skin was so cold that it almost felt blistering. Sharp. When they were a kid, they'd once made the stupid mistake of licking a metal lamppost in winter, because they'd heard it was so cold that your tongue could get stuck. It had seemed absurd. Impossible. They'd been so sure it couldn't be true. It had taken hours for them to finally be able to move away again.

Kissing a vampire always reminded them of those hours. No matter how many times they did it, they still half expected to end up with a frozen lips, unable to pull away, except with the vampire the scant hours by a lamppost would tick over for forever until all that was left was the dark.

Infernal, gorgeous creatures. How could they not be obsessed? Of course, the other hunters didn't approve, but then. Their track record spoke for itself.

The vampire was still staring when the human moved back. Of course they were.

It was an old myth that vampires burned in the sun, but an even older misconception. Exposing a vampire to the sun only got closer to revealing the truth of them; a dead thing in a box, guttingly vulnerable. They could not move, could not speak, could use none of their devastating array of night-time gifts. In the dark, the vampire was nigh unstoppable, uncageable, unbeatable, certainly too beautiful to deny.

But oh, in the daylight...

It was why every hunter who had been there since the start knew to find the vampire's lair before the moon began to rise. To follow the butterflies to an undead grave, or to whatever more modern alternative the creatures found in the many centuries of increasing refinement that followed. Same thing, though. A vampire in a guarded mansion, hunkered down behind thick walls of sun-blocking glass, was still just a pretty dead thing in a much bigger box. The human had found them all. Seen them all. This one had curled up in the first place that felt instinctively safe like a stray cat, hadn't they? They hadn't even thought to lock themselves in from the inside.

"I know, I know." the human said ruefully. "You thought you were safe. They all do. You were oh so careful! You only ate one of the locals and it was an accident, honest, you just woke up so hungry. You couldn't help it."

They picked the knife up from where they'd set it down and traced the tip along the deceptively soft line of the vampire's mouth.

The vampire's pupils turned to pinpricks of terror.

"Still," the human said, "one local is enough for them to call me around these parts. Bad luck for you, my friend, isn't it? If you'd got turned in a city, you might have had a chance! Sorry."

The vampire, predictably, said nothing. It was the only thing the human found themselves wishing for. To be able to talk with a vampire, not just at them, because certainly it would be foolish of them to risk getting near one at any other time.

The human sighed. They trailed the knife down, dug it into the vampire's neck, where the two distinctive fang marks rested.

"The lucky thing for you, is that I need to find your maker," they said. "Can't just kill you. Or maybe that's unlucky? I suppose that depends on you. As said, most people wouldn't make something like you round these parts. They know better. So how did we get here? I'm rambling. Anyway." They watched, idly, as blood trickled down the vampire's throat. "I know you can't tell me anything, killer, but you're going to try. Flick those pretty eyes up for me twice for yes. Down for no. Okay?"

The vampire was unblinkingly still for a moment, still staring at them, face involuntarily smooth. Then their eyes flicked up twice.

The human beamed. "Good! What a good leech. Now. About the last things you remember when you were still alive...do you remember meeting a tall, dark haired man, by any chance? Voice to die for. Body to kill for. Soul made for sin, etc. etc."

The vampire's eyes flicked up twice.

"Mm, thought so, thought so. Did they give you a name?" They tried a few of the aliases the vampire had used the last few times. No dice. "Okay, moving on..."

By the time evening came dangerously close, they had everything they needed. They plunged the blade into the vampire, regretfully, and rose. They cast a glance up at the sky, calculating the minutes and the seconds, before heading home to do some research.

They were back. The bastard was back.

Less than two days later, they got a call about another fledgling vampire that needed hunting. Could they help? The curious thing was that this one had a note in its pocket when it died.

Honey, I'm home.

You coming out to play tonight?

[mind-intheclouds342]

A new ladder - Reader x Curly

BEFORE I START

Yes, another story of Curly. What can i do? I love him.

THIS IS ALL INSPIRED BY THIS AWESOME ARTIST THAT I FOUND ON TIKTOK

btw the curly of this story will kook like this so you can already imagine him.

The user is ladonb.kokosa

PLEASE GO CHECK THEIR ART ITS WONDERFUL

That being said. Lets get start with

Part 1 - Next

"Cryostasis ended"

"His vital signs are stable"

"Who could it be?"

"Disinfect the wounds"

"There are no more survivors"

"They authorized us to give him the implant."

The man could hear several voices in the distance, he saw silhouettes, shadows, he couldn't distinguish the people around him.

He felt them putting a mask on him to anesthetize him, and everything went dark again.

When he woke up, he saw a woman checking his signs, and he was astonished to recognize her despite some of her physical changes.

She was his fiancée, the woman he was supposed to marry after that trip.

Why did she look like that? She seemed older, but in his sigth, she remained beautiful.

He made some sounds to get her attention, causing her to turn and look at him. She approached and pressed something on his neck.

Curly: "Linda..."

Linda: "...No... Tell me it's not you..."

The woman immediately stepped back, covering her mouth, unable to believe what she was seeing.

She didn't recognize the man laying in that bed in front of her, and she prayed so hard that he wasn't the man she was going to marry, but the fact that he recognized her confirmed her fear.

He could understand the terror on her face, but he didn't know there was something else he didn't know.

She took a deep breath and set her fear aside, sitting next to the man.

Linda: "Curly... If it really is you..." she said, still holding out a small hope that it wasn't him, "You were cryogenically frozen for 20 years... They rescued you because the Tulpar re-entered orbit near Earth before running out of energy, they were able to detect it and bring it back without causing damage, and that's how they found you inside... You have been in the hospital for two weeks today..."

He wanted to laugh as if what he was being told was a bad joke, it couldn't have been that long, right?

But looking closely at her, the small wrinkles now on her face and the few gray hairs she had showed her that she was real.

Linda: "They didn't find any more survivors and... The same press has taken care of paying your medical expenses because they want to hear your story... You have an implant in your neck so you can speak, a voice box, you have to press it if you have difficulties but in a while you won't need to do it anymore... and they did a skin graft... Including some prosthetics..."

She carefully took the prosthetics of his arms and raised them so he could see them, Curly felt like a completely different being.

Linda: "I recommend that you ask for what you want now because... As soon as they find out you're awake... They're going to bombard you with questions and the press will come here, they won't show any mercy."

The man tried to raise the prosthesis and pressed his implant on his neck to be able to speak.

Curly: "What about us?"

Linda: "Oh Curly..." she sighed, "When you didn't come back, I thought the worst... That you were dead... I just keep going with my life... I married someone else, I have two children... There is no longer an 'us'."

Before he could say anything else, a reporter peeked in and made a fuss upon seeing him awake; the place filled up in seconds.

The woman lowered her head and left the room in search of security to throw out the press, but the harassment didn't end there.

Curly chose to give them the answers to the questions they had by scheduling a meeting at the hospital.

Thanks to this, many people started donating things to him, including money to help him reintegrate into society.

But beyond the kindness of people, no one wanted to take care of him and help him, not even the nurses, they said they couldn't spend too much time near him.

Linda took care of him during his stay in the hospital while they fixed up his house that had been left abandoned.

Linda: "I found someone who can take care of you."

She commented while pushing his wheelchair, entering his house, that it looked completely renovated.

Linda: "I don't know if you still remember that I mentioned my younger sister, (Y/n), a couple of times?"

Curly: "The one who lived with your father?"

Linda: "That's right... My mom got full custody of her after a few years, and since then she has been living with her until she became independent shortly after turning 18..." 

Curly: "She was 12 back then..."

Linda: "She recently lost her job, I thought it would be a good opportunity for her. She is very responsible, I promise."

When they arrived in the room, he could see a woman standing and looking at the paintings hanging on the walls.

He had never met his fiancée's sister, but he had heard many stories about her, about how her father unjustly gained custody by labeling their mother as crazy, and since then they had fought to get the girl back.

He had been struck by how incredibly different she was from her sister; you two didn't seem related at all.

Linda: "Good thing you were already here," she mentioned with a smile to catch your attention. 

When you turned to look at them, Curly didn't expect such seriousness from you towards your older sister. 

"...Thank you for the job opportunity, I will do my best to help you," you mentioned, looking at the man, ignoring the woman. 

Linda: "Let me show you where everything is-"

"I've already been getting familiar with the place, it's not necessary, you can go."

Linda: "At least let me tell you which medications you should-"

"You have already sent me a message with clear instructions. I can do this, Lin."

Curly: "You should be more respectful to your older sister."

Upon hearing him speak, you turned to look at him again, without any expression. 

"...Lin"

Linda: "I'll leave, there is no problem. I'm sure you've already memorized everything to the letter. If you have any problem, don't hesitate to call me."

She indicated, she didn't want to make a scene and left without even saying goodbye to either of them. 

"...So you are Curly... It's a pleasure to meet you, I hope we get along well."

You had already made a bad first impression on Curly by treating the love of his life so poorly. 

"Lin left your pill organizer with me, and gave me the schedule for them, it's time for the first pill."

You took a bottle and opened it to take a pill, causing the man to tense up a bit as he remembered moments when he was given his painkillers.

Noticing his nervousness, you tilted your head somewhat confused and went to get something to drink so he could take the pill. 

What a surprise he got when you brought him a cup of chocolate along with the pill. 

"When I was little... I didn't know how to swallow pills, I would choke, so I would bite them... My dad used to give me pills with chocolate milk so I wouldn't have a bad taste in my mouth, don't you like the taste of the pills? These can be very bitter..." 

He thought it was very kind of you to consider that, immediately regretting having judged you without knowing anything about you. 

You helped him take the pills, giving him chocolate to drink slowly, it really helped with the bitter taste. 

Maybe... you weren't so bad.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

I Can't Sit Still

The lads men noticing that you’re fighting yourself to just sit still. [Requested by: luxis-journal]

Zayne

Zayne was being awarded tonight and all you needed to do was say a few hellos and sit pretty for the night. Why did your anxiety jitters have to kick in now? Those few hellos had turned into half an hour small talks with one too many people. Zayne was quite the hot topic amongst the healthcare community; it almost seemed like he was a celebrity. You being the beautiful woman on his arm it was only natural that people were curious about you as well. The night seemed to drag on as the mingling continued. Finally when everyone was seated at their respective tables for the showcase you thought this would help you relax. However the damage had already been done.

Your leg bounced furiously under the table while your fingers moved your silverware aimlessly. “Are you alright my love?” Zayne whispered in your ear pulling you back to reality. “I’m fine why?” You responded snapping your spine straight. You felt him place a hand on your thigh calming your ever bouncing leg. His palm was warm and you could feel your self relaxing into his touch. “You’ve been eerily quiet and you can’t seem to sit still” Zayne studied your face as you glanced over your shoulder at the many people in the room. “I'm not good in social settings” You sighed “It gives me anxiety as a matter of fact I think I may be sweating my deodorant off right now” You wrung your hands as your eyes continued to ping pong around the room.

Your gaze landed back on Zayne who couldn’t help, but look at you with concern ”If you’d like to leave I can have them send my award to the hospital” That was just like him willing you drop everything for you, but you couldn’t let him do that. “This is a big night for you I'll be fine Dr. Zayne” You smiled and kissed his cheek.

You were not fine.

Which is why Zayne did not stop worrying about you. The second he was called to receive his award, he gave a brief thank you speech and next thing you knew his fingers were intertwined with yours and you were quietly slipping out the room without a single goodbye or explanation.

He held the car door open as you folded yourself into the seat. You watched him circle the car and waste no time getting in and pulling out of the parking lot. “Zayne you didn’t have to do that we could have at least stayed for dinner” You tried to talk some sense into him as he glanced down and placed his hand on your thigh. “Look at that it’s no longer bouncing”

Rafayel

Attending these art exhibits with Rafayel was nothing new except tonight you two had to travel outside of the country for this one. Rafayel acted as a translator for you since he was fluent in many languages, but it did nothing to calm the rising anxiety in you. With the language barrier and the unfamiliar environment your anxiety was reaching its peak. You'd gone deathly quiet after an hour and found yourself hanging onto Rafayels arm while subtly hiding behind him.

You mindlessly thrummed your fingers on your leg and constantly fought the urge to keep adjusting your dress and rubbing your neck. You were about as slick as sandpaper though of course Rafayel noticed your fidgeting immediately.

“What's wrong?” He questioned, cupping your face. “This is a lot” You whispered, gesturing to the crowd. He scanned your face for anything else that you might be hiding. “Then let’s leave” He didn’t give you a chance to object before he was puling you by the wrist towards the nearest exit.

By the time you reached the street Rafayels’ driver was already there waiting. He promptly guided you into the car and climbed in behind you. “Raf you have got to stop disappearing during your own exhibits” You said, pushing his shoulder when he started chuckling to himself. “Those snobs aren’t worried about me as a person they’re more occupied with who can buy my work for the highest price”

“Still you didn’t have to leave just because I can’t sit still” You pouted. Rafayel leaned in close almost touching his nose to yours “You keep me sane through these if you’re uncomfortable then I’m uncomfortable”

Xavier

Xavier loved to read and eat hotpot with you and since today was chilly it was the perfect weather to stay in and do just that. The plan was to stop in Barnes & Noble, buy a few books and head back home quick and easy. Too bad you ran into a group of people you know and you hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for any kind of small talk.

Xavier noticed you constantly pulling on your sleeves and wringing you hands. He could tell you were hanging on by a thread trying to be nice and keep the conversation going.

“I don't mean to interrupt, but I'm not feeling well baby can we go home?” Xavier calmly grabbed your hand and stared deep into your eyes hoping he did the right thing. A subtle smile curved on your lips as a silent thank you for getting you out of this conversation. “My bad Xav let’s get you home” You quickly dismiss yourself from the conversation, grabbed your books and headed home. A wave of relief washed over you when you slumped against the passanger seat.

“Thank you so much I was about to start speaking nonsense if that conversation went on any longer” You kissed Xaviers cheek making him blush. “Im glad I could help” He muttered while rubbing his neck. He’s so cute when he’s flustered.

Sylus

Sylus couldn’t stand seeing those puppy dog eyes you gave him whenever he had to leave for something. Your tactic of keeping him occupied in bed wasn’t working either apparently this meeting he needed to get to couldn’t be rescheduled. So here you were sitting at the head of a long table with all eyes on you and Sylus.

Why did he have to sit you on his lap?

Many men brought different jewels and business prospects to Sylus as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. As one of the men in the room rambled on about …. whatever the fuck …. you mindlessly shook your foot and constantly adjusted on his lap only for him to move you back to your original position. Sylus leaned in to whisper in your ear after yet again readjusting you on his lap. “Sweetie I can’t have you sitting at that angle you're crushing my balls” You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you. Here you thought he was just trying to whisper sweet nothings in your ear like the smooth talker he is. “You’re shaking like a puppy in the rain what's the matter, tell me”

You drop your head to stare at your hands as you whispered “I don’t like how much attention is on me” Sylus nods as he takes in your words. “Can you sit still for an hour or would you like to leave?” You knew how important this meeting was for Onychinus so you tried to suck it up and stay still.

That just made it worse.

Sylus noticed your movements becoming more frequent and jerky. “Let’s go” He said under his breath. He stood abruptly from his seat cradling you in his arms. He ordered Luke & Kieran to stand in for him as he disappeared from the room with you. “Im so sorry I can’t control it” You hid your face in his chest feeling like you ruined his entire meeting. “No worries Princess I saw all I needed to see and I wasn't impressed” He readjusted to hold you a little higher. “Besides your anxiety seems to be winning this internal battle”

Your head snapped up at his accusations “I don’t-” He cut you off with a stern look “Don’t lie”

You bury your face in his chest again “Don’t judge me” Your words were muffled. “I’m not judging you” You looked up to find him staring down at you with a tender gaze. “Let’s get you back in bed”

[gay-dorito-dust]

hopefully tumblr doesnt eat this up again 😭

i was wondering how the batfam would reacted to getting caught watching edits of celebrity!reader

I’m just going to put them in a relationship with Celeb! reader just to make things easier for myself.

Dick doesn’t give a fuck if he’s caught watching edits of you! You’re his spouse of course he’s going to save each and every edit there was of you because it’s be a crime if he didn’t.

He’ll even show you the ones where he thinks you’re the hottest in shamelessly with a smile. He honestly can’t get enough of the edits that his FYP is filled with them and snippets of interviews that transition to the edits as well.

Dick has no shame in being caught because why would he? You deserve to have a thousand of edits in your name and Dick has one too many edits saved in his phone, so much so that your surprised his phone still somehow has storage for the next wave of edits that he’ll be saving should he deem them worthy.

‘Babe come look at this edit of you! You look hot!’ Is the most often used when Dick is showing off an edit of yourself to you in hopes of getting your opinions on it. You don’t mind people making edits, especially didn’t mind them now when Dick would shout ‘my spouse is fucking gorgeous! God damn’ out of seemingly nowhere.

You’re not even surprised when his Lock Screen is a live wallpaper of the edit itself, dick really didn’t have any problems showing you off in any capacity at all.

Jason is either calm with being caught or he’s wanting to strangle Roy because who else is going to rat him out to you about watching edits of you other than him?

‘Chipmunk I can explain-‘ Jason would start.

‘There’s no need, I know you watch edits of me sweetheart there’s nothing to be ashamed of at all.’ You tell him as you cuddle up to his chest. ‘It’s complete fine I’m not going to shame you in watching them, I think it’s flattering that you do.’ You add and Jason couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as he held onto you, kissing your forehead.

‘It’s not my fault you’re perfect and the edits happen to capture that beauty sweetheart.’ Jason replied and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you looked at him sweetly, not knowing how much more you could possibly love this beautiful man as much as you could, especially when his cheeks flush with a red colour while he scratched his nose sheepishly.

You didn’t mind that he was watching edits and while he was glad about that he was more than certain to watch them elsewhere, more specifically away from Roy before he can rat on him…again.

Tim is terrified the moment you catch him watching edits of you, so much so that he completely forgot to pause the edit as you stare at each other, accompanied by music playing in the background.

It’s hilarious to you but embarrassing to poor Tim who believes that you’d see him as a weirdo for watching them, but all you do is laugh and kiss the side of his head before fiddling his hair affectionately. ‘Watching edits of me are you? And here I thought you couldn’t get more adorable Timmy.’ You tease as you kiss his cheek.

‘You’re not weirded out?’ He’d ask, holding his phone to his shirt, not wanting you to know that he was more or less the one making them rather than watching them. He’s literally got several usb drives worth of edit material to make, no joke.

‘Nope just flattered.’ You replied before leaving Tim be before he passes out from embarrassment. Little did you know he’s making about ten more edits as we speak, all of which have to be perfect and he’ll watch them ten times over if he must, for no specific reason at all.

Bruce is just admiring his beautiful/ handsome spouse. That is all.

Alfred would’ve most likely told you that he’s been watching edits of you when you’re away. It’s adorable and you couldn’t help but smile at how your handsome boy has an hidden file on the bar computer dedicated to your edits. (Dick and Tim found it by pure accident and dick couldn’t hope but tell you about it.)

Needless to say you won’t see him watch the edits but you’ll hear from everyone else that he watches them and that about the closest you’ll get to catching him in the act of watching edits honestly. However don’t be surprised when you see a video from Stephanie of her filing Bruce somewhere as he watched the edits of you on the big screen of the bat computer, his eyes filled with pride and awe of his pretty/ charming spouse looking so effortlessly ethereal.

While you might not have caught him in the act yourself, you still found yourself smiling at Bruce smiling up at the edits of you -and sometimes him because you’re a power couple- as a warmth encased your whole being, buts that’s more than enough for you as it can act as your own little secret.

Damian is good at keeping his little secret safe, so you seeing him watch edits of you were slim to none, and even if you did you catch him in the act you would have to have been blessed by Lady Luck herself.

He’s a little embarrassed that you caught him in the act, mainly because he thought he was better than this to let his guard down to be caught in an act like this, then he’ll become irritated at the fact that you had came into his own room just to catch him watching edits of you.

‘You’re watching edits of me.’ You said.

‘And? Did you seriously come into my room to tell me that? What happened to respecting my privacy?’ He retorts, arms cross over his chest. He didn’t care that you caught him, he’s just more or less annoyed with his privacy being violated.

‘Sorry my sweet I should’ve knocked, but you haven’t answered my question.’ You apologised with a little hug and a kiss to his forehead and Damian found himself forgiving you in an instant as he brought you back into a short lived hug, hiding his flustered face in the depths of your neck, tightening his grip on you.

‘Tim hacked my phone.’ He says in response and you just let it slide, knowing that he’ll admit to it sooner or later and not when he’s being cornered into talking. You knew he watched the edits because he’s totally infatuated with his spouse and Damian knew it too, but wouldn’t dare tell you until this moment has passed you both by.

So until then he’ll watch the edits in secret because he can’t get enough of how gorgeous you looked in them.

[eupheme]

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

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

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

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

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

He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one. // “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You like him.

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

“I��� No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” // His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cardinal

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

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

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

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

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

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

THE LOOKOUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

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

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

“Hey, stop!”

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

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

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

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

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

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

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

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

“You know–” he begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding.

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

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

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

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

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

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

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

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

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

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

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

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE CRAVING

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

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

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

“First time’s on the house.”

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

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

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

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

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

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

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

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

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

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

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

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

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

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

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

“What–”

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

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PUZZLE

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

He nods in acknowledgement.

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re a quick study.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can pay next time.” 

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

– – – – –

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

THE PANTRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

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

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

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

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

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

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

You respond in kind. 

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

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

THE MEETING

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

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

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

You’d answered without saying a word.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

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

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

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

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

Logan scoffs in reply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe next time.”

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

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

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

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you do it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely,” you reply.

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

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

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

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

“See you.” 

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

THE SUMMER

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

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

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

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wade,” Logan warns.

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

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

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

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

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

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE PARTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you smile.

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

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

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

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

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

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

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

– – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you dance?”

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

“Logan,” you breathe. 

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

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

You like him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

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

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

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

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

But he might.

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

But it would change everyth– 

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

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

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

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

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

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

[phantomspiderr]

memories ~ evan ‘buck’ buckley x reader

you've secretly kept every important thing from your relationship with Buck; from your first picture to an 'i love you' note scribbled on the back of a receipt and when you make the move into Buck's apartment he finds the box of memories—or just remember how buck's parents gave maddie a baby box right in front of him then dropped the bomb that they never bothered to make him one, so when you've put in all this effort to keep every small memory of your relationship buck realises just how much he loves you

w/c ~ 1k+

no warnings just a lotta fluff🥰

“Okay, this is the last box!” You cheer as you walk through the door to Buck’s apartment—which you guess is also now your apartment. You place the box down on the small pile by the door and approach your sweet boyfriend who has already started helping you unpack. Buck’s sitting at the kitchen island, an array of things spread out on the surface before him, and your curiosity sinks in. Your arms circle around his soft middle and you have to go up on your tiptoes to rest your chin on his shoulder, “whatcha doing?” You say just as your eyes fall down to see a familiar box and all its contents spilling out, a little embarrassment makes its way to the surface. You pull away from Buck and move to the side, as you reach to collect the miscellaneous pieces of paper and photos scattered around Buck’s hand stops you.

“You kept all this?” Your eyes reach Buck’s slightly glossy ones and you’re confused by his reaction. You were convinced he’d find it weird that you kept all these things from the duration of your relationship; movie theatre stubs, a concert ticket or two, the first picture you took together, a Polaroid of him from the first morning you woke up in his apartment, so many memories you couldn’t bare to part with so you collected them in an old shoe box.

“Yeah… you think it’s weird don’t you?” Your gaze falls to the ground, mentally preparing yourself for Buck to make fun of you for doing such a thing, like so many people before have but the ridicule never comes. Instead, you’re taken aback when Buck wraps his arms around you, squeezing so tightly that all the air is pushed out of your lungs. “Thank you,” his muffled words snap you out of your embarrassed state. Your hands move up to hold him, fingers sinking into his hair immediately. His head raises and you can see his teary eyes, “you don’t know how much this means to me. I love you so much.” You’re still a little confused at his reaction but your heart melts at his words. “I love you too,” you hold the sides of his face now before bending down to press your lips to his. The fear of judgement melts away with just a simple kiss.

“Can you show me everything?” Who are you to deny him when he looks at you with those sweet puppy dog eyes. He turns back to the kitchen island the second you agree and you pull out the stool next to his. A smile immediately appears when you spot one of your favourite things, “Oh, this!” You reach over Buck’s hands and grab a small book from the box, he looks at you curiously as you open it, “I learned how to press flowers just so I could keep the first bouquet you gave me.” Your sentence grows quieter as you feel Buck’s eyes on you, watching as you open the book to see beautiful pressed flowers between sheets of paper, “but then you kept giving me flowers so I made this book.” You nervously hand the book over and Buck smiles as he looks through the pages delicately. Each page is dated and the type of flower is written in cursive next to it. Buck takes his time looking at each page and your eyes drift from his joyful expression to the other bits and pieces. You smile to yourself when you see your half of a photo booth strip; it’s from your second date, the date scribbled on the back, you both only had enough change for one set of pictures. So, Buck tore the strip in half, slipping his half into his wallet and sheepishly giving you the other half. You’re so caught up in the memory you don’t notice Buck pulling out his wallet, he holds his half of the strip above yours, reconnecting the two for a moment. You see the second an idea pops into Buck’s head and then you watch as he takes both halves of the strip over to the fridge. He turns back to you grinning lovingly and your heart melts when you see he’s put the halves together on the fridge surrounded by pictures of his favourite people.

Buck comes back to join you, kissing the side of your head before sitting down. He quickly goes back to looking through the box. He pulls out a movie theatre ticket that’s attached to an adorable selfie of you both; you smile brightly at the camera while a slightly blurred Buck kisses your cheek. You reminisce about that day that Buck happily agreed to go see the Barbie movie with you and you swear you fell in love with him more that day when he picked you up dressed in a pink shirt with an old cowboy hat from his rancher days atop his head. “We should watch it again tonight,” Buck says gleefully, extending his hand to hold yours before bringing it up to his lips, “we can order takeout.” He places another kiss on your knuckles, “We can get all cosy,” another kiss, “and then I can take you to our bed. Make your first official night here special.” Your body instantly heats up, a slight shyness appearing through the cracks. Even after so much time together Buck still seems to be able to reduce you to a fumbling mess with just a few words and simple touches. “I should start unpacking.” You giggle as Buck’s hand slips up your neck and he grins at your poor excuse, “We can unpack tomorrow.” He lowers his head slowly, both your smiles growing until your lips meet. “Okay but we’re getting food from the Korean barbecue place down the street,” you mumble out against his lips. Buck laughs, pulling away only a fraction before giving you another quick kiss, “Done. Anything you want.” You pull your head back slightly, tilting it to the side as your eyebrows lift, “anything?” Buck’s hands have drifted down to your hips, absentmindedly pulling them closer to the edge of the stool. “Absolutely anything.” He leans in to give you another kiss and when he pulls back this time he sees your teeth sink into your bottom lip and he knows he’s got you thinking now. “Well,” you draw out the word, “it takes them like 20 minutes to deliver…” A wolfish grin makes its way to his face and he lowers his head to press his lips to your cheek before reaching your neck, “That seems like a challenge.” You giggle again when he nips at your skin, “You have to order the food first, Buck.” His groan vibrates against your neck, “I’m just getting a head start.” You squeal when he jolts your hips off of the stool completely. Your arms and legs immediately tighten around his strong frame as his lips lock onto yours again.

Your first official night living together was definitely going to be something special, Buck would make sure of that.

[katiascraft]

“If I define her I limit her” | CL16

Parings: Charles Leclerc x Actrees!Gf!Reader.

Summary: you go together to the Gladiator || premier because your best friend Paul Mescal invited you. You didn’t expect Charles being so sweet talking about you on interviews.

Word count: +1k.

Warnings: none! Just fluff and more fluff. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author’s note: I HAD TO DO IT. so I was inspired not only by Charles looking breathtakingly beautiful but from Chino Darin I LOVE THAT MAN 🫦 now I gotta go back to study UNLIVE ME Don’t forget to like, reblog, comment! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

You were so excited to assist at the premier of the movie your fav person alive aka your bestie aka paul mescal was starring in. He invented the ferrari boys alongside you. Everything was so elegant - you were lucky enough to be wearing a high fashion valentino black dress - you felt a little intimidated like every time you stepped on a red carpet. Of course, you are an actress but still couldn't get used to this side that is part of your job.

Charles holded your hand gently at the red carpet while you were walking into the people circulating there. Behind you were Carlos and rebecca. But when you say Gracie - paul´s girlfriend - you part ways to say hi. Unfortunately Charles couldn't go with you because a reporter asked him and Carlos to join for a brief interview.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Looking good as ever i can see” the reporter said causing charles to giggle a little.

“What can I say ? We sweat all year so it's good to smell good once in a while,” Charles said, making the reporter laugh along with carlos. He asked a few generic questions about the break until the last three races of the championships and the invitation and expectations for the movie.

“So Charles, what's your favorite thing about london?” the reporter asked, making Charles smile but he didn't have to think about it.

“To be honest, my wife” he said grinning, making Carlos giggle a little looking at him. He has love written all over his face.

“How romantic, is she your wife already?” The reporter moved the microphone closer thinking he had breaking news. Charles laughed, nodding.

“I mean , not yet but she will, of course” he answered nervously and blushing like a little kid in love. That's the effect you had on him.

“How wonderful it is for you to say your favorite thing about London is your girlfriend. How would you define her as a person or professional?” the reporter was just as in love with him probably as you were.

“Oh well, if i define her i limit her to be honest. She is amazing at everything she does. As a person and as a professional” Charles answered without thinking. He couldn't define you, how could he? You were this huge force that made him feel things he didn't even know he could feel. You were so powerful in his eyes. Magical. He couldn't define you because defying you would be an actual crime. You're bigger than everything.

“Oh mate” Carlos expressed, making Charles giggle.

“What a lovebird, did y/n come with you?” the reporter continued.

“yeah yeah i don't know exactly where she is now but somewhere around here. We were invited thanks to her to be honest,” Charles explained.

“Lets see if we can find her in a minute.so carlos…” the interviewer followed with some questions around Carlos now. Charles listened to him but his mind was on you. He looked around looking for you just to see you. He spotted you after a few minutes talking lively with Grace and he smiled to himself. You looked so beautiful and happy.

You started going your way after a little chat with Gracie and found charles and carlos along with rebecca on a corner waiting for you. You walked across the carpet straight to them. When Charles saw you coming his face lightened up in adoration.

“Hey gang, let's go” you said happily, taking Charles hand in yours. So you found your way into the carpet. Flashes met you when you entered the photo section. You posed with Charles smiling for the cameras. Everyone screaming your names for your attention so they could get a picture of you. You still got nervous with this. But having him next to you just made everything better. You felt more relaxed. More secure and confident.

When you finished the photo section another round of reporters was set. This time you knew you couldn't escape. A reporter a few feet away from you called you so you looked at Charles to check if he wanted to join or wait but he confidently followed you along.

“Good evening guys, how are you feeling about tonight?” she asked firstly. You smiled. Charles let you answer he knew you were the star tonight. And also, this was not his element.

“We're excited. I'm anxious to watch the movie already. I know it's gonna be amazing” you said sweetly gently stroking charles hand with you to calm your nerves and his. It's probably the first time you are being interviewed together.

“y/n i dont know if you heard but charles” she started talking to you but then directed to charles “ you mentioned she was your wife and couldn't define her because i quote if i define her i limit her. She is just amazing in everything she does. y/n what do you have to say?” she asked you. You looked at Charles in a sweet simple surprise but flustered. Your thoughts all over the place and your cheeks turned red.

“Oh wow, what can I say? I have the best husband in the world that's for sure” you said proudly making him giggle. “And I can say I love him and I'm so glad he's here with me. But I couldn't define him either. He is everything and more to me” your answer made charles smile so proudly and fondly. His eyes went crystal looking at you. He was so in love with you. Just as you were. He was the love of your life and you loved that you could be yourself with him with no filters and this life that was as complicated as his.

“Oh wow, such lovebirds! You guys need to win couple of the year!” she said excitedly, making you both giggle and thanked her to start walking again.

“Babe you really said that? I want to cry, you can't be so cute. I love you with every fiber on my body. Stop being so perfect it should be a crime” you made him laugh looking at you so enamored.

“Of course, cherie. You are the most amazing person I know and I admire you so much. Im proud of you” he said to lean over you and kissed you gently.

“I love you charlie. You're the best that ever happened to me” you responded in his lips and giggled.

You will need to fix your lipstick before the next interview.

[marvelfanfics1]

Little Maybank

requested by anon

Pairing: brother!jj maybank x sister!reader

Warnings: suggestive comments/actions, brief mention of fighting, cursing, reader is a few years younger than JJ, protective!jj

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You and JJ walk side by side towards the entrance of the Pelican Yacht Club, the rest of the pogues waiting by the Twinkie for you both to get some valuable information that one of the waiters there has for a current little mission they're all on right now.

JJ has is hands stuffed into his pockets while you swing your arms back and forth, looking at all the luxurious yachts lined up by the docks.

"You think we'll have a yacht one day, Jay?" You ask sweetly.

"Sure, a big ass one for all of us." He answers with a smile, ruffling your hair a little to which you whine, batting his hand away and trying to fix it again while he chuckles.

JJ can't believe that even with how your guys life situation is he still manages to keep you far away from the harsh reality, always making sure you're not anywhere near Luke whenever he has one of his outbursts or beats him, telling you the bruises are from a fight with a kook.

All the pogues treat you like you're their little sister and protect you like one, never letting you go on their more dangerous missions and shielding you from any harm.

JJ will always see you as his baby sister, you're his responsibility and the only thing he takes seriously in his life, well of course he teases you like every normal brother does but only him, the pogues sometimes too but they know to not go too far.

Your bubbly and overall nice personality is both a blessing and a curse, your want to spread positivity everywhere you go is as admirable as it's frustrating because many people, especially kooks, don't deserve to witness your sweet nature.

Protecting you is JJ's top priority, he wants you to grow up better than he did and offer you a carefree life full of love and fun. He'll be damned if something ever happens to you.

After you both sneaked inside the club, looking for the guy that has information.

JJ finally locks eyes with him and nods his head towards the restrooms, the guy quickly getting the hint and you both walk over to them when JJ turns to face you.

"Stay right here. I'll be back in a minute." He instructs and you nod with a smile, watching him go inside the men's restroom, swaying a bit back and forth on your feet.

While you look around you hope that no one notices that you shouldn't be here, too sensitive for any confrontation no matter the reason.

A group of boys who are standing a few feet away nursing their drinks spot you. "Dude, isn't that little Maybank?

"Shit yeah. Means her dumbass of a brother can't be far. Not to mention they sure as hell aren't supposed to be here." One of them observes, a smirk forming on his face.

Your head snaps back to the restrooms as you see JJ come out again and make his way back to you. "A'ight, mission accomplished. Let's head back to the others."

You nod and you both went on when suddenly someone blocks your path.

"Whoa, not so fast, pogues. Here to steal your next meal huh?" A brunette with a smug expression teases you both.

JJ clenches his jaw, moving you behind him protectively, his hands balling at his sides. "Man, we don't want any trouble."

"Who are you trying to fool here, Maybank? Your poor asses shouldn't even be here."

JJ glares at him but unclenches his fists again when he feels your hands grab onto his bicep, trying to keep himself in check, not wanting you to see him lash out.

He took a deep breath, about to just walk past that douchebag when he hears you yelp suddenly as the guy's friend slapped your ass.

"That little beauty can stay tho." The black haired boy chuckles.

Before you could comprehend what just happened JJ swiftly turns and swings his fist, his knuckles connecting with the guy's jaw who had dared to touch you.

You gasp at that, stumbling back and against the brunette, quickly turning around to face him and without thinking twice you push him over the railing and watch him fall into the water.

Hearing several gasps from the club members and employees around you has you freezing, grappling the fact what you just did when JJ grabs your hand.

"C'mon! We gotta go!" He stresses, pulling you out of your shocked state and you instantly start running, hearing the way JJ laughs. "Oh my god that was crazy!"

Pope slides open the Twinkie's door from inside when he sees you both running and you jump in, your back hitting the wall.

"Bro drive!" JJ shouts at John B and he quickly starts the van as you and your brother keep panting.

"What the hell happened?" Kie asks, looking you both over concerned.

"You guys will never believe it..." JJ breathes heavily, glancing at you with a grin and you blush, a small smile forming on your face. "Our little angel here just pushed a kook into the water."

You're surprised when your friends start to cheer and ask questions excitedly, wanting to know what happened.

You giggle as Kie and Cleo wrap their arms around your neck from each side, their hurried questions overlapping each other.

Pope ruffles your hair just like JJ always does, and you can hear John B laughing behind the wheel, smacking it a few times while Sarah claps her hands.

Your smile stays rooted on your face, feeling happy and safe in your family's presence.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For JJ:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @flora-eva

[n1su1218]

6B4T

Lately there has been talk about 4B and so I wanted to bring up 6B4T which grew from the South Korean 4B movement, and specially the 6B4T movement as it is practiced by our Chinese sisters. Before that however differences between the both are as followed:

4B

No sex with men

No giving birth

No dating men

No marriage with men

6B4T

Includes the original commandments of 4B and adds the following:

Don’t buy products from misogynistic brands

Support single women/women that have chosen to be celibate

Reject the corset (rejecting toxic beauty standards)

Reject idol culture (as in male-worship and idolization of entertainment figures this ALSO includes rejecting idol culture for female kpop idols/entertainers)

Reject otaku culture (rejecting misogynistic anime culture)

Reject religion

(**You may see 6B4T referred to as 10bt to avoid censorship as CN social media sites are heavily monitored by government censors, even outside of CN social media CN sisters will still refer to it as 10bt because 6b + 4t = 10bt)

Now that there's a basic understanding... I wanted to talk about some of the differences that the CN 6B4T movement has compared to what I usually encounter in English speaking radfem circles. Please note that this is my own experience and as with any political movement there can a myriad of women that agree and disagree (except on the 6B4T principles as a whole, those are rock solid for them haha.)

I was first aware of this movement around 2020 and have been following women on twitter/x since then that follow these beliefs. All of this has been gathered from tweets by 6B4T users on twitter/x + interactions with them. I am not a CN speaker and have used translation apps to piece together details on the 6B4T movement and have cross referenced this with some of the writings I can find in English about this and the conversations that I have had with some of the 10bt sisters that were willing to interact with me.

I do not feel comfortable just singling out specific accounts for people to look up on twitter but anyone that wants to do their own research can search the keywords on twitter 6B4T or 10bt and go under the "People" filter to populate accounts of CN women that have 6B4T and/or 10bt in their bio.

One thing that I want to talk about right away - the term donkey. It will come up quite often when you search 10bt accounts and is used to describe women that are perpetuating patriarchy because they "carry the patriarchy without protest and allow themselves to be exploited." (This includes married women.) 10bt sisters DO NOT have an emphasis on educating women that perpetuate patriarchy. You can find sayings such as:

"Feminism is like being given a weapon to support yourself with, do not use it to commit suicide by having a complex of saving donkeys" 

“Don't do donkey work for donkeys".

“Don’t get derailed by women support women, leave the donkeys alone.”

Which leads me to the next point - 10bt sisters are for empowering women independently. There is obvious acknowledgement of bonds and relationships between women but the general feeling is more to focus on the individual self, connections are based solely on shared interests and can be let go of as needed. (I have also seen discussions of letting go of romantic ties not just for straight sisters but for lesbian sisters as well.) Sentiments such as "focusing on oneself is a foundation for a happy life" "All thoughts and ideologies cannot be separated from down to earth efforts and dedication" are plenty. Really a focus away from "altruistic" causes so to speak

And on that note: anti veganism. 10bt sisters in general are adamant that 6B4T principles should only include tackling patriarchy and not have other causes added to it. Anti veganism sentiment also seems to stem from certain aspects in CN culture of serving smaller portions to young girls and discouraging them to eat meat as opposed to men. The focus on improving one's self from before also shows up here: "Women need strength to overthrow patriarchy, only then should we focus on improving the lives of animals."

Some 10bt sisters are also very open about criticism and believe women that openly identify with the 10bt movement should be prepared to have their posts critiqued, and while some will debate this... one of the things that is absolutely non negotiable is that actions MUST back up words. There’s lots of debates that go on in the 10bt movement but the bare minimum is that if you follow 6B4T then you must follow its core beliefs otherwise what are you here for? There is a huge disdain for those that say they belong to this movement but don’t follow its beliefs.

With that being said, how do the 10bt sisters feel about 4B taking off in the states? Well…

 “4B grew into 6B4T and they only dared to do half of the movement? It’s disappointing.”

“At this point in time, it is crazy to deliberately go back and start from 4B. You have someone’s shoulder to stand on but you won’t take it.”

“4B: No marriage, no giving birth , no sex, no dating. Doesn't that mean they are still serving as donkeys: supporting idols and otaku, believing in religion, using pornographic content, and consuming misogynistic brands... It really makes one recognize by a glance what stupid things they are still doing.”

“I don't understand how this kind of castration of the feminist movement came about.”

Is some of the general consensus on twitter/x.

Two more things I will add here before I wrap this up:

I have seen a post in English about other principles to follow such as 5B, 7B or 8B. I am not aware of what these principles are and could not find a CN source to confirm this so if 5B, 7B and 8B do exist, I do not believe it originated from the CN movement. 

There is also the concept of icing men out aka if a man comments on your social media posts immediately delete the comment EVEN if it is a comment in agreement. For this while I also could not find a specific CN source for the 10bt sisters, it feels like it is just natural to not interact with men. I have yet to see debates on whether someone can be part of 10bt and still have a boyfriend, husband, etc since the answer will always be a resounding NO. (And on this note… if you are curious about attitudes towards male family members.. rejection of filial piety is something that is very agreed upon. I would recommend first learning what filial piety entails in CN culture as whole if there is curiosity about this.)

I will wrap this up with one of my favorite concepts I have encountered from our 10bt sisters:

“When one woman keeps house*: five women are trapped: herself, daughter, mother, sister-in-law, and female coworkers”

[*keeps house meaning  - “when one woman marries…”] 

If there are sisters out here who are involved with this or have more info to add please feel free to do so! Also would love to get in touch with any that know more on the CN 10bt movement.  

[wisteria-lodge]

Why do female protagonists complain about their looks? I was reading a novel a friend recommended and within the first few pages the narrator is complaining that her eyes are the color of mud, her hair is boring and brown, she has freckles, etc. Is this supposed to make them relatable? I don't particularly like my freckles but it's not something I think about more than once or twice a year. It's just annoying and a downer when the character does this.

It's because girls in books (... and girls in real life...) are supposed to walk this tightrope where of course they are beautiful (because beauty = value.) But they can't seem like they're trying to look beautiful (because trying to be beautiful = vanity, shallowness, a kind of girly femininity that's either childish, pathetic, or sinister.) The Stepsisters are trying to be beautiful. Cinderella just is beautiful. Dress her in a potato sack and roll her around in mud, she'd still be more beautiful.

This is where the "protagonist who doesn't think they're beautiful" thing comes from. Obviously if they don't think they're beautiful, then they're not trying to be beautiful, with all the negative junk surrounding that. So you get these annoying descriptions where a regular or even cute-sounding person will say "ugh, I have eyes the color of mud and hate my freckles," not "I have brown eyes and freckles." (Bet you five dollars the love interest thinks her freckles are adorable, and gets lost in her deep, dark doe eyes.) Also - "mud colored eyes" is such a strange thing to think about yourself? If the author wanted to commit to writing about someone who actually had body image issues - then the internal narrative would be my skin sucks and I'm too fat. But that's a little too real: the reader can't actually think the protagonist is unattractive.

Which is too bad, when you have a female protagonist who is just isn't very attractive, that can be fantastic. In Jane Eyre, it's important that Jane is sort of unfortunate looking - it effects how people treat her, the sort of jobs she can get, but it also lets her fly under the radar and be invisible in way that would be impossible if she were more beautiful.

I tend to prefer descriptions that stress - how people move, or what they're wearing, because that reveals character in a way that "brown hair" just doesn't. I want to hear about a character's attractiveness if they are so remarkably attractive (or unattractive) that it affects how other people treat/perceive them. Same way someone might treat a character differently if they had a dramatic scar, or looked a lot younger than they actually were, or were a different ethnicity from the rest of the cast. Just give me a handful of their most distinguishing characteristics, and you don't have to do it on the first page.

[weenie-extraordinaire]

Okay, I know reading comprehension on this website is non-existent, so I'll try to use small words in non-complex ways.

The USA was the first country in the world to recognize Israel as a State. Not a United State of America, an independent Nation State.

Do you know when Israel started receiving US financial aid? The late 1940's, after they recognized Israeli sovereignty.

Do you know when Israel started receiving US military aid? The 1960's. It started with Kennedy and the Raytheon Hawk Anti-Air missile system.

Do you know how many treaties, agreements, memorandums of understanding, and defense cooperation agreements the USA has with Israel? A lot. A hell of a lot.

What does this mean, you ask? It means that your country has got a shitload of bureaucracy tying your government to their government, and despite all the enthusiasm to blame "the Biden Administration" for providing the means to slaughter tens of thousands of Palestinians, invade Lebanon, and bomb Iran, well, Israel already had nearly 600 Foreign Military Sales authorized through the US Foreign Military Financing program(as of October 2023), with a ten year Memorandum of Understanding signed in 2019 and valid until 2028. This wasn't some snap decision from "sleepy Joe" to arm Israel; y'all have been doing so since before the towers fell, since before the Berlin wall fall, hell, since before the assassination of JFK.

Do you understand now, or do you need a bit more explanation?

I'm gonna assume you still don't understand.

Close to 60 years of inertia cannot be brought to an immediate halt by any President. There are far too many intelligence, military, economic, and diplomatic ties with Israel to just make it all just... go away. It ain't happening overnight. It didn't happen under Biden. It certainly ain't happening in the next four years. And you might wanna include the full context of the quote you pulled, because cherrypicking is for cowards.

riotbard wrote: surprising absolutely no one but in a contest between 99% Hitler and 100% Hitler the voters wanted full Hitler. They don’t want bargain value Hitler they want the full thing. Oh well, guess next time we’ll run 102% Hitler and see if THAT excites these ungrateful assholes. Didn’t even want Dollar Tree Hitler smh

weenie-extraordinare wrote: This looks and sounds both incredibly fucking unhelpful and terminally online. So Joe Biden and Kamala Harris aren't perfect and beautiful beings of light here to save the world from a shitty celebrity criminal. So they didn't singlehandedly tell a sovereign nation explicitly to stop committing genocide. So they didn't go far enough left for you. Okay. Instead of spending your time crying over how much everyone else in your country loves Hitlers, maybe go outside and talk to people instead of holing up online and blaming the political party that does not want to strip you of your rights for not beating the party that does want to strip you of your rights. Like, I get it, it's not a great time for America. But it could be worse, and now, it will be worse. And if you thought Joe and Kamala were Hitlers, well, just wait and see what Trump has planned for women, Palestine, and Ukraine.

Motherfuckers be like, "Do you know your history?" Better than you yankee-fucking-doodles, apparently. Thank god y'all are just screaming into an internet void instead of saying this kind of shit to people's faces. Y'all make a huge deal out of pointing the finger at your politicians, carrying on like Biden is out there personally, when it's Israel's IDF pulling triggers and slaughtering children. Yeah, the USA is selling them munitions and bombs. It's Israel that's using them. Don't get it so twisted that you're ignoring who is actually murdering the people of Palestine. And let's be real here, y'all pulled a post about "Kamala Harris is not Hitler because a nation she is not the VP of is committing genocide" and turned it into "Look at this fucking verminous approbate, he thinks the black woman isn't a hitler!" And then it kinda swung into "OF COURSE the Biden Administration was solely responsible for allowing them to bom Palestine, and not the blank check written by the US FMF(Foreign Military Financing program)." Y'all so up your own asses over your moral rectitude that you'll dogpile any motherfucker who doesn't bark how you do. Maybe write some letters to your congress, your governors, anyone who represents you, and make your opinions heard. Maybe present those opinions as staunch opposition to the Israeli genocide of Palestinians instead of trying the "Kamala Harris is 99% a Hitler" approach.

And for the record, I have opposed the Israeli occupation of Palestine since the first time I hear about it in the 90's. I still oppose it. I will continue to oppose it. The absolute carnage that is being wrought today is inexcusable. It was inexcusable from the first Nakba, through each fresh conflict, and to the present day.

Free Palestine. End the genocide.

Hey, quick question, who's killing Palestinians? Is it Israelis, or is it Americans? I'd have replied, but you have replies restricted.

September 2, 2024

You know as well as I do that Israel wouldn't have been able to commit this holocaust or invade Lebanon or bomb Iran without the enthusiastic steadfast unwavering zero-red-line ironclad support of the Biden administration. I'm not going to entertain your faux incredulity. It is transparent horseshit.

[thehigherseekerastro]

Random Astrology Observations (Alternative Meanings Love Edition) 2 🤨❤️🤔

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way, shape or form a professional astrologer, modern or traditional.

I HAVE been studying astrology for a while now, and analysing charts available to me, as well as my own, and noticed a lot of the info you find online doesn't make sense in real life, because it is too reductive, stereotypical or lacks broader context. So I thought I'd share some of my personal observations to see if it resonates with anyone.

This is NOT the end all, be all. Apply it as it makes sense to you.

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The 1st House 🙋‍♂️

The 1H in synastry is a tricky one, because the first house itself is related to our individual identity. It is the house of self. So, when it comes to having a love planet here, things can get really murky. You'll often hear that it indicates instant attraction, but also only surface-level. While that is not entirely wrong, it would be a disservice to reduce it to just that. Yes, first house ties back to your physical appearance and external impact. But what does that mean for someone else being impacted and impacting that? Does it even apply in synastry? The answer is: YES. And it goes much deeper than you'd think. It will talk about an immediate recognition. It talks of being mesmerized by someone's look and demeanor, but that comes accompanied with an obsessive need to know more about you, to be around you, to soak up as much of you as possible, as if to aggressively learn you. And that's because you will tickle all the boxes the person had been holding inside (and vice-versa).

(e.g.: having someone's planet(s) fall into your 1st house doesn't just mean they will be attracted to you, if it's romantic. It also means the person feels like you two share a vibe, share interests, ideas. It means they feel like you move according to their speed, and therefore, that could lead to a lot of trust and comfort on their part, because you feel like a safe place. Not in the same sense as the 4H, but in a more "this person will have my back, cause we're the same!" kind of way. It makes the person feel like you are enough, because you fit them. So even if everyone else disagrees with them or doesn't understand them, they'll sort of look over at you, and if you validate them, that will be enough for them. They'd rather have your approval – since you are someone who gets them – than to have the approval of a bunch of people who don't understand where they are coming from.)

It truly is a beautiful thing, but even positive planets with positive aspects can lead to unwanted side-effects. The house person could come to resent the planet person because of how much they like them. Depending on who the house person is – if they have a dominant or prideful personality, for example – they may come to resent and even become angry with the planet person at times, because they'll feel so strongly for the planet person that they could start acting out of character for them, and that can make them feel like they're losing control of themselves. And as human beings, what do we do when we feel out of control? Shift blame and start looking for culprits. This DOES tend to wear off, though, exactly because of how intensely the house person feels for the planet person, but it can burn hot for a minute or two, specially if they end up getting into an ugly fight and the 1H person tries to forget the planet person, but they can't bring themselves to hate them. They'll get angry at the fact that no matter how hard they try to hate the person, they still feel enchanted by them.

(this could also create an unwanted feeling of "nobody else is like them", so the 1H could panic a bit at the thought of losing the planet person because 1H synastry creates the immediate feeling of the "perfect person for me", so imagine thinking you found the perfect person for you... it can make you feel like if you lose them you'll never recover, because no one else will be like them or able to replace them as perfectly)

All in all, though, first house Synastry tends to usually show up good results, depending on the planets and aspects involved. Another aspect of this synastry that doesn't get talked about for some reason is the fact that they tend to obsess over and notice the tiny details in each other. So it creates this effect of falling for them over and over and over again, cause they'll keep finding little things about the other person that they find enchanting, and THAT'S what creates the physical attraction. It's not that the planet or house person are conventionally attractive to everyone – they might not even fit the beauty standards –, but to the house person, those little details will sort of build up the planet person's beauty step by step, and by the time they catch on, they'll be enamored with every part of them, so, to the house person, the planet person truly is the most beautiful thing ever.

(1H house synastry also brings a 1st house energy to the attraction. NO - NOT ARIES. First house. But it will sound like arian qualities because Aries does rule the first house, after all. What this means is that a big part of the attraction for the 1H person is feeling like the planet person is independent, self-sufficient, confident, self-assured and capable. Because it's taping into their 1st house of self, the house person can sort of see the best of themselves reflected on the planet person, which means they feel like all the things they are insecure to show the world, the planet person has and is not afraid to show them. So they feel like planet person not only embodies their attraction ideal, but also the ideal personality they wish they had themselves. Which they do, but they don't realize it until planet person comes along and brings it out of them.)

First house Synastry is a complex kind of Synastry that is much more psychological than it's given credit for. People often focus on superficial physical attraction and gloss over the fact that it's like somebody is literally stepping into your mind and making your inner fantasies come out. It can feel very vulnerable and intense.

The 7th House 💍

Oh, isn't this one a gem?! Perhaps one of the most sought after in synastry. But the idea here is to provide an alternative perspective, so here goes: if it's badly aspected, or there's other challenging factors involved (the person falling into your 7H is problematic themselves), you're gonna run into the issues people often attribute to 1st house synastry, such as superficiality and a "false love" because 7H Synastry, regardless if it's good or bad, creates somebody who's "perfect on paper". They say the right things, they do the right things, they seem to fit into your whole ideals. But that does not guarantee that that's who they truly are. That's just who you think they are. Remember – the 7H is the house of "other". So it's not about you. It's about the other. But it's rather how you act around said other, and also how you perceive them.

(It's tough to say this, but you gotta be real to help some people out there who might have had 7H Synastry and didn't understand why the relationship failed, since everyone online claims it's a guaranteed soulmate. It's because Synastry goes both ways. And all houses have good and bad. There is no such thing as the perfect Synastry. But in the case of the 7H, I'd say it's the real life case of "if it's good, then it will be amazing. Truly a soulmate. But if it's bad... it will be awful. Just not immediately.)

Going off of the previous comment, another grim way this Synastry can turn out is in its binding effect. And I don't mean anything spiritual or abstract here. I mean literally binding. Imagine a relationship going sideways like that AND you are also now married or share a business together. MESS! This is the house of contracts and long-term. Remember Saturn exalts in Libra, because Libra likes things that last, and Saturn is the planet of long-term, so the house of Libra will sprinkle that lasting effect over whatever it touches. And if you're in a 7H relationship, that relationship will last with you, whether good or bad. It will take A WHILE to break off from it, either mentally, emotionally, psychologically, legally or financially.

(e.g. somebody has their moon in your 7H, but it's a moon at fall, in Scorpio, and it's afflicted in their natal chart. Now, at the beginning they will seem like a gift from God directly to you, so much so that you decide to make it official... And then, one or two years in, living together, each day it gets more toxic and draining and the dark sides just oozes out of your relationship. But now you are legally married, and divorcing will take time, bureaucracy, money and emotional energy, not to mention you'll have to uproot your entire life, explain it to your social circles and families... And what seemed like your dream come true was in fact a bitter lesson to learn).

To veer away from the dark twists of the last ones, let's dissect the correlations people make with the 7th house, like "oh, your spouse will be interested in art, and beauty, and music, and sophisticated things!" Why? Are you marrying a Libra? A Libra rising? Somebody with a Libra Venus? No? Then that has nothing to do with 7H Synastry. Houses are not signs, signs are not houses. Libra is one thing, the 7H is another. Venus rules Libra, which resides in the 7H, but Venus doesn't rule the 7H. It merely influences the 7H. It would be a better guess to say you might have met your person while they (or you) were already in a relationship than it is to say you met because of beauty-related things, or art, or music, since the 7H doesn't talk of any of those things, but it DOES talk of committed relationships.

(e.g. you might have met the person right after they (or you) got divorced. They might be connected to an ex of yours. Or another possibility that isn't talked about is how the person you eventually end up with is someone you have liked for a long time, but never got the chance to be with until now. Since this is the house of long-term relationships, having placements here could indicate that the person you ultimately stay with long-term is someone you already knew prior to getting together, but you needed to experience other relationships before you united with them.)

Another final aspect of placements in this house is the fact that it doesn't just deal with your love relationships, but also the way you consciously present yourself with others. How you behave socially. But also the mirror effect of this house, speaking directly about love. This is, after all, the house directly opposing the 1st house of self. In that regard, this is similar to 1H synastry, with the exception that in this one, instead of you coming out of your shell subconsciously, you make a conscious effort to become your best for your person here. You want to live up to all of your potential.

The 2nd House 💆‍♂️

This one is a bit tricky for me, because I'm not materialistic AT ALL. I have a Taurus Lilith in the 2nd house, so, I express it on the other end of the spectrum. When you have that placement, you either put too much value on money and material things, or you are completely unattached from it, and that's me. So the whole "money this, money that!" vibe is not my scene. I don't see a price in life, I see value. With that said, let's get this going.

Yes, this is the house of money and material things. Yes, it will deal with your personal finances. But no, unless other parts of your chart/Synastry agree with it, somebody's placements falling here should not have a lasting effect. It might merely indicate you overspending on dates and gifts. The 2H is the house of YOUR money, which means that the whole "oh, they're gonna shower you in gifts!", "And this is a sugar baby aspect!", "Your person will want to spend all their money on you and buy you expensive things!" is probably not gonna happen, sorry. If it does, it will be you spending your money.

(And if you do spend your money, the whole "gifts" thing is also not that common, because normal people don't just go around buying gifts for others every other day of the week, unless they have some sort of imbalance. Such a consumerist mindset! Not everything is about paying for things or buying things. That's a VERY American culture of dating, specially for women. This nasty idea that a man has to buy you or he's not good. Which is what encourages habits like thinking the man always has to be covering your finances (how old are you, 5? Get a job and pay for your own damn self! You are an adult woman), paying for your food, buying you a house, giving you gifts all the time and affording expensive dates. You are not a product. If your biggest incentive to be with a man is because of how much he pays for you, then that's the world's oldest profession, not a relationship of love. So this should play out more like them helping you manage your own finances. Don't go around thinking a 2H love placement is gonna turn you into Cinderella.)

If you do happen to be a stay-at-home person in your relationship, which is valid, as long as it's not all about money, 2H love placements and synastry will talk more about other material aspects of things. It will talk of stability, sustainability, longevity and security.

(e.g.: it could mean that you allocate your resources towards creating a safe, stable environment for your life together to flourish, such as buying things for your home together, revising your finances to make life goals and plans together more viable, setting budgets to achieve milestones together... as well as the literal physical aspects of valuables, so using your resources towards nourishment (food, shelter, clothing and health). Things that will ensure your relationship lasts and endures through hardships and tribulations. In the 2H of values, Synastry could indicate the relationship itself becoming your prized possession that you take care of. All the Earth houses are about caring for things, just in different ways.)

Another poorly explored aspect of the 2H is values in the moral, spiritual and emotional sense. It's WORTH. Both the causes you find worthy as well as your self-worth. A 2H love placement or Synastry can and will directly affect that. Even if you do happen to be dealing with financial/material things too, that can affect your self-worth directly.

(e.g.: say you are married to someone who is constantly in debt, or say your spouse is the breadwinner of the household and you depend on them financially. That can really take a toll on your self-worth. It can bring feelings of poor self-esteem, can you make you feel undervalued, inadequate, make you feel like a burden, or make you feel incapable of caring for yourself. It can strike your self-confidence and make you VALUE yourself less. Or the opposite. Your spouse may open you up to new possibilities of making money, which in turn gets you into a new passion project that you succeed in and that can make you feel like a worthy person, make you believe in yourself, make you feel important and valuable.)

I would argue that most often, it's the 8H Synastry that will really have your partner's materials affecting you, because the 2H is the house of your PERSONAL gains, while the 8H is the house of OTHERS' gains and possessions. Most often, the biggest impact I'd say 2H love placements have will be dealing with self-worth, self-confidence, shared values and morals, feelings of belonging and acceptance.

General Things ✨

What I see most often is that positive and negative outcomes tend to happen simultaneously. It's not all doom and gloom, but it's also not all sunshine and rainbows all the time. Sometimes it's great, sometimes it's not so great, and those ups and downs come and go. That's just life. Both are there to be worked with, worked for, or worked through. At the end of the day, astrology will not mandate your life events, and you have to always be learning from your life, and working on yourself and the things that matter to you. Astrology is just a guiding light to identify possible themes to be mindful of.

**************************************************

That's it! Thank you if you've read it this far! I might have come off a bit harsh (I hope I haven't), but I promise I'm nice lol.

My whole goal is to try to discuss astrology in as realistically as possible, but while making it clear that any possible outcome is plausible. If most times all you hear are fantastic stereotypical descriptions of placements, such as 7H, the not so great ways in which it can play out will be explored here to help people navigate them. If all you hear are bad things about a house, then I'll try to show the positive ways in which it can come out.

The whole point is to try to bring a wide range of notions to these descriptions, together with the information that is already out there and available by many other creators.

At the end of the day, remember this is all POSSIBILITIES. Your personal life has to be analysed to know what's gonna ensue. And don't be discouraged, because the truth is that positive and negative effects tend to happen together for your best.

Hope you have a good day when you find this!

MASTERLIST

[archiveikemen]

"Dark If" Story Event: Chapter 1

Ellis Twilight

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Victor: Miss Kate. The ability to create the ultimate happy ending lies in your hands. — Now, off into the twisted fairytale world you go. 

…

When I woke up, I found myself in a room inside a lavish castle. 

(Uhh… right, I’m the “princess” of this country.)

(... Huh? Why do I have memories of that?) 

Memories of being raised as the princess of this kingdom slowly came back to me. 

(It feels as though I have two sets of memories. One from living in this world, and one from another world.) 

Yet, strangely, both felt like they were indeed “mine”. 

King: … Are you awake, Kate?

Kate: Good morning, Father. 

After a knock, my father entered the room looking concerned. 

King: With only a few months left until that wicked fairy’s prophecy is set to come true… I can’t be at peace without personally ascertaining your safety every morning. 

I was born as the princess of this country and spent my life living a sheltered life within the castle’s walls.

The reason for that was— a curse. 

The fairy who placed the curse on me said, “in 10 years time, the curse will take effect when she pricks her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel”. 

— Without any explanation, he returned to his castle hidden deep in the mountains. 

In response, my parents gathered every last spinning wheel in the country and destroyed them. They relocated those working in the textile industry to state-run factories, and I wasn't allowed anywhere near them. 

Kate: If the curse takes effect, I’ll fall into a deep slumber for 100 years… right?

I muttered based on my memories, and my father nodded with tears welling up in his eyes once more. 

(A cursed spinning wheel… the world I strayed into must be the story of “The Thorn Princess¹”.)

¹ “The Thorn Princess” is also commonly known as “Sleeping Beauty”. 

(If I go along with the original plot, it’d probably be better to fall into a deep sleep because of the curse, but…)

The man who introduced himself as Victor said that there was “something missing” in this twisted fairytale world.

If I fall asleep before I find it— I won’t be able to look for it for the next 100 years.

(First things first, I need to break this curse to give myself more time to find it!)

Kate: I’m going to ask that fairy to break the curse. 

King: W-what!? Absolutely not!! 

Kate: You can assign a few guards to escort me. 

King: Even the royal guards fear him! I’ve sent people to assassinate him several times, and all of them returned in a dreadful state…! 

Kate: Then I’ll go alone. Don’t worry, I can sniff out dangerous places from my experience as a mail carrier. 

King: Mail carrier? H-hey, hold on—! 

…

(While I did say I’d go alone… it’s still better to be as well-prepared as possible.)

After dodging my panicking father and the royal guards, I made my way to a mercenary recruitment place in the castle town. 

Kate: I’d like to hire a bodyguard for my journey… 

Since there was a real chance of encountering wild beasts or bandits on my way to the fairy’s castle, I decided to use part of my allowance I had been secretly saving and hire someone to protect me. 

However—

Long-Faced Mercenary: Go to the fairy’s castle!? You’d need more than one life to make it there alive! 

One-Eyed Mercenary: No way, not doing it! I’ll never go anywhere near that terrifying guy ever again! 

— The last person I spoke to fainted the moment the word “fairy” left my mouth, his eyes rolling back in fear. 

(It’s just as Father said, the fairy is greatly feared…)

(Looks like it can’t be helped… I’ll just go alone.)

???: Is it true that you want to go to the fairy’s castle? 

???: If that’s what you wish for… I’ll be your bodyguard. 

I looked up when I heard the voice making the timely offer and saw a young man standing there. 

Receptionist: You’re in luck, miss. That guy’s a skilled assassin. 

Receptionist: Once he’s targeted someone, he latches onto them like thorny vines, that's why he’s called “Ellis the Briar”. 

The receptionist, a young man with mint-coloured eyes, politely introduced him. 

The fee he quoted in a low voice was an amount I could afford with my savings. 

Ellis the Briar: I only take on jobs from here every now and then, so I didn't know I had a nickname. 

Kate: Umm, mister… Ellis the Briar?

Ellis the Briar: Just “Ellis” will do. 

After being rejected by many people, Ellis’ offer to be my bodyguard made him look like a knight in shining armour. 

Kate: Thank you so much for accepting my request. 

Kate: But… are you not afraid of the fairy, Ellis?

Unlike the other mercenaries who fled at the mention of the fairy, this relaxed young man seemed unfazed. 

I was a little worried that he might not understand the weight of the situation he volunteered to be involved in. 

Ellis: I’ve been burned, frozen, stabbed, and slashed countless times by that fairy.

Ellis: If there’s anyone here who knows exactly how dangerous he is, that’d be me. 

Kate: What!? You were burnt— are you alright?

Ellis: Yeah. I can't die, and I’m not afraid, so I’m okay. 

(In a strange world where even fairies exist, not dying might be possible too… I guess?) 

Ellis: If the journey will lead to your happiness, I’ll go with you.

Kate: A-alright. I’ll be counting on you, Ellis! 

Ellis: Fufu… you don’t need to be formal with me.

Ellis: You can relax and speak casually. We’re friends, after all.

(Friends!? Since when…?)

I was a little confused, but the young man’s smile carried not a single hint of malice. 

(He’s probably just the kind of person to want to close up the distance between himself and others quickly…) 

Kate: Okay… got it. 

…

— And so, I embarked on my journey with Ellis, who had a mysterious presence. 

There were two paths leading to the fairy’s ancient castle.

One was a horrible half-day route, while the other was a three-day walk on flat ground. 

Ellis suggested the easier route, taking into consideration my limited stamina as someone who lived a sheltered life. 

— On the second night. 

Our journey was progressing smoothly, but I found myself having trouble sleeping. 

Ellis: Can’t sleep?

Kate: Yeah… I know I should rest, especially since we’ll arrive at the castle tomorrow. But…

Ellis: Kate, can you come over here? 

Kate: …?

I had come to trust Ellis after all the countless times he had helped me during this short journey, and so I unhesitatingly moved closer. 

Suddenly, he pulled me by my arm and I fell on top of him. 

Ellis: It’s hard to fall asleep on the hard ground, isn't it? You can rest on me instead. 

Kate: B-but, then you wouldn't be able to sleep with me weighing down on you… 

Ellis: You’re light as a feather, so it’s okay. Go on, you can sleep. 

I tried moving away, but Ellis held me close and wouldn't let go. 

Kate: You’re being so kind to me because I hired you… 

Ellis: Am I? Maybe I’m being this kind only because it's you, Kate. 

Kate: …

Thump. Thump. My heart was pounding loudly, but…

As I leaned my head against Ellis’ chest, I realised that I didn’t hear his heart pounding. 

(... Am I the only one who feels this way?) 

A strange unease crept up to me, but I started feeling drowsy as Ellis gently rubbed my back in a soothing manner.

Ellis: … Why do you want to meet the fairy? 

Kate: I want him… to break my curse…

Ellis: I see… 

Hearing Ellis’ tender voice, my eyelids slowly grew heavy. 

(Ellis took care of everything for me throughout this journey…) 

(I must give him a big reward and properly thank him once this is over…)

(Oh. But… I feel lonely thinking we’ll be parting ways.)  

While such thoughts crossed my mind, making me doze off… I drifted off to sleep on Ellis.

And because I was asleep, I didn’t hear the words Ellis spoke as he watched me. 

Ellis: So you want the fairy to break the curse…

Ellis: That means your feelings haven't changed since “back then”. … I’m so glad. 

Even as Ellis slowly wrapped his hand around my neck, I didn't wake. 

Ellis: … I want to kill you as soon as possible. 

…

I was able to get a good night’s rest thanks to Ellis, and we finally arrived in front of the fairy’s castle. 

However, the path leading up to its doors was overgrown with briar, as though rejecting all visitors coming from the outside. 

Ellis: We can’t pass here, let’s go around. 

Kate: Yeah… oh, can you wait for a quick moment? 

Ellis: What’s the matter? 

Kate: There’s a little bird trapped in the briar and can’t get out… 

I crouched down next to the briar and while being careful not to get pricked, created an opening for the little bird. 

It then quickly escaped and flew away. 

Kate: Had it stayed trapped in there, it might've died. I’m glad I could save it…

Ellis: … Indeed. 

Ellis: Giving even a little bird the choice of where and when it wants to die must make it feel happier, doesn't it? 

Ellis: You’re very kind for allowing it to choose how to die, Kate. 

(That wasn’t why I saved the bird, but…)

(... Ellis certainly has a strange way of thinking about things.) 

I felt a little uncomfortable, but decided not to dwell on it and continue our detour towards the fairy’s castle. 

…

Kate: E-excuse me… I’m here to seek help with breaking a curse.

Kate: Is the fairy home…? 

???: I am, but I ain't breakin' the curse.

The man who appeared was much younger than I had expected. 

Ellis: Jude, I’m back. 

Ellis: Let me introduce you, Kate. This is Jude, the fairy.

Kate: …? Hang on a second…

Kate: Why did you say that you're “back”? What's the relationship between you two…? 

Ellis: I’ve been working as Jude’s assistant for many years now. 

Ellis: When Jude isn’t busy, I sometimes find work at the mercenary recruitment place to keep my skills sharp. 

Kate: What… did you say…

Kate: Ellis. You offered to protect me on this journey, helped me so much throughout, and I trusted you… 

Kate: Now you’re telling me that you’re an underling of the fairy who cursed me…!? 

Ellis: Rather than an “underling”, I’d say we have more of a contractual relationship. 

Ellis confirmed it like it was no big deal.

(Ellis had ties with the fairy way before I did…) 

(We travelled together and I thought of him as a reliable companion… were those all one-sided on my part?) 

Ellis: What’s wrong, Kate? You don’t look so good…

Ellis extended a hand towards me in concern, which I reflexively brushed away. 

Kate: … I-I’m sorry. 

Kate: I… need to go outside to cool my head. 

Overwhelmed by all that just happened within moments, my heart felt like it was on the verge of shattering. 

I excused myself and wanted to leave the castle, but the fairy didn’t allow me to. 

Jude the Fairy: Ya had a reason for comin' here, didn't ya? Guests oughta stay in the guest room.

Kate: What.

— Jude grabbed my arm and roughly shoved me into the guest without further discussion.

Now that Kate was locked away, the hall went silent once more.

By now, Kate was most likely being served warm tea and snacks in the magical guest room. 

Jude: … Ellis. Ya don’t understand human feelings at all, do ya? 

Jude: If she finds out that her bodyguard, whom she saw as a friend, actually has a contract with the exact fairy who cursed her, she’ll feel betrayed. 

Ellis: Is that so…

Ellis: It’s been five years since I became human, and yet there’s still so much I don’t know. 

Jude: It’s “only” been five years.

Ellis: For us, it’s “already” been five years.

Ellis: All I want is to make Kate happy… human emotions are so hard to understand. 

Jude: … 

Jude clicked his tongue in annoyance, not bothering to hide his irritation with Ellis’ non-human mindset. 

He then picked up a sword and slashed at Ellis without hesitation.

— However, Ellis didn't even flinch. Despite being cut, he didn't bleed and was perfectly calm. 

Ellis: … It’s pointless no matter how many times you try, Jude. 

The wound Jude inflicted on Ellis healed on its own, returning his body to how it was before. 

Ellis: As long as Kate doesn't find happiness, I won’t die.

Ellis: Regardless of whether I’m burned, frozen, stabbed, or slashed…

[yan-lorkai]

Kicks the door open I have come! to request a Self-aware AU with the Twst bois. When they and the Darling/MC/Player/S/O switch bodies. However, the Darling isn't inside the game. So it's like the Darling waking up in the boys' bodies inside the game, and the boys waking up in the Darling's body in the real world. Thankyou very much 🙏👍🫂✨

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ a/n: self-aware au, my beloved. It was so fun to write this and I wrote a lot too 🥺💓. It took me a while to finish, so I hope you like it, darling!

Azul could always feel your presence through the puppet you control. He felt calm when you looked at him. He felt delighted at every laugh you laughed, and he wanted nothing more than to be beside you. The real you. He wished really hard for it to be possible someday, not knowing that this was exactly what was going to happen. Although his request was successful, there was just one error in the equation: he was in your body, your holy, beautiful body. Which means... You were in his horrible body.

While others would feel happy (and he really is happy to an extent), Azul feels a sense of trepidation knowing that you were awaking in his body and there was no way for him to check on you. Or could he? He tried calling his own phone but it wasn't possible. Resigned, he then took to explore your room and home and if you have any roommates / lived with your parents, Azul would try get along with them and collect information on you. While this isn't the ideal, Azul still has to think ten times ahead so when he take you to Twisted Wonderland (not a matter of if but more of when), he could make you sign a deal.

By the way, he definitely try to unlock your phone. And since he is in your body, Azul may try to unlock your phone with your fingerprint or your face if your phone has that function. If he is successful Azul will read your messages as if it were a magazine, he would see what type of songs you listen and videos you like to watch, what's in your history. Basically he is your fbi agent seeing everything on your phone, there's not a thing he'll not see. Good luck for you, reader. That's why I always I always delete my history lol.

Meanwhile you. You wake up on Azul Ashengrotto's body, the octavinelle dorm leader. Geez, are you dreaming? But everything is so real and feels so real. Jade and Floyd seems so real. And their voices, mocking and teasing, almost condescending as you tried your best to act like Azul. They seemed to know that something was wrong but neither choose to ask, brushing off as you being busy with a new scam plan. You were overjoyed but also anxious, without knowing what to do. Could you even return to your body at all? Only time will tell.

⠀⠀

Jade always knew that something was strange with this world, it was almost too... Surreal? He can't quite put into words the things he feel but everything was so much clearer whenever he could feel your presence when he was studying or riding his broom. He could feel your presence when he was cooking, when he was talking about this terrariums, when he was beating people who broke their part of the deal. You seemed to favor him, to love him. He could feel your affection seeping through your cellphone. And he wished to see you, to know you as intimately as you knew him.

And that wish became real. One day he woke up in a different bedroom, in a different body, then, while he is a little surprised, Jade just brush this off as something you did. Perhaps you wanted to show him your world? You wanted to show him your life? Or were you trying to show him something else? Either way, Jade is having the time of his life in your body. Though, as if he was mesmerized by it, he caught himself looking himself at the mirror to see your face staring right back at him. He looks like an excited kid making silly faces in front of the mirror. Honestly he is so unserious. Making faces and silly dances, and laughing because of it.

⠀

Floyd is instantly thrilled, if somewhat bewildered. At first, he messes around with everything he can find, marveling at your surroundings and taking a deep dive into your belongings — he finds it all so fascinating. He’s absolutely entertained by exploring your room, your things, and all the little details that give him insight into your life. But once the novelty wears off, his mischievous nature kicks in. He wants to know everything about you — what you like, your habits, your friends — and he’s not afraid to dig deep. Floyd starts exploring your social media, searching for anything that brings him closer to you and your world. If he finds anyone he thinks might be close to you, he’s ready to make them uncomfortable with cryptic messages or odd behavior, wanting to make it clear that no one knows you better than him.

Meanwhile, you, trapped in Floyd’s body, have to navigate his spontaneous, unpredictable moods and intense physicality — whether in class, on the basketball court, or during his shenanigans. He's having the time of his life while you are fighting for yours, even more when Azul send you to squeeze some people. Like??? How are you supposed to do this????

⠀

Silver always dreamt of you. He knew you, the feeling of your love and affection, the tone of your voice, even if when he woke up he forget everything. A blurry line separating you two. For a while, he thought that you were some higher being that he created on his mind, a simple part of his imagination. That is until this magicless student come around and your presence was all over them, controlling them, talking through them. He wanted to get closer, he wished he could talk to you, to bask on your presence. But he couldn't. He couldn't break his code. Not yet.

But when he slept that night something was different. He couldn't jump into another dream, his voice was different, his height was different, then when he inched closer to the mirror, he saw. A different face. And he knew instantly that it was your face. It was a very beautiful face, exactly how he had imagined. Though it was not what he wanted. He wanted to talk to you, to tell what he felt whenever your gaze was upon him. He didn't want to be you. Or for you to be him.

⠀

Riddle wakes up in your body, feeling completely disoriented and frustrated with the lack of control he has over the new, unfamiliar world around him. But soon, the shock turns into curiosity and then into obsession as he realizes he now has full access to everything about you, your routines, belongings, even your weaknesses, and insecurities.

Riddle’s meticulous nature drives him to organize your life, make everything as “perfect” as he can, so when you’re back, it’ll be clear that he knows what’s best for you. He spends hours exploring your things, setting up strict plans, and making lists, even going so far as to cut out people he feels are a bad influence. All of this, in his mind, is for your “own good.”

In Twisted Wonderland, you’re now bound to the rules of Heartslabyul, balancing Riddle’s strict schedule, navigating his many routines, and dealing with his high standards as you struggle to maintain his reputation without causing a commotion.

⠀

Jamil is quick to adjust, immediately masking his initial confusion in favor of stealthily gathering information about your world. He keeps a low profile, but behind that calm facade, he’s strategically piecing together every part of your life, figuring out who’s important to you and how he can stay in your life even if he returns to his world. Jamil moves through your world with subtlety, observing your friends and family with a quiet intensity, noting who to trust — and who to remove from your life. He’s ready to make subtle changes to your social circle or behavior, aligning your life with what he thinks is “best.”

Meanwhile, back in Twisted Wonderland, you’re handling Jamil’s carefully hidden responsibilities, feeling the pressure of his dual life between serving Kalim and managing his own ambitions, all while trying not to slip up and reveal your true identity. It's difficult.

⠀

Kalim wakes up in your body with sheer joy and fascination, his excitement overriding any initial confusion. He’s absolutely delighted to be in your world, taking in every little detail with childlike wonder. Kalim sees this as an opportunity to become even closer to you, and he goes about learning everything there is to know about your life, friends, and family, brimming with excitement to be part of it all. He’s incredibly affectionate with anyone he meets, happy to share his thoughts, and may unintentionally end up sharing details about “you” that leave people puzzled. He can’t resist splurging a bit on your behalf, thinking he’s treating you.

As for you, adapting to Kalim’s responsibilities in Twisted Wonderland is overwhelming, as you’re thrown into his high-energy life and surrounded by his devoted friends and followers. His cheerful, social world is a whirlwind of activity and expectation, especially with Jamil by your side, assessing every move you make with a scrutinizing eye.

⠀

When Ruggie wakes up in your body, he’s initially thrown off but quickly realizes the opportunity in front of him. Instead of panicking, he takes a strategic approach, savoring every moment as he explores your life and digs into your personal world. His tendencies kick in subtly but intensely; he’s not one for grand, showy gestures, but every action is deliberate, aimed at securing his presence in your life as deeply as possible, as he changes your wallpaper for fanart of him and enters the game to level up all his cards for you.

He begins by poking through your belongings, finding small things that give him insight into your personality, routines, and friends. Ruggie is careful to go unnoticed, learning as much as he can about your relationships and keeping mental notes about anyone he thinks poses a “threat” to his place in your life. He’s not above making subtle changes, distancing you from people he dislikes and reshaping your social circle to align with his preferences, but he does so with skillful subtlety — most people won’t even realize he’s manipulating things from behind the scenes.

If you have a job, he’ll blend right in, charming your colleagues and subtly gaining their favor, leaving an impression that makes it hard for anyone to forget you. He’s naturally resourceful, too, so he takes a look at your finances, maybe even setting aside a bit of extra money “for emergencies” (which, of course, he intends to use for things he thinks you’ll need down the line).

Meanwhile, back in Twisted Wonderland, you’re adjusting to the gritty pace of Ruggie’s life in Savanaclaw. His resourcefulness is evident in every little aspect of his world — from balancing odd jobs to navigating the intense social structure under Leona’s rule. You feel the constant need to stay alert, manage his reputation, and keep up with his never-ending hustle. It’s a life of quick thinking, constant negotiation, and clever shortcuts that keep you on your toes, giving you a firsthand taste of Ruggie’s way of surviving in a world that doesn’t make things easy. You made a note to dote on him when you get back to your body, he deserves.