Alright, so this whole keeping a killer bug in captivity thing might've been a bust. I've got a mad scientist breathing down the back of my neck, I'm talking to someone who apparently loooooooooves to eat rats, and there's a kid here made entirely of grass and I'm still trying to wrap my head around how that works. They're all doing their bests, bless them, but I'm starting to think I'm not going to get any tangible help here. Or respect? Respect seems to be in very short supply around these parts. So. I don't know. Maybe I should just call the whole thing.
I know you don't care. But I know you know I don't care that you don't care, so don't even come at me with your dismissive cool guy shtick. I wanted you to know I'm probably not going to get my brain eaten by this thing, unless I change my mind and decide to keep it after all, which I'm still very tempted to do.
[This could encompass anything: the transition back to Deerington, the townies pulling their collective Stepford Wives act, the sun still being out even in the hour of the night owl...
Mostly it's because she's having a hard time not checking in after their discovery of the thread.]
Quick update: there is a very real chance that somebody's trying to kill me. I'm not going to ask you to get involved, exactly, but I do need your help real quick just to, like. Confirm. That theory. If you're not too busy doing whatever it is you do when I'm not babysitting you. Smoking cigars and thinking back to the good old days when Taft was president and Cuba wasn't independent to the US, or whatever.
[ that's the text. that's all logan gets, until, of course, logan doesn't reply. why would he reply? stiles literally just said "so". maybe he would've replied if stiles waited longer than two minutes for a response, but two minutes later and this conversation is still beginning and ending with so. he adds a little fire to the mix. gets to the point. ]
[ It's a little past midnight when Logan might feel a gentle sort of pressure caress his mind. It might feel familiar, if he still remembers what it's like to have either herself or Charles reach out to him through telepathy. But regardless of whether or not he might be asleep when that caress touches his mind, no thoughts or images will spill themselves over into him and, instead, there's just the one simple word which is whispered to him across his mind. ]
Logan.
[ And it's a few moments after that - a good fifteen seconds or so - that a message then pops up on his device... from one Jean Grey. ]
You wouldn't happen to be awake at the moment, would you?
[That pressure's a hell of a lot nicer than the compression of Charles' seizures, but it wakes him up all the same. From muddy and angry dreams Logan startles awake, sitting upright in his rickety bed as he grapples around for a second like he's expecting someone to be right there at the bedside, whispering into his ear. Claws briefly extended, they slide back into his arms as his heart steadies. That was Jean's voice - and not part of the dream, like it used to be.
He massages his temple, seeing his fluid buzz. He reaches for it and turns on the nightstand light.]
[ It's funny to think that one can dream within a dream they've found themselves in and yet, she's been doing quite a bit of dreaming over the past few days. So much, in fact, that it took Charles himself to pull her out of the very dreams which she had become lost within, much to even her own surprise.
But Charles isn't needed this time to pull her from the dreams she's found herself dreaming. This time, it's the gentle melody of a song that stirs her from her slumber and it only takes her a lazy moment to come to realize that he's there beside her in the bed. His bed. The bed she's taken for herself the past few days.
She's still dressed in the green and gold costume that she's had on since she first fell into that exhausted slumber she couldn't pull herself out of, but Logan himself had been so worried about her- had barely slept himself that she had stayed with him once she woke. Reassured him she was here. That it was his turn to rest. Because he had looked so worn and exhausted and she knew it to be in a way that struck him down to his very bones. When he had almost nothing left to run on, yet somehow found the means to. For her. To make sure she was ok... of course she wouldn't leave him when he hadn't left her.
So she lays there beside him for a moment longer, gloved fingers running over her face to brush whatever sleep was still there away. Stretching over him, she reaches for the fluid on the night table, resting against him somewhat as she tries to see if this is his or hers, while also curiously wondering what song this is that's playing so early in the morning like this. ]
['I'll sleep when I'm dead' used to be a phrase Logan used a little too much in his life, when he had things to get done and no time to devote to himself. It gets a little too dark when you realize that in death he's come to be a dreamer here, and even that's not been restful. With familiar faces appearing in various shades of familiar - and the ones he does know, they're the ones he's been worried the most over. Charles has been his own handful, but Jean? There's so much to Logan's worries with Jean.
He'd been running on empty and only just been coaxed to sleep, where falling into it was indeed like dying; he was out like a light when he was able to relax. So deeply into it that he did snore, but every tense muscle loosened up. Unlike Jean he had no dreams, none that were easy to remember, so he stirs back to the waking world easily enough by the press of weight against his side. For a moment it sparks a too familiar motion for him to wrap his arm around her, like so many other mornings in a distant universe. Then he lifts his head from the pillow, realizing where they are and yet not relenting.]
[ Rogue's mostly recovered from her death flu at this point, and although she still feels like something someone ran over and spat on, it occurs to her that she should check in on the people she otherwise hid from during her recovery. Her trial and method of execution... well, she hoped Logan hadn't looked as she was killed in the same way adamantium now coated his bones. She didn't have his healing factor, and the fucking bear was kind enough to draw on one of her reoccurring nightmares from... all that she's absorbed from him.
Honestly, she hopes Logan missed the trial all together. There were so many of them going on, and he didn't exactly strike her as someone welded to his Fluid, so hopefully... hopefully he missed it. Or hopefully, if he saw it, he looked away. So her message is somewhat... ambiguous. ]
[Logan's reply isn't delayed, per se, but it's just as ambiguously written as hers in terms of whether or not he might've seen things. Might've not. Might've avoided the Fluids for as damn long as he could to avoid the crushing feeling of dismay upon seeing a few things. But he's found his way back to it now, at least, answering messages keeping shit in check.]
Still kicking. Been a pretty long month. How're you holding up?
[ She'd gone to him when she felt she could. Dying and coming back to life wasn't exactly anything she had much experience with regardless of certain moments in time she's yet to live through or versions of herself she has no real attachment to. So the moment she had pulled herself together, the moment she had been able to make sense of everything that had happened, she had gone to him. Like always. Because she feels safe with him, knows he looks to her in a way no one else really does here and that no matter what sort of monster she may be to others, she's still the woman he loves, has always loved, and will always love.
So when she wakes to find him missing beside her in bed, she curls her fingers in the vacant spot and allows her telepathy to crawl gently across the floor and down the stairs. In the kitchen is where she feels him. Good to know since she has told him before that the good guy is the sort of guy to stick around. He's been a lot better with that here.
She tugs one of his shirts on, slow in the way she buttons it up as she's still not at one hundred percent but enough to... well. Be happy to see him. Standing, the shirt skims the tops of her thighs and she grabs one of the sheets off the bed to wrap around her shoulders, dragging it along the floor some as she makes her way out of the room and down the stairs to find him puttering around or what have you.
Fingers lazily rubbing at an eye, she blearily glances to the clock on the wall and sees that it's not even nine o' clock. With bare feet padding against the kitchen flooring, she comes up behind him and lets her arms wrap around his middle, face pressed against his back. ]
You weren't in bed.
[ The words are soft and tired, Jean still trying to wake herself up from the sounds of it. ]
[For the past fifteen minutes he'd been occupying the kitchen, brewing coffee and standing in front of the counter with a window view of the back yard - and more importantly, the distant sun rising. It's early, too early, but the kind of early morning he often finds himself existing in. Only he's not waking up alone in the back of his limo in a parking lot or taking a long hot drive back down over the border to drop off meds for Charles anymore. He just... still wakes sometimes, overly exhausted but too restless to sleep.
So there's always a cup of coffee to make. And make it he is, pouring it when he hears her feather-soft steps down the staircase. He can still smell her through the pungent haze of the coffee in front of him and it's... a reassuring scent to say the least. Just like the wrap of her arms around him, it's welcomed.]
Thought I'd watch the sun rise. Sorry.
[No apology needed, he knows, but he leaves his mug on the counter and turns around to face her - hand immediately combing through her hair and stroking down the side of her face.]
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deerington | inbox for James "Logan" Howlett
un: mischief | text (1/2)
I've got a mad scientist breathing down the back of my neck, I'm talking to someone who apparently loooooooooves to eat rats, and there's a kid here made entirely of grass and I'm still trying to wrap my head around how that works.
They're all doing their bests, bless them, but I'm starting to think I'm not going to get any tangible help here. Or respect? Respect seems to be in very short supply around these parts.
So. I don't know. Maybe I should just call the whole thing.
un: mischief | text (2/2)
I know you don't care.
But I know you know I don't care that you don't care, so don't even come at me with your dismissive cool guy shtick.
I wanted you to know I'm probably not going to get my brain eaten by this thing, unless I change my mind and decide to keep it after all, which I'm still very tempted to do.
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text;
[This could encompass anything: the transition back to Deerington, the townies pulling their collective Stepford Wives act, the sun still being out even in the hour of the night owl...
Mostly it's because she's having a hard time not checking in after their discovery of the thread.]
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Alive? yeah.
How're you doing, kid
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un: mischief | text
Do me a favor real quick?
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un: mischief | text (april 8th)
I'm not going to ask you to get involved, exactly, but I do need your help real quick just to, like. Confirm. That theory.
If you're not too busy doing whatever it is you do when I'm not babysitting you. Smoking cigars and thinking back to the good old days when Taft was president and Cuba wasn't independent to the US, or whatever.
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what did I tell you about not putting me in the position to crack kneecaps?
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text; un: sevenfor
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[If not, he's ready to send back "a bird" of his own.]
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un: mischief | text
[ that's the text. that's all logan gets, until, of course, logan doesn't reply. why would he reply? stiles literally just said "so". maybe he would've replied if stiles waited longer than two minutes for a response, but two minutes later and this conversation is still beginning and ending with so. he adds a little fire to the mix. gets to the point. ]
Jean Grey.
Wolverine.
Wolverine and Jean Grey.
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text; un: jeangrey
Logan.
[ And it's a few moments after that - a good fifteen seconds or so - that a message then pops up on his device... from one Jean Grey. ]
You wouldn't happen to be awake at the moment, would you?
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He massages his temple, seeing his fluid buzz. He reaches for it and turns on the nightstand light.]
Am now. What's wrong?
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un: deadpool
say I was bleeding profusely
close ish to your house
and needed a place to go to clean up and regrow a limb
like now ish
would you say your bathtub is close to the front door
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how long's it gonna take?
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cw: injury gore
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I'm sorry.... cw: missing limb stuff
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cw: suicidal ideation
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cw: kkk reference idk is that a cw
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un: celebrian.
are you busy?
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❝the sun in your eyes❞ | after waking up
But Charles isn't needed this time to pull her from the dreams she's found herself dreaming. This time, it's the gentle melody of a song that stirs her from her slumber and it only takes her a lazy moment to come to realize that he's there beside her in the bed. His bed. The bed she's taken for herself the past few days.
She's still dressed in the green and gold costume that she's had on since she first fell into that exhausted slumber she couldn't pull herself out of, but Logan himself had been so worried about her- had barely slept himself that she had stayed with him once she woke. Reassured him she was here. That it was his turn to rest. Because he had looked so worn and exhausted and she knew it to be in a way that struck him down to his very bones. When he had almost nothing left to run on, yet somehow found the means to. For her. To make sure she was ok... of course she wouldn't leave him when he hadn't left her.
So she lays there beside him for a moment longer, gloved fingers running over her face to brush whatever sleep was still there away. Stretching over him, she reaches for the fluid on the night table, resting against him somewhat as she tries to see if this is his or hers, while also curiously wondering what song this is that's playing so early in the morning like this. ]
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He'd been running on empty and only just been coaxed to sleep, where falling into it was indeed like dying; he was out like a light when he was able to relax. So deeply into it that he did snore, but every tense muscle loosened up. Unlike Jean he had no dreams, none that were easy to remember, so he stirs back to the waking world easily enough by the press of weight against his side. For a moment it sparks a too familiar motion for him to wrap his arm around her, like so many other mornings in a distant universe. Then he lifts his head from the pillow, realizing where they are and yet not relenting.]
's that a fucking alarm?
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un: wiccan
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text; un: foundinme, July 28th (hope this is okay!)
Honestly, she hopes Logan missed the trial all together. There were so many of them going on, and he didn't exactly strike her as someone welded to his Fluid, so hopefully... hopefully he missed it. Or hopefully, if he saw it, he looked away. So her message is somewhat... ambiguous. ]
Hey. Checking in. You alive?
perf!
Still kicking.
Been a pretty long month. How're you holding up?
\o/
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here for heartbreaking softness, don't hold back or else!!
So when she wakes to find him missing beside her in bed, she curls her fingers in the vacant spot and allows her telepathy to crawl gently across the floor and down the stairs. In the kitchen is where she feels him. Good to know since she has told him before that the good guy is the sort of guy to stick around. He's been a lot better with that here.
She tugs one of his shirts on, slow in the way she buttons it up as she's still not at one hundred percent but enough to... well. Be happy to see him. Standing, the shirt skims the tops of her thighs and she grabs one of the sheets off the bed to wrap around her shoulders, dragging it along the floor some as she makes her way out of the room and down the stairs to find him puttering around or what have you.
Fingers lazily rubbing at an eye, she blearily glances to the clock on the wall and sees that it's not even nine o' clock. With bare feet padding against the kitchen flooring, she comes up behind him and lets her arms wrap around his middle, face pressed against his back. ]
You weren't in bed.
[ The words are soft and tired, Jean still trying to wake herself up from the sounds of it. ]
I was lonely.
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So there's always a cup of coffee to make. And make it he is, pouring it when he hears her feather-soft steps down the staircase. He can still smell her through the pungent haze of the coffee in front of him and it's... a reassuring scent to say the least. Just like the wrap of her arms around him, it's welcomed.]
Thought I'd watch the sun rise. Sorry.
[No apology needed, he knows, but he leaves his mug on the counter and turns around to face her - hand immediately combing through her hair and stroking down the side of her face.]
We can go back up if you want.
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