#Because the deal was is he lost his memory

[ford-between-dimensions]

So Ford.

Gonna put it all on the table. One stream of consciousness done as neatly as one can at 11pm after a distressing day of my own.

To start,

You are a traumatized man. Plain and simple.

From familial trauma to making a deal with a literal demon to familial trauma AGAIN, mentally speaking you are not well.

I don't care how much you deny it. It's the truth.

You're a golden child, someone who could supposedly do no wrong, put on a pedestal ever since you were a child.

And that causes a disconnect between yourself and others in terms of empathy and understanding.

Now, to Portal Incident #1.

As you've said, you were in the wrong. Fiddleford warned you against testing/using it several times and you dismissed him on every occasion. You didn't even ask him if he was okay when you pulled him away from the portal after he almost got sucked in. Yes, you were not the one who put the memory gun to his head and made him use it over and over until he lost his sanity, but you still inadvertently gave this man intense trauma for the sake of your hubris.

Also, I may be misremembering, and please correct me if I am, but the portal was for Bill, yes? He's the reason you were building it in the first place. That adds another layer of complexity and nuance into the situation given how you were heavily manipulated into doing so.

You were in the wrong. And while an apology is a bandaid on a beheading, it is certainly a start.

Whether you realize it or not, you are incredibly selfish and vain as a result of your upbringing, and while it does not excuse your actions whatsoever, it does explain it to an extent. You are a broken person, one who needs to relearn empathy and actually thinking about other people. You think so highly of yourself yet you're incredibly lonely and that, for lack of a better word, fucks a person up.

This isn't even touching on everything with your brother. Because frankly the current topic isn't about that. But oh boy do I have thoughts on how fucked up that all was for BOTH of you.

Now.

With all that being said.

Why the fuck do you keep shooting children? Like?? You do realize that's WRONG???

(Ooc did any of that make any fucking sense omg I just did so much word vomit I am so sorry)

…I’d…rather not discuss this any more.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

You know, I think Killer getting reunited with his brother after his escape with Color would be really interesting, whether it goes well or horribly wrong.

If it goes well, it would be really interesting to see how Something New Paps deals with Killer not really being his brother (though I am of the idea that he'd love Killer for Killer as well. I just also think it would mean him grieving his brother yet again. This time knowing he'll never have his brother back). It would also be cool to see how he'd get along with the Epic Sanses. I also really would love to see explored what his tentative new dynamic with Killer might be, and how that may change Killer's dynamic with the others too (would he be less codependent with Color with Paps in the picture? Or would he just become dependent on both?).

If it goes horribly, well, it would be interesting to see exactly how horribly. Would Killer panic enough to kill him again? How would he react to that after so long? Would Killer even believe that that's his brother? Would he just deny everything and turn away and then be haunted by the possibilities forever?

I just hhhhhhhh. I've been thinking about them so much. I've never see content about them explored, ever, and the possibilities are giving me brainrot

Yes! This is the stuff I want to see with killer from this fandom. Not more of the same! Let me watch these doomed siblings suffer or heal. The angst having to grief the person you never knew you lost while they’re right in front of you, looking at you, looking through you—only it’s something else with your loved one’s face. Uncanny valley im telling you.

I personally think Papyrus will have a difficult time actually accepting that his brother is gone. Hed subconsciously see signs in Killer—same smile, same twist of the corner of the mouth even if the nature of the smile is different from when Sans told an awful pun, because now Killer is smiling like that when he tells horrible stories he seems to think aren’t horrific at all.

I think how this reunion unfolds definitely depends on the exact situation. If Killer is still trapped under Nightmare or not, or if Color has rescued him.

And if Papyrus has any memory of what Killer did to him and everyone else—because Killer did spend years upon years murdering and horrifically torturing Papyrus and all the others as if they were nothing more than toys.

Killer could look at him, and all Papyrus could see is that empty, dead eyed look as he screams and cries while Killer breaks his bones. As if Killer didn’t recognize who Papyrus was, and if he didn’t care who he was.

And Papyrus, how his reactions during those times could’ve affected Killer. He was in unimaginable pain, terror, and confusion. Hatred and anger and spite are understandable reactions. What are some things he might’ve said to Killer during these moments that stuck with Killer? Begging and pleading, cursing and screaming? Attempting to get Sans to “remember who he is”?

As the world Reset around Killer, did others eventually start changing too? Even if only in small easily missed ways, even if they forgot by the next Reset. Chara and Killer were always in search of something new, after all.

Could Killer trust himself at all around Papyrus? Or would he immediately start thinking about how he has killed him before, how Papyrus could be here for revenge or even worse—for Sans.

Would some part of Killer despise Papyrus for being weak enough to forgive him, just like he always did for the human? Would Killer feel the need to kill Papyrus again—believing it’s what it has to do to prevent something even worse (Stage 4), or perhaps out of panic as you mentioned, or even that anger at Papyrus or just the unimaginable confusion and stress and pain that Papyrus’ presence brings (Stage 3).

Would Papyrus’ presence disjoint Killer’s “placement” in time.

Would seeing him make Killer think he’s back in the Underground with Chara, and thus Papyrus is another enemy he has to deal with. Would he be unable to accept that the Papyrus in front of him is his Papyrus, or would he think it’s just one Papyrus out of a gazillion more, and therefore not worth wasting energy on?

I can definitely see Stage 1 being reluctant to actually be around Papyrus. Not because he hates him or is disgusted by his “weakness” and not even because he thinks he has to kill Papyrus—although he’s very aware that some parts of him very likely do think those things—not only because he can’t trust his own mind, his own desires, but also because he just..feels horrible around Papyrus.

He idealized this image of Papyrus and the life he thinks they used to have, but he has changed. He has done a lot of things. He couldn’t even accept a hug from Papyrus for very long without pushing him away in tears. I think he’d definitely benefit from having his brother back in his life, although I doubt it’d be a very frequent thing.

I can see many instances where guilt, fear, and shame just leads to him trying to “hide” from his emotions in Stage 2, which leads to the usual avoidance behaviors. Which may also lead to him subconsciously blaming Papyrus for being able to have any effect on him at all—given how Stage 2 views it when situations and people are able to make him “feel” anything. As if they are attempting to control him.

So many interesting possibilities—especially given how much Papyrus may know. How much knowledge is he working off?

{ @stellocchia }

[itsnotbird]

Orphic~ File 4

Indelible (adj) ; Impossible to erase or forget

Warnings: Extreme triggers! Talks of kidnapping, abuse, murder, labs, powers

Bucky!Barnes x Fem!Reader

Find previous part here

Masterlist

Sleeping alone is still a strange thought.

You only were in a room by yourself when you were being observed…or living through a punishment.

The empty and quiet walls of your new room have you missing the sleeping quarters of that damn place…wherever it is. You close your eyes, grunting as you desperately try and remember all the important things, names, locations, anything that would be more helpful.

There’s nothing but white spaces in your memory.

You huff and bury your face in your pillow. If you soften your breathing just enough, you could hear the overlapping huffs of the girls you once had a bed next to. They’re long gone now, all you know of them is how they look lying still and lifeless.

To say the least, you struggled through the night.

In the morning, you twitch and itch slightly as your body pulses for that fix it’s gotten so used to. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t take the infusion, but your body threatens to give up if it doesn’t have a taste, so Dr. Banner is your saving grace, administering a low dose that continues to get lower until you don’t need it anymore.

It feels like hell.

There’s clothes in your closet that you aren’t a fan of, shades of white and beige, pastel colors of blue and pink.

The things you would do for a pair of pants.

You throw yet another dress on, a different pair of knee socks and those red high tops…the only thing of yours they let you keep. You get lost on your way to the communal women’s bathroom, but you turn back around and find it.

“Good morning.” Wanda greets you as you enter. She’s in front of one of the mirrors, applying makeup.

You smile at the normality of it.

Brushing through your ragged hair, you can’t help but let out a frustrated sigh when it gets knotted again.

“You know, Natasha could help you with a hair cut if you’d like. Maybe a trim? Get rid of those dead ends?”

You look over at her and nod.

Like she was summoned, Natasha appears and is more than happy to assist.

You head to the meeting, free of a few inches.

“Haircut?” Tony asks as you sit down besides Nat.

You nod.

“Looks good.” He approves.

“Good morning, Blue.” Steve greets, causing question from the few Avengers that are in the conference room.

“Blue?” Sam questions.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Because her powers…are blue…look, she doesn’t remember her name and I’m not calling her by a number, Blue will have to work.”

You giggle to yourself, and Steve grins in victory.

“Ha! I was the first to make her laugh.” He calls out in victory as he sits down across from you.

“She’s probably laughing because you’re an idiot.” Sam claims, taking his own seat.

One by one, the rest of the team joins.

Headphones on your ears, you aren’t necessarily paying attention to the things around you. Not when Nat argues with the Captain, saying she’s taking you to get clothes and Steve claims you needed to stay here.

“She’s wearing borrowed clothes, looking like the girl from Buffalo 66. She’s a grown woman, and she needs pants.” Nat defends with a glare.

“What’s Buffalo 66?” Steve questions, now side tracked.

“Alright, enough.” Tony calls. “Nat, take the kid shopping, don’t let her you know…do anything crazy.”

That ends the conversation.

Bucky comes into the mix, black coffee in hand as he sits next to Steve…across from you.

“Haircut?” Tony asks, having deja vu.

Bucky just gives him a blank expression, then looks to you.

“What’s her deal?” He asks Steve, questioning the way you don’t bother to look up from your phone.

“Uh…we think it’s best if she doesn’t listen to this first part of the meeting.” Is all Steve says, then passes out files.

“Alright, thanks to our guest here.” He says, motioning to you. “We have a new case.”

Everyone opens their folders, then sorts through the few papers inside.

“The Ring?” Clint questions.

Tony brings up the projection of the information already obtained. “When Fury took E.T. over there, she told agents about this underground organization known as ‘The Ring’. It’s made up of the bosses who run it, their little henchmen, the scientists, and the subjects. It’s grown rapidly into communities all over.”

Everyone shifts their eyes to you, then quickly look away.

“How do they get the subjects?” Bruce asks, brows creased as he looks at the paperwork.

“They kidnap five girls at a time when they’re needed. Doesn’t matter who or where from. Then, they’re brought into labs, turned into guinea pigs for five years while they are conditioned. Their rules are strict, no talking in English, wait for permission to do anything. It takes a whole army for this, there’s teachers and doctors and head agents that are assigned to one of them.” Steve explains, then expands a picture of the brand that sits on the back your neck. “Each division has a symbol, each girl has a number. Blue was 505, she was the fifth of the five in her division.”

You can feel their devastation, it radiates off of them and seeps into your skin. You have the urge to tell them that pity won’t do you any favors, but your tongue stays still.

Natasha leans back in her chair. “What’s the goal? Create super humans for the hell of it?” She asks.

Cap continues. “Once they prove themselves to be exactly what they made them to be, they become hitmen for hire. Some gang leader needs an opponent out of the game? Well they go to one of The Ring leaders, pay them big money, then sit back and wait for the job to be done.”

The team shakes their heads, and Bucky feels his stomach twist. This feels all too familiar, like he’s watching a version of his story play out in front of him.

“What can she tell us?” He speaks, motioning to you then looks to the hologram in front of him.

Tony brings up a few faces of unfamiliar men, newspaper articles of missing children. “She was kidnapped when she was ten, pulled from her bedroom at night. The more she’s adapting, the more she remembers but as of right now, she can only tell us what’s in the files.”

They look further at the notes.

“They develop a relationship with these girls, they give them education, train them to use their powers properly. Each girl has a different ability, they’re all kept together and available for what ever hit they need to do.” Tony explains, his tone almost amazed and confused. “They don’t try to hide these girls, they carefully put them out in society when it’s sure they are rewired properly. They-they give them different aliases, have them play roles perfectly until they can take out their target.”

“If they’re trained so flawlessly…then why’d I find her in the street?” Bucky asks.

Steve brings up the photo of a man named Lawrence Antonov.

“This man was the scientist in charge of Blue’s division, by some accident, he injected them with a serum that essentially cleared their brains. It over powered the previous conditioning, the previous serums given so they would go along with what they were told to do. All of it, wiped clean. Unfortunately, important names and locations were also wiped clean from their minds.”

Sam groans. “It’s never easy, is it?”

Tony glares. “Yeah, tell that to the kid who was a lab rat for almost 15 years of her life.”

Sam sinks a little in his chair.

“Moving on.” Steve says, trying to defuse the situation. “Blue fought her way out, she remembers leaving a warehouse in Vermont, making it as far as she could before her body gave up. Bucky found her, here she is.”

You’re playing a game on your phone, making Nat look over and hum approvingly. “She’s winning.”

They all watch you with a strange look, then shift their attention back to Tony.

“So, Vermont is where we start?” Clint asks.

- - - -

It’s sometime after the meeting ends that you run into him.

Bucky curses to himself as you stop in your tracks, looking him over. He just gives a tight lipped smile and tries to walk past you. Though, as he goes, he can’t help but turn back.

“You’re cooperative, that’s good.” He says, then realizes how off putting that sounds. “I just mean with the case, you’re actually being helpful.”

You just blankly stare at him.

“Not trying to sound like a dick, that’s supposed to be a compliment.” He clarifies, then decides it’s a lost cause anyway. So he huffs. “You get the idea.”

A pleasant smile plays on your lips as he turns his back and walks off.

“Your hair looked nice before.”

Bucky stumbles in his step, then pauses, trying to see if he’s imagining it. As he slowly turns, you’re still standing there, headphones in hand, round soft blue eyes. He doesn’t miss the way you have some sort of twitch about you.

“Did you…did you just talk?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Instantly, your smile drops, afraid you’ve upset him. He sees the expression and panics.

“No, no, I didn’t mean- you just…don’t talk.” He sighs.

“You gave me a compliment, right? So I give you one back.” You smile once more. “Your hair looked nice before, but it looks good now.”

This is happening?

“Thanks…” He says, adapting to the odd situation. “Nothing major…I fixed it this morning.”

You nod.

The two of you stand there in complete silence for an uncomfortable amount of time before Bucky walks away again.

“James.” You call out one last time.

His ears ring.

Was he supposed to feel dizzy when you call his name?

“Yeah?” He looks back at you.

Your fingers curl into the sleeve of your sweater. “Don’t tell the others I spoke…I’m not ready for the floods of questions they’ll ask me.”

He lets out a little huff.

You thought about speaking to him before you did it, you could’ve stayed silent as always, but you trusted him to not be overbearing.

“It’ll be our little secret.” He says, nodding.

Next Part

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Safety n Shadows - Part 1 of ?

SUMMARY: Two creatures who shunned the light, sticking close to the shadows that were your Sanctuary. You were bound to meet eventually. A deal is struck, a bargain made, a pact formed. Whatever else will it turn into?

TAGS: Reader x Alastor, fluff, humor, eventual romance, Typical Alastor Behavior, some horror aspects.

For as long as you can remember, shadows were your sanctuary. Which wasn’t very long, you lost your memories when you fell but whatever.

You swam through them with ease and grace, as though this was your domain your entire existence. Which you doubted. But you guess you couldn’t assume.

Hell was observed from their safety, the mediocre the depraved… The soft and the dangerous. You’ve seen many things, you’ve heard many things, you’ve learned many things. The shadows of others were little pockets of their owners where you can climb inside and come along for the ride. Skimming closer to the boundary was where you could be seen- but not touched – and the deeper you went the less there was of you to be detected.

You’ve never gone to the bottom of the shadows. That was probably for the best. You have seen what shouldn’t be seen, waved at it, and went about your way. That which shouldn’t be seen didn’t seem to mind as long as you never wandered that deep again.

Some have seen you, some have heard you, but you were always Safe.

When skimming along, you heard a song. Curious, you surfaced enough so your ears can pass the Boundary, poking above the ground to hear more clearly. Slowly you peaked your eyes above as well. On the television display of a small store you watched as the princess of hell talked about her hotel. Or. Sung about it.

It was a good song, and not a bad idea. But how could you be redeemed for something you don’t even remember? You figured there was no point and submerged yourself in shadows once again.

Several months passed before you thought of it again. The early Extermination frightened you, seeing the exorcists arrive in flocks to destroy any sinner they came across. You had pressed deeper into the shadows, away from the sounds and the sights. But you saw something. Someone. In your domain.

And he Saw you.

Would he have reached out? Would he have said something? Would he have hurt you? You could tell he was injured, the shadows were stained red where he passed. He stayed near the Boundary and you wondered if that was by choice or simply because he was injured and couldn’t go further.

When you tried to approach, he bared bleeding fangs at you in a silent warning. Much like for That Which Should not Be Seen, you took the hint and moved away.

You’ve never seen anyone else in the Shadows. You wonder if he ever had.

~~~~~~~~~~(￣▽￣)~~~~~~~~~~~

He’s never seen anyone else in the Shadows. He wondered if you ever had.

It’s been a couple months since the last Extermination and the Hotel was wrapping up its last renovations. Alastor paced around his new room. The walls were a deeper red than the others in the Hotel, the fireplace more ornate and firewood nicely stacked on one side. There was a mounted gator skeleton on the wall, curled over to one side with its snout facing a small bayou. The bayou itself was separated from the main room with a wall that was more a window, and a door made of dark wood separated it from the rest of the place.

It was curated specifically for him, Charlie had told him. He’d be touched if he wasn’t so offended that they didn’t think he could do this himself. However, he had still thanked Charlotte and gave a half-hearted compliment to Vagatha for remembering the details she had.

Alastor’s room was placed down the hall from his new Radio Tower. The one that was built specifically by Charlie and Nifty. It was sleek and elegant and more securely fastened to the hotel than his last one had been. When he first heard of it he was prepared to walk in and find modern technology and blinking lights and smooth screens which he would have to destroy the moment he was alone. Instead, the inside was a near perfect replica of the tower he had lost.

That was thanks to Nifty, apparently. Silly girl had a good memory for that kind of thing.

That, he was able to be grateful for - almost sincerely.

 Time had marched on and memories of the Extermination blurred together. Of course he still remembered that fear - … rage, of being nearly sliced in half. The panic- …irritation, of realizing his microphone had been sliced in half. But what he was dwelling on now…

Was you.

What were you? Where were you? WHO were you?

It had been enough time to recover. So he had sent his shadow to find you, and was now waiting for its return.

Preferably, with you in tow.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

The Gym Membership - Part 47 (Crosshair)

Summary: Crosshair thinks back to his argument with Tech

A/N: Hello Lovelies,

I hope everyone is having a good week. I know some having been dealing with a lot of stress or difficulties and I just want to say that you are all doing amazing. If you got up out of bed, you're doing amazing. If you opened your eyes but stayed in bed, you're doing amazing. Even if all you did was turn over and go right on sleeping, it's okay. You're amazing. The fact that you are still alive and surviving in this crazy world is amazing. Don't give up.

Love oo

Warnings: Annoyance, grief, anger at oneself, cheating, coma, drinking, guilt, feelings of disgust of oneself. I think that's it, if I miss any warnings, please let me know.

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“Crosshair, when it came to the wedding between you and Avery, what was that like? I imagine it was on base.”

“It was.” He turned to look at Tech, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Who officiated it?”

“What?”

“Officiated, who did it?”

“The Chaplain.”

“Hmmm”

“What?” Cross started to grow more irritated by these incessant questions from his younger brother.

“Just wondering, Kamarie and I did think about a military wedding, but truthfully we would’ve been happy with any wedding…” Tech’s voice trailed off as he thought back to the love of his life. He missed her every day, probably more than he would ever dare to admit.  

“Oh.” Crosshair’s annoyance diminished a little until Tech started up again. 

“So how did you guys live on base? I mean you were going on missions, and from what I understand she didn’t go on too many, but she did have her own missions as well. Was that difficult to deal with?”

He ran his hand over his head, and stood moving away from Tech, before he lost his cool on his younger brother. “Can we talk about something else?” 

“Why?”

“Tech, move on.”

“No.”

Crosshair turned to look at Tech, “Excuse me?”

“You never talk about Avery, about your marriage, about anything.”

“Maybe that’s by design.”

“And maybe you’re hiding.”

“Tech, mind your business.”

“Why are you so afraid to talk about your life with Avery?”

Crosshair’s patience had worn thin as he looked at his younger brother, his restraint crumbled as he glared at Tech. “I don’t feel the need to discuss my marriage Tech! It’s as simple as that. Avery was a brief moment of happiness in my life. A joke life handed me, making me believe for one tiny moment I could possibly be that happy, have a chance at something normal. Something perfect…” Crosshair swallowed the warm bubble that rose in his throat, as anger replaced the pain, “Only to have it yanked away. Do you honestly think I want to keep reliving it? No! So I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!”

Tech stood from his seat, shaking his head not so much in disappointment as in sorrow for his older brother. “If Avery was here now, do you think she’d appreciate the way you speak about her? The way you refuse to share what you two had with your family?” He adjusted his glasses, before letting out a sigh, “Life is full of disappointments, and yes sometimes it comes and snuffs out the one thing that brings you joy and peace and makes you feel complete. However, for all the pain that I’ve gone through, I can’t imagine not talking about Kamarie or remembering my times with her; because if I didn’t talk about her, it would mean those moments of happiness never happened. Those thousands of kisses we shared in such a short span of time, didn’t occur. All those conversations and shared laughter we had were a dream.” Tech shook his head, as he poured out his thoughts, “I can’t have that; I can’t let those precious memories die, simply because it hurt too much. Crosshair, I know our circumstances are different, and what you had with Avery can’t even compare to what I had with Kamarie, however I do understand where you’re coming from. However, the pain won’t go away if you simply ignore it.”

Crosshair took in a deep breath as the warm liquid began to fill his vision, “If you understand me, just agree with me and move on.”

Just before he shifted towards the exit, Tech called out to Crosshair one more time, closing the distance between them as he gently gripped his shoulder, “Just because I understand you, doesn’t mean I have to agree with you. You are causing yourself more harm by locking away your pain, Crosshair. As your vod, I’m concerned about you. Don’t hide from the pain. Don’t hide from your past. Let her live.”

He could still see Tech’s glistening eyes, as unshed tears welled up in his eyes as he put the lid back on Layla’s toilet. 

Tech did understand him, better than any of his brothers, however what he failed to grasp was the guilt he’d been feeling. The amount of pain he carried, as he reflected on the way he lived his life while his wife was in a coma. Finding the comfort he could during those years, when he wasn’t at work, or looking after Avery, he was either diving to the bottom of a bottle or sleeping around with the first warm body he could find, just to dull the pain of her lying there and unable to do anything to help her. 

There was no way Tech could understand, the reason his guilt kept him from talking about Avery, especially to his vod who’d been the epitome of a devoted partner especially during Kamarie’s last days. Whereas, he’d been unfaithful the entire time Avery entered into a coma, what was worse, was the fact it hadn’t phased him until she passed. And now that guilt of being an unfaithful, despicable husband was eating him up even more as his eyes had lingered over Layla. 

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@justanothersadperson93

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@dragonrider9905reads

[lozeyart]

Recently was struck with the urge to go back to my very first "human" character that I created back in 2011 and redraw/redesign him.

his name is Scael, and I would draw him CONSTANTLY. I remember his whole backstory and world I created for him fondly. I worked on him and his story and surrounding characters from 2011-2013 but shifted my focus to other projects after that. The last time I drew him was 4 years ago, in 2019, and it was just a redraw of a 2011 piece.

First picture was my very first drawing I did of him (before then I was only drawing Warrior Cats fanart and cat ocs). What a leap from drawing cats to people!

Miss this guy, I might actually try and do something with him down the road, but we'll see!

[pavl0ve]

i’m trying soooooooo hard to be calm and normal and casual but oh my god i want to scream about pacific rim about chuck hansen i love media i love characters I LOVE SYMBOLISM

[todayisafridaynight]

At which point did you realise that the plot of IW is ass? I've seen people complain only about the ending or the halfway point where the teams separate, while I was already actively rolling my eyes like four-five chapters in

i think the moment i fully accepted that IW's story was. Definitely A Story was the moment ebina announced 'bleach japan'. like i think leading up to that point i was thinking to myself 'oh i hope i see X happen' or being like 'i wonder where this is going' and that sort but the proverbial bucket of ice was definitely that moment

[quietwingsinthesky]

OH RIGHT. rose. i was thinking about this because jack might be the one person who can actually put into words what was going on between the doctor & rose because he was there, he was in the middle of it. not that the information comes out easily, but he’s less avoidant of saying the words ‘he loved her’ than the doctor is. which. i just think it would be kind of sweet and sad for even to also for the first time actually connect the word to the feeling. that’s love. that’s what that is.

[wereh0gz]

The absolute horror of slowly losing yourself, forgetting where you are, why you're doing what you're doing, who you are...

And then thinking you'd gotten back to normal, that you were back to your old self and that everything would be okay, only to realize you'd lost so much more than you thought and might never be able to get it all back...

Your friends miss you, but you don't even know who they are. You can't remember when you met, what they're like, what you did together. Their names and faces are nothing but a blur in your mind. They talk to you about the adventures and the crisis and the tragedy that brought you together. Things you knew about, once. Things you experienced, once. Things that you can't recall anymore.

You can recover from anything, they tell you. You always bounce back. They have hope that the you they once knew will return.

And even if you don't know them, even if their memory is barely a haze... you can't bear to extinguish that hope.

Even if it hurts. Even if it seems impossible to go back to how things were. You have to bounce back. Because you always do. At least, that's what they say.

So you have to recover. You will recover.

... Right?

[tmnt-obsessed-ace]

Indigo playlist because Im tired as fuck from moving all the fallen branches out of the driveway and I dont wanna write until later.

Here Comes Trouble-Neoni

Hooligan-Neoni

Warning Label-Neoni

Lost Control-Alan Walker (ft Sorana)

Darkside-Neoni (this is just a Leo song in general)

Antihero-Taylor Swift (note: I do not listen to Taylor Swift, the only reason this song is here was because it came on the radio while me and my mom were out shopping and this song fits, ok?)

Ruin Your Life-Besomorph (ft RIELL)

Bad Intentions-Neoni (ft NOCTURN)

Dangerous-The Tech Thieves (ft Besomorph)

Underground-Neoni

Haunted House-Neoni

Never Say Die-Neoni

What I've Done-Besomorph (ft Behmer and LUNIS)

Scream-AViVA

Bad Blood-Taylor Swift (this one came from a tmnt 2012 Raph tiktok about Slash and Mona's betrayals and oh god it fits when The Rise Gang encounter Indigo as a hitman and are on opposing sides yessssss)

Who Am I-Besomorph (ft RIELL)

Wolf In Sheep's Clothing-Set It Off

Antihero-AViVA

Demons-Neoni

Deep Water-Neoni

Bury Me Alive-Neoni

Back From The Dead-Neoni (ft AViVA and Besomorph)

Origin-Neoni (ft Besomorph)

Long Time Traveler-Neoni

Feet Dont Fail Me Now-Neoni

The Ballad Of Jane Doe-Ride The Cyclone (Annapantsu cover)

Once Upon A December-Anastasia (2022 Annapantsu cover)

Happy Ever After-Neoni

Champion-Neoni(ft BURNBOY)

Waiting On A Miracle-Stephanie Beatriz (I knew I forgot a song damn it)

Will probably add more eventually (and probably make this an actual spotify playlist but lazy)

[storm-driver]

hi im storm and i write essays in my tags

[pirateborn-a]

this man’s death is literally the plot of one piece but also like     what if he didn’t <3

[parfaitblogs]

oh my lover 𝜗𝜚 s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid undresses you for the first time. 

spencer reid x fem!reader. fluff/smut (18+ mdni). 0.8k words. established relationship. borderline body worshipping? actually he just loves you a lot. kind of soft dom!spencer but only if you squint. use of sweet girl and honey. 

a/n: i saw a textpost about this and thought it was wonderful beautiful incredible amazing. just a silly blurb because my motivation for writing has been almost nonexistent </3. enjoy my beautiful angels

spencer reid who didn't think he could meet somebody more nervous than him when it came to sexual intimacy, soon learning that he has fierce competition and that competition is you.

spencer reid who had to literally coax you into climbing onto his lap many moons ago because yes, he was kissing you, and you were close, but you weren't close enough and he had since discovered that he needs to feel every single inch of your body to be enjoying himself. 

spencer reid who was incredibly patient with you, allowing you to initiate quite literally every time you wanted to do something with him, for he was often in fear of pushing too many boundaries and screwing this all up. spencer reid who would ask before he made any moves, and you who had grown accustomed to quietly whispered phrases such as, 'can i kiss you, sweet girl?', and (more recently), 'do you want me to stop? no? okay, honey. i won't'. 

spencer reid who had you laying beneath him on the forest green sheets of his bed, kisses along your skin emitting the loveliest of whines and mewls from your lips, that had him borderline considering quitting every responsibility he had to focus on you. who was oh so hesitant about taking this any further, until you were so lost in a daze that you had subconsciously been pushing your shirt up your torso. spencer reid who had caught the sight, then your hand, stopping you from tugging it all the way off, an amused smile on his lips. 

spencer reid who murmured, 'can i take your shirt off?', and then laughed when you had feverishly nodded your head. who took his utmost of time with it, despite your complaints, pressing kisses up along the hot skin of your stomach with each inch the shirt uncovered. spencer reid who had to pause for a moment when he stared down at you, nowhere near fully naked but still so, so beautiful, to the point that his brain was malfunctioning. 

spencer reid who's fingers traced the outline of your bra, committing the image to memory the best he could despite the motor fry he was currently experiencing from the sight of you. who then took your bra off with so much ease, and began kissing the skin. again. who repeated every tiny ministration that tugged a moan from your throat, despite being something as small as an open-mouthed kiss on your ribcage. 

spencer reid who was trying to stay focussed on the task at hand (undressing you), but getting seemingly distracted by the way you arched your back when his lips had grazed oh so lightly over your nipples.

spencer reid who's fingers finally — finally — hooked under the waistband of your pants, kissing down your body once more, pulling them down your legs at the same time. spencer reid who looked up when he felt the air in the room shift, a layer of intensity coating the two of you, noting the almost worried expression on your face. 

who had asked, 'what's that look for?' and then been thoroughly confused when you expressed discomfort for him seeing you fully naked for the first time. who acknowledged that it was the first time anyone was seeing you naked, and it was a big deal, and he knew the feeling all too well. 

spencer reid who, instead of continuing straight away, lifted his head back to yours, kissing the tip of your nose and the corner of your mouth, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hip bones, slowly. who murmured, 'i'm going to think you're incredibly beautiful no matter what, but i will only go as far as you're willing'. spencer reid who swallowed the protests you had on your tongue about that matter with a kiss, shushing you and enforcing a silent promise that you are as beautiful as he says you are.

spencer reid who took his sweet fucking time removing your underwear from your body, marvelling at the sight of you and forcing his heart rate to remain at a normal enough rate so he could enjoy you properly. who kissed you again, and again, and again, mumbling incoherently about how pretty you looked in between each one. spencer reid who shushed you again, a little less seriously, because you were now giggling that he had this big brain of expansive knowledge, and the only word he could come up with for you was pretty. 

but, regardless, spencer reid who made you feel so immensely loved the entire night, successfully taking his time to kiss and admire each and every crevice of your body, until you were thoroughly exhausted, but pleasantly fulfilled. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[tossawary]

The funniest "early family reunion" on the Death Star / crack canon divergence AU that I can think of right now is Darth Vader and C-3PO. Threepio gets separated from the others somehow and ends up running into Darth Vader in some random hallway, and it's just a real "What." moment for Darth Vader. (Threepio is screaming in terror and begging for his life, of course.)

Because, like, that's the droid that HE built for his mom. That's the droid that followed his wife around during the Clone Wars. What the fuck is Threepio doing HERE??? NOW??? Did Obi-Wan (Vader has still caught the Kenobi vibes on the station here, obviously) have Threepio for the past NINETEEN years? That asshole. That sounds SO annoying, too. Good. Obi-Wan deserves that.

Thankfully, this is not as catastrophic as Vader getting R2-D2, because Threepio has had a memory wipe and no one ever tells Threepio much of anything (he's got some information on the Rebellion but most of it is outdated, especially after the destruction of Alderaan). But Threepio has spent the past two days or so hanging out with Luke Skywalker, and also witnessed the destruction of the Lars farm, both of which as revelations may cause Vader to flip out in weird ways. (Artoo is STILL around too??? That traitor.) Possibly, this may be enough of a distraction to allow Obi-Wan to actually slip away and live, but maybe not.

The important thing is that Threepio is taken off the Death Star somehow, so he can become "Death Vader's gaudy gold-plated protocol droid who has anxiety and is annoying as hell but Vader takes him EVERYWHERE". Imperial soldiers from random troopers up to genuinely important Admirals occasionally have to deal with "droid-sitting" duty while Vader is out doing scary, evil Force of Nature stuff and they all hate it, because Threepio never shuts up, has a knack for wandering off (he's trying to pull a daring escape) and nearly getting himself torn to pieces (people have actually gotten hurt trying to follow him), and most people don't have the guts to just turn Darth fucking Vader's pet droid off for a little while. Vader COULD just reprogram him or put in a restraining bolt or take Threepio's legs off, but he can just pick Threepio up with the Force, so it's whatever to him. (There IS a tracker installed, but Threepio doesn't actually know where to run anyway.)

Threepio's official role is "translator" for Darth Vader, which Threepio has somehow taken to also mean "mediator". So, whenever an Imperial officer is getting threatened by Vader, there's a stuffy protocol droid behind him saying things like, "Oh my! I'd listen to him if I were you! What happened to the last fellow was rather unpleasant," and, "It's impossible to get good help these days, isn't it, Master Vader?" and it sucks. The only one who could really do anything to stop this is the Emperor and Darth Sidious couldn't care less about his apprentice's latest purse dog droid.

Unclear whether or not Vader at this point actually has any real fondness for this piece of his past / reminder or his lost loved ones, is just super lonely, secretly thinks Threepio's surprisingly deadly antics are funny, or is using Threepio as bait for R2-D2 (come get him, you little fucker) and the others. Might be a combination of all these things.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.