#and then I have to go and write a thing about them because I've lost control over my life. XD

[drdemonprince]

I remember a while back you did a fun ask game where people sent in kinks and you rated how good an investment they are and it keeps popping into my mind because of how chill you were about kinks that even kinky people tend to view really negatively in the sense of ethics. I was wondering if you had any advice on how to *feel* chill in terms of my own kink ethics. I intellectually believe that fantasies can’t be immoral and that kink with other adults is moral as long as there is consent (and appropriate risk awareness).

But I am still pretty triggered on the topic when it comes up. Eg, earlier a friend told me they are cutting someone they love off for being friends with someone who “sexualizes trauma”. And yeah, that is definitely where some of my darker kinks come from—though not all. They’re entitled to that opinion and action of course! But hearing all the things they said against this person triggered me, making me feel like I’m dangerous and that it is wrong of me to interact with them going forward even though this isn’t a topic I would discuss with them anyway. Until writing this I hadn’t even considered if they are still a person I *want* to interact with given this. Though I’m sort of unclear on whether it is actually wrong of me to interact with them still.

I am working with my therapist on this. And I know it will take some time to work through. I was just wondering if you had any words of wisdom on the topic.

My thoughts are that if I had a friend who cut people off for having problematic (or in this case, just like, unsettling?) kinks, I would not feel safe around that friend. It would seem to me that they were judgemental, moralizing, and had a completely different viewpoint on how the world operated than I did, and that sooner or later they would demonize me for things I thought, fantasized about, felt, and so on. I might have sympathy if the person was a trauma survivor early in their recovery, as it's quite common for people to think in very dogmatic, black-and-white ways about morality in order to protect themselves and to be highly reactive to perceived threat. But their feelings of safety are their own business to guard over, and mine are mine, and I just wouldn't be able to get along very intimately with someone like that. I'd have to give them a wide berth until they started to get over it, if they got over it.

Recently, a friend of mine was completely ostracized from their local queer community simply for writing a piece that touched on a taboo fantasy -- a taboo fantasy they had concocted as a way to cope with some really gnarly early childhood abuse. They lost performance gigs and friends, had hate campaigns erected against them, had mobs of people threatening all their remaining friends and colleages, all based on a rumor about a piece that they never even got to perform anywhere because someone had heard it was about a taboo subject and even the IDEA of what it might be made them uncomfortable, and so they assumed my friend was condoning abuse when they were literally just describing what had already happened to them and how they found healing from it. Shit like this sucks, and it comes down most heavily against queer people, especially trans femmes, and I've seen the fear mongering ruin enough lives that I try to steer really clear of it.

My life has been so blessed by inclusion of people with really intense, taboo, stigmatized kinks into my life. I was afraid to even breathe a word of my hypnosis fetish to anybody until I was in my late 20s, because I thought it was so freakish and evil. and now I routinely talk with people about really animalistic feral fantasies, harkness rule violating monsterfucking, rape play, necro fantasies, abdl, age regression, incest roleplaying, blood, eating bodily fluids, and everything else that freaks people out but harms no living being. Even when it's not my stuff, even when it's something I might personally find a little squicky to actually be in the room with, it makes me feel seen, safe, and free to express the depths within me. I think surrounding yourself with more people like that or just consuming their stories can help a lot. And trying to find some mental distance from the people who do fear monger and get triggered. They have their reasons for feeling as they do. But that doesn't mean we have to align with their values or actions.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I know that some people in the Wings of Fire fandom complain about how Tui based the IceWings on tiger moms (a stereotype commonly applied to East Asian mothers) and I know that that and the model minority stereotype for Asian-Americans that is common in American media is terribly containing and reduces an entire community to this monolith of mean parents and unhappy, but high-performing children, but I personally like how IceWings are based on my group, even as much as the stereotypes hurt me. You may write this off as dumb, but it's possible to feel proud of something similar to your culture being depicted while disliking how your culture is seen in the media.

When I read about the IceWing experience in canon and fanon, I feel seen. It's probably due to the fact that I've only found one or two books starring East Asian protagonists that I personally feel show the experience I've grown up in and am used to, and even overall AAPI month tends to get overlooked on the social media I use (tumblr). Now I'm just wofbrained enough to project on fictional dragons because they've been based on a stereotype that gets applied to my community. You'd think that I need to touch grass and search for more books, but I'm happy that IceWings and I have something in common.

Nowhere else do you see the portrayal of feeling both locked and contained in the identity that everyone else has imposed upon you, and so has your community, and so has your parents, and so have you imposed on yourself, but also proud of it when the concrete results come in, all the As, all the comments that you're high-performing. There's the portrayal of feeling that some aspects of that identity are something to be proud of, but there are also the darker parts that you know are bad: the bigotry (where parents say the racist things out loud, straight to your face), the constant competition, the empty feeling from complying with your parents wishes and the fact that you've been doing it for so long that you don't even know your own. There's the feeling of always being inadequate in comparison to your peers. There's the feeling of occasionally wondering what it would be like to not be part of your group, and just be happy with Bs and be able to have a social life and actually hang out with friends outside of school.

While people say that Tui made the IceWings stereotypical as hell, I like what she did with her IceWing protagonists and other characters. We see Winter, who lost his family, but can do what he wants as a scavenger researcher, which is something that feels like a realistic possibility in my community- pursuing your dreams, but losing familial support. But, he can follow his dreams. We see Crystal, who ran away to be with Gharial, a MudWing, and it's reminds me of how falling in love with someone that you community says you shouldn't have but being happy with them is possible. There's Lynx, who reminds me of the classmates that I should have competed against, but became friends with instead. There are all the Caribous, who show the more fun parts of IceWing culture outside the palace, where IceWing dragonets sing and read and listen to stories and eat together, which shows that the IceWings aren't a monolith. There's Glacier, who genuinely loved her daughters, even though she was likely distant from them as a queen, which shows how beneath the strictness, the love is there, even if it's not apparent at first. There's Snowfall, who's from the younger generation and wants to change things for the IceWings. While Tui initially wrote the IceWings based on stereotypes associated with East Asian-Americans, her IceWing characters show how they're much more than that. To me, that reminds me in a way that we student, second-gen children of East Asian immigrants are more vibrant and faceted than how media paints us (emotionless, uncreative, studious, deferent to authority, etc etc).

Now, I'm going to say that not everything that IceWings do is what Asian-Americans do. I haven't heard of anyone making their son kill the other one to regain their status. Given how people like to reblog these confessions and openly address the anons with their disagreements and this ask will probably get a bunch of accusations directed at it that weren't part of my original intention, I would like to reiterate that this ask is my personal opinion as one Asian-American out of the 19.9 million+ of them here. If you personally disagree, please direct me to all the way better forms of representation that I know are out there but can't find so I can stop projecting on fictional dragons. Someone wrote on tumblr how what's empowering to one person comes off as demeaning to the next when it comes to representation. Thank you for receiving my confession that wouldn't do well at all off anon. That is why this blog is here.

.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hopefully this doesn't come off as snarky, but I find it genuinely hilarious that every "big-name" Leona fan that I've seen seems to like him against their will lol. I've always had Leona as my favorite, so it's fun to see the journey other people go through to liking/appreciating him!

Look 💦 I can’t speak for other L*ona likers (regardless of size, honestly; I'm a firm believer that one's level of internet fame isn't a factor in the devotion for a character) but for me—to quote Scar—“my words are a matter of pride.” And by confessing to (ick 🤢) LIKING LION… it’s throwing all that pride out of a window. It seriously does feel like these feelings exist against my will.

I have a summary of my story to explain my relationship with the lion lore 💀 I call it a summary, but it’s still kind of long— It's below the cut for those who are interested!

To begin with, the promotional materials didn’t sell me on him. Everything about how he initially presents—from his arrogance to his “tough/bad boy” design (seriously, that biker-cowboy combo of his dorm uniform is SO ugly and shows way too much skin for my liking…)—was so unappealing to me. He seemed exactly like the kind of character and tropes I tend to dislike. The only “good” thing I saw in him was his face (which, ironically, is what Vil says about him) and maybe his UM chant particularly the line where he demands you kneel before him. Then comes along book 2, which is easily the weakest of the main story and does a HUGE disservice to him, making L*ona seem a lot stupider than he actually is. At that point, I had basically written his entire character off. I claimed to all my Twst friends that there was nothing that would ever make me like him.

Around 2022, I decided to get involved in a round of EBG (Epic Bias Game) which is basically like a test of your will?? You’re supposed to compete with your friends to see who can go for the longest without talking about or acknowledging their oshi (which includes not being able to react to fan works of them). As part of EBG, each participant was randomly assigned a “new oshi” to replace the usual one AND GUESS WHAT, I GOT HANDED L*ONA BY THE WHEEL OF FATE 💀

One of my friends (who knew I hardcore hated him at the time) assured me that this would get me to change my mind. They even went out of their way to write a little story explaining how my OC was forced to spend more time with L*ona, which led me into writing interactions between them to build more of the lore. I managed to outlast the friend in EBG, but didn’t win the entire game. I came out of it not really feeling super different about L*ona, but I think forcing myself to write about him extensively helped me gain a little more perspective on his character. I still didn’t like him, but I at least appreciated his presence in the cast a little more.

AND THEN TWST HAD TO COME AND BASH ME OVER THE HEAD WITH L*ONA CONTENT… All the little vignettes and voice lines where other characters would talk about what a good leader he is (*glares at Epel, Jack, Ruggie, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.*), when he sarcastically claims to be a “delicate prince” or a “lost child”, those moments where he sasses others, times when he’s able to use his charisma and/or intelligence to pull ahead, rare instances when he whips out his royal manners, him respecting women… But I think the turning point for me had to have been book 6 OTL GOOD LORD, BOOK 6 FUCKED ME UP 😭 Him using his UM in a creative way to turn falling glass shards into harmless sand? And strategically turning himself in?? Willingly ceding control of the dorm to Ruggie??? Telling everyone about Styx’s lore???? AND THE BEEF HE HAD WITH JAMIL BUT STILL GIVING HIM WISDOM AND ADVICE… Sometimes I still tear up thinking about how L*ona says “You’re not like me,” to Jamil 😔 implying that part of the reason why L*ona guides others is because he has hope in their futures but not his own… (I’m still salty that EN messed up this line by changing it to “I’m not like you,” which makes him come off as way more arrogant 💦) Anyway, I blame book 6 for being the tipping point in my downward spiral 🌀 IT GOT WORSE IN BOOK 7 WHEN HE STARTED SHOWING HE'S MOTIVATED TO ACTUALLY GRADUATE AND TAKES ON AN INTERNSHIP THAT COULD BENEFIT HIS COUNTRY... Special shoutout to the Club Wear card for being especially hot-- I did my best to hold out against the steady drip of content that called attention to his… positive traits… (Not that I’m saying he doesn’t have any; I mean this in that whenever his strengths as a character are brought up, they really get to me as someone who loves intelligent, mature/responsible types and “big brother” figures OTL) BUT IT'S SO HARD WHEN TWST KEEPS PULLING STUFF LIKE THAT???

Then in 2024 came the stupid Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas event 💀 which finally introduced us to L*ona in full formal attire (MY WEAKNESS) and gave him the opportunity to be in the role of the "hero" and leader... and those Nightmare Suit vignettes 😭 Leona thinking about what it actually means to be "king"... Ugh, it was another strong showing of his character. I'm pretty sure it was this event that started the snowball of my friends (lovingly) bullying me about him and calling me a tsundere about it. Weirdly enough, a BUNCH of things started happening irl to push L*ona at me too. For example, my pet (who usually actively avoids or attacks Twst stuff) was actually eager to pose for a picture with a L*ona standee. In a group fan merch order, I had asked for the bonus Grim sticker but the artist (who had no idea about my complicated thoughts on L*ona) said they were out of the Grim sticker but they had L*ona stickers they could include instead. Most recently, I had just finished this last-minute artwork of Miss Raven eating pocky by herself to celebrate Pocky Day (11/11). Typically the fan art you'd see on this day would involve two characters playing the "Pocky Game" (in which the players try to eat a stick of pocky from either end; usually it's framed as romantic since meeting in the middle results in a kiss). However, I had chosen to do a solo Miss Raven art because I thought this suited her "I want to be taken seriously!" personality better. Well, guess what? I GOT A PACKAGE DELIVERY NOTIFICATION FOR THE TWST MERCH ORDER... WITH L*ONA IN IT 💀 Almost like he heard there was food meant for sharing and he came to claim it for himself... Like I literally did NOT choose for these things to happen to me, THEY HAPPENED ON THEIR OWN. I DON'T BELIEVE IN PREORDAINED EVENTS BUT THE UNIVERSE SURE IS WORKING IN STRANGE WAYS.

So now that the tables have turned, it’s really embarrassing. Everything is coming back to bite me in the butt… It truly feels like L*ona plotted this all along and was on the prowl, patiently waiting for me to get worn down before he pounces and delivers the final blow to my ego OTL Like, it's gotten to the point where many of my long-time friends in the Twst community are now joking that "It's over" for J word... ONE OF THEM EVEN TOLD ME IT FEELS LIKE I'M GETTING DIVORCED AND L*ONA IS THEIR NEW STEPDAD, HOW AM I SUPPSOED TO FEEL ABOUT HTHAT ??????????? ? ? ????? ? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ???? ?

But by the far the worst, the WORST part about everything here is that if L*ona were fully sentient, he would be so smug about recent developments 😡 It makes me SO mad thinking about how he'd look down on me with that hot smug rage-inducing smirk of his and make fun of me for eating my words so badly.

“What was that you said about hating my guts, herbivore? … Hah, it's written all over your face--you're terrible at hiding your true feelings. You can just give in, you know. Tell me how much you worship me. How much you want me. You'll give in eventually one way or another--so why not make this easier for the both of us and save us the time of playing the wait game? I don't bite, promise." (<- a liar)

(Disclaimer: NOT MY MERCH; this is a L*ona Liker friend’s picture that they’re letting me use as a reaction image 😅)

THIS IS FR MY OVERBLOT ORIGIN STORY…

[vanya-evergreen]

𝑆𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘！

Hi, just wanted to give a little quick sneak peek on my Royal! reader X Batfamily fic, because I realized it's been a while since I've posted any writing stuff and I wanna make sure people will stay interested! it's sort of a retelling of the concept, but there's going to be new things added in and longer

You can read concept here.

𝐼𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐹𝑙𝑒𝑠ℎ

taglist! - @camilo-uwu @vanilliona @thegirlinrainbowsworld

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑙𝑒－

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 1 （𝑆𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 ）

The world had decided long ago that nothing goes without effect, good, bad, and indifferent. Every action and every motion will have an equal effect. This is the philosophy that was shoved down your throat since you could understand it. So why did you have such a big Effect?

The taps of rain on the roof was the loudest sound in the room. Sitting Idlily on the edge of the bed, your eyes stayed glued to the fire flickering in front of you. The brilliant light reflects in your eyes as it dances freely, but the fire is not the real point of your focus, no you are too lost in your mental prison. You force yourself to relive the memories and feelings, just to occupy your time. Your eyes can’t help but drift to the newspapers chaotically scattered across the floors; ���Tyranny’s Last Remnant’ is what the newspapers had dubbed you.

The media had spent the months since your family’s imprisonment to tear you down ruthlessly. They say that you still lead a life of luxury and opulence because you weren’t punished like the rest of your family. Your eyes snap back to the fire, letting go of the breath stuck in your throat. you fall limply back onto the bed, as it creaks. The room around you was not a good reflection on in light of the accusation against you but you had no control of the room.

You wanted to hate the new place that you are meant to call home, but you couldn't even utter a complaint about it. You let these thoughts drift to the back of your mind. They weren’t nearly as loud as your memories.

You are stuck in a never ending cycle of self reflection that comes with your predicament. Maybe if your were more honest maybe you could see that you put yourself there. Everything you around is nothing but static. Your hands desperately grasp for the sheets of the bed, you no longer can feel them. Your mind races as your breathes grow shallow and slow. A sinking feeling takes over your body as your consciousness fades. You are sent off in your memories as the rain and fire grow into nothing but a quiet whisper.

When you come back to awareness, you no longer feel sheets of silk covering a plush mattress on your back, nor are you surrounded by the high walls of your room. Rather rounded stones of a river banks press in to your back as steady streams of spring water wash over you. When you open your eyes, you find that the water is not clear but rather unearthly cosmic colors whirling around as they rush over you and the stones are not a soothing gray but a chilling black, with your skies and ground bleeding into each other making them one in the same.

An empty laugh escapes your lips echoing in the empty space you always find yourself in, you want to feel something more but you felt too tired. All you can do is recall, back to the times when if you had even barely uttered of a complain it was dealt before you could even think again. You were pacified with gifts, territories, and new subjects to learn about. This was expected with being a royal, as your family had put it. They had found solace from their so-called stressful lives among material possessions, and it seemed as you would have to as well. You were always grateful for the lessons and gifts, but never once had they actually filled your deepest desire. Your deepest craving,

unconditional familial love. You yearned for it, yet it never came

You are ripped from your thoughts as a coldness washes over you. no longer surrounded by streams of spring water running over your almost lifeless body, you feel specs of snow and hell slowly beginning to cover you consuming you and your entirety as you fall deeper into the memory.

Echos of muffled hiccups and sniffles bounced off of the empty sumptuous palace halls. A child held they hands over their mouth, a weak attempt to silence their cries as they balled themselves up in the corner. They looked no older than 5, yet the way their face felt like they had seen the worst atrocities in this world could make you think other wise. You recognized the eyes without fail, it was you. You recognize this day, too. This horrid day.

Bells tolled in the distance startling you out of your ‘daydream’, not that they were in your mind to begin with. You didn’t move from your corner, you never wanted to move again. Your sobs becomes quieter as your tears dried, the bells continued on as servants rushed back and forth past you. They never once looked your way, as you lifted your eyes from your knees. They all looked panicked about something. Talking in quick whispers, they mumbled about ‘must find’ and an ‘heir’. You kept quiet as about a dozen more passed you, not even sparring a glance to you.

Eventually you got bored of the Methodic foot steps of the passer-by, you rested your head against the windows as the whispers and foot steps become distant as the bells finish their final course of rings. Back then, you thought it was funny how the bells still rang even well after the turn of the hour. Normally it was saved for the founders day and the rulers birthday; now you wish you had ran back then.

You had settled back into your abyss of deafening silence; staring out the window with distant eyes as the snow waltzed down from the cloudy skies above, but a looming figure watched you from a distance. You had become a perspective child, you felt their eyes on you when they first started staring. You didn’t want to pay any mind to that, ‘maybe they will go away if I don’t look for them’ is what you thought. The figure never looked away, the presence of the stare only grew more intensely focused on your unmoved figure.

You hadn’t move to look at the figure, you were lost in your thoughts, but the burning sensation intensified in your chest and began to crawl in to your hand and up your throat you knew they had drew closer to you. You whipped your head around to the figure, finally giving to what you thought the they wanted.

“Hello” the figure, now more clearly a man, softly said to you, as he kneeled down to your eyes level with a soft smile etched on to his face with warm gaze that accompanied it.

You were taken back by the man’s soft demeanor, the burning in your body had disappear the moment you saw his eyes. “Hi…” you stumble over your words as you were still to focused on how warmth from his gaze felt so unfamiliar yet, you had never wanted something to continue more.

“I am Bruce Wayne.” He offer out a hand to you, and you to reached out to take it but stopped yourself from taking it. Oh, You remembered that name from a list your parents had educated you on. His eyebrow creased and his smile fell as you retracted your hand.“Are you okay?”

Your parents said that with him especially to be more mindful of your actions because he was very important to your family, they warned you of the effect you may have. You always abided by the philosophy your were taught. “Yes” you hurriedly standing up and greeted him with a shallow bow, try your best not to trip over your feet. “Excuse me for my response,” you held an even voice as you rose up from the bow, keeping a straight back. “I am _ __, it is my pleasure to meet you, Sir Bruce” He was richer then your family and held no official titles, the King and Queen had offered him a dukedom when his company had helped the empire through a drought, but he turned it down.

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, your highness.” His smile returned quickly after you exchanged greetings. You gave him a look when he said ‘Your Highness’.

“I am sorry Sir Bruce, but I think you have addressed me wrong. I am not a child of a current or pervious monarch.” You politely corrected him. He looked put off by the correction, you hurried to correct your act “what I meant was-” you were stopped short by him

“No, it’s okay. It was my mistake.” He seemed to relax as he watched you stumble over your word like any five year old child should. “I seem to have confused honorifics once again," He laughs "I hope that you excuse me I am still new to society.” You couldn’t help but feel a small flames of kinship burn in your heart as he spoke.

“I am too!” You blurted, eyes glistened with a hint of excitement. “Today is my first official day in society, or that's what my mom said.”

“Oh really?” Bruce tilled his head, rubbing his chin as if he wasn’t aware of it “Why today?”

“I don’t know,” you voice became hushed. You hadn’t stopped to think about it for long, you were just a kid excited to see new people.

“Perhaps, we can figure it out together.” Bruce stood up and offered his hand to you once again. You stared at his hand, something in your little mind started to itch. You took his hand with out hesitation this time.

“I would like that.” You gave him a small smile as he lead you down the hall.

You and Bruce spent the better part of an hour talking about many things as you roam the cold palace grounds. You hadn’t even noticed the larger amount of guards pacing the halls looking for something, while they mutter about being punished for ‘losing someone’. You were too distracted by the feeling your heart and head screamed for you to focus solely on Bruce. You weren’t sure what it was then, but you never wanted to let it go.

He seemed impressed by your knowledge, you could see glints of fascination in his eyes, as it absorbed his mind. You were a well educated child, even at this age, as it seemed. He indulged you with many different topics, from the basics of favorite color and animal to astronomy, science and literature. It was bliss for you.

But it would end for you.

“What about your family?” Bruce’s question was innocent enough, any reasonable adult would ask about your family. “Are they looking for you?”

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged theory

The Passion of Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi has no chill.

We all been knew this. His chill is one of the things that the fandom has accepted canonically doesn't exist, like Inosuke's uniform shirt or Zenitsu's dating standards, but the reason for his lack of chill and generally aggressive behavior is still a much debated topic to this day.

I have made two posts here and here breaking down his backstory, his trauma and socio-economical circumstances that made him the man he is today but, I still wasn't satisfied. Something nagged me about this character and his personality that I couldn't put my finger on. So I pondered, for days going through each episode, rereading the manga taking note of his actions and interactions with other characters.

Then, it finally hit me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I've found the answer.

Sanemi, our sweet boy, is SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED.

Let me explain.

butt first...

What is sexual frustration?

According to Medical News Today,

Sexual frustration describes a state of irritation, agitation, or stress resulting from sexual inactivity or dissatisfaction. Sexual frustration is a common, natural feeling, and it can affect anyone.

Some symptoms include:

Feeling irritable, restless, and edgy (so Sanemi's entire personality?)

Engaging in unhealthy coping skills (like wanting to brawl with another man for no reason and after having a sexually-charged training session 🤨)

Performing riskier behaviors to fulfill sexual desires (like exposing your entire chest and leaving it vulnerable just so you can show off your tits like a slut 🤨🤨).

Compulsive or hypersexual behaviors (like wanting to grab another man by the hair just so he won't go away 🤨🤨🤨)

Depression or anxiety for men (see this post)

“Seeking revenge” against targets that are the believed source of the frustration (basically Sanemi vs Giyuu)

Displaced frustration on targets with no connection to the frustration (Sanemi vs Tanjiro vs Junior Slayers)

How did this cum to be?

Okay so, I have this headcanon that the Shinazugawa men have a high sex drive. I mean, there's the seven kids from Kyogo which means he had to be laying pipe...a lot(F's in the chat for Shizu 😔) and Genya's horniness when he breathes the same air as a girl, so it's safe to say that Sanemi also has a high sex drive.

After the tragedy that struck his family (Shizu killing the kids, not Kyogo's death because fuck that guy), Sanemi lost any hope or chance of a normal life. In the light novel Sign post of the Wind, Sanemi tells Masachika that life isn't for fun, and he has expressed his distaste for 'frivolous' things.

He denies himself these things because he believes he doesn't deserve them, why should he enjoy life when he killed his mom, when he couldn't protect his siblings, when his brother rightfully hates him, when demons still exist, when families are still being ripped apart, when his colleagues and juniors are being killed and when Genya is in constant danger. The only thing he allows himself is ohagi which is a reminder of happier times.

He has no time for friends, for love and definitely not for sex, which by extension includes masturbation. He won't be able to jerk off without seeing the faces of his mom and his siblings -and yes, that sentence was just as awkward for me writing it as you reading it- so he resigned himself to a life of solitude and sexual frustration, which caused him to develop his aggressive and no-chill personality but at least he was able to manage for a while, that was until he met Giyuu.

Cum hither Giyuu

Sanemi's no-nut journey became even more unbearable when he met Giyuu. There was just something about that sappy, derpy, stupid face that stole his heart and even though Giyuu's personality should've made it easy to stay away, the power of love and horny didn't allow that to happen.

Like I mentioned before in a previous post, what followed was a series of sexually-tense situations and interactions between the two Hashiras, so every time Giyuu happened to enter Sanemi's field of vision, I guess you could say more or less he was:

Reaching out for help

In the light of their impending doom with Muzan's arrival, Sanemi has a realization; he's obviously going to die soon, that doesn't scare Sanemi, he's accepted the fact that he's going to die anyway but to die as a virgin? Now that's not good. With the failure of trying to reach out to Giyuu in the Hashira meeting and the disaster that was the attempted eye-poking incident and being shamed by a 16-year-old Sanemi decides 'fuck it' and tries to reach out to Giyuu again.

But he can't go crawling to Giyuu and be like 'please fuck me', no no no that would not do instead he has the brilliant idea to challenge Giyuu to combat under the guise of 'training' in some misguided hope that the spar would get both their temperatures up which would in turn get Giyuu horny enough to rip off his clothes and fuck him. Yay! The plan is foolproof!

I already mentioned in this post how Sanemi's suggestion for a brawl made no sense as he could have just taken the Muichiro route and suggested they use their actual katanas, but no he wanted a full body contact brawl. Like look at how excited he was at the concept of brawling with Giyuu, like no wonder Tanjiro was scared for Giyuu!

JUST LOOK AT THIS FACE!!! LOOK AT THE DESPERATION!!! OUR BOY IS SO PENT UP HE'S ON THE VERGE OF INSANITY!!!

THIS IS THE FACE OF A MAN WHO HASN'T NUTTED IN 21 YEARS! He was literally begging BEGGING Giyuu to touch him! 😭

Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤️) was rightfully afraid for his big bro, so he intercepts (read cock blocks) Sanemi! Imagine how he felt at that moment; he was THIS close to some body contact and then comes in the same child who kills his rep at every turn! Not only that, but Tanjiro clocks in Sanemi's intentions and decided to put a stop to it by hitting him where he hurts; ohagi.

Imagine your biggest social opp coming along with his innocent, stupidly sweet face when you've finally decided to open yourself up to fucking your forever crush and killing whatever and all sexual tension with his annoying innocence!

Then, as if on a mission to destroy your spirit, reveals your secret love of ohagi! A sweet typically enjoyed by children! Right in front of his future baby daddy!

Tanjiro then drives the knife even further by asking him his ohagi preferences, talking about how his grandma used to make ohagi and shit!

LIKE BOYYYYYYYY

That explains why he was so salty even hours later. If I were him, I'd be pissed too! The fuck! I love how he stopped walking on the steps just to cuss Tanjiro out, like you can tell it came from the very depths of his soul.

I mean, you can literally hear the pain and frustration in his voice. That is the cry of a man who spent three hours douching, only to have his Grindr date cancel on him.

Celebrating the big O

After the events of the final showdown we see a more relaxed, almost peaceful Sanemi which tells us one thing - our boy finally got laid!

But when? and with whom?

Well Giyuu, duh. I theorize that it happened sometime during the three months of recuperation before Tanjiro woke up, and they had their last Hashira meeting. I mean, look at how they're smiling at each other, you can't tell me these guys didn't fuck at least once.

Sanemi came(lol) out(lol again!) of the encounter a changed man. He's moisturized, demure, in his lane, thriving.

Look at him here; tits covered 'cuz Giyuu has made an honest man out of him, and that peaceful look? Damn, dick was so good blud had to look up to the heavens like

In Conclusion, Sanemi's character development is really inspirational because it's a story of one man's triumph over thirst and yea I don't know how to end this post, so I'll just leave you with some words of wisdom:

[holybasementdweller]

wanted to add my two cents because shipping discourse is just all over recently. Forgive me rambling a bit here. I have a lot of thoughts on this topic and would like to get them out there in some form.

Stop harassing CC's about their boundaries.

Would you go up to a random person whom you've never met before in your life, who has never met you either, and likely has no idea who you are, purely to ask them if you can draw/write/ship them with one of their co-workers?

No! It's a wildly uncomfortable question to a lot of people, it puts them on the spot, and some CC's may not care as long as they never see it. Now that the concept has been shoved in their face, they're forced to view the idea.

I feel like a large part of the issue is the divide between younger, newer fandom members and older, traditional ones. Primarily the concept that fan content is not intended for CCs, but for fans specifically. Most 'traditional' and older fandom participants follow this view because that's what fandom is. You get to make cool things, and ramble about different head cannons and ideas with your friends and maybe find other fans who become your friends along the way. Maybe you want to throw these characters you really like into this elaborate superhero AU, or draw them in costume, or explore relationship dynamics because it's fun and you get to ramble with fellow fans. It's called a fandom for a reason!

I'd like to clarify here that this post is not meant to target anyone in particular; it's going off a general trend I've noticed.

There's been an influx of people who create fan works or fanart that seems to be aimed more to gain clout or to be noticed by CCs. It's something they wanted to make, but is leaving the realm of "by fans, for fans," in a sense that it seems to have lost more of that "for fans." The work is then shoved at the CC more aggressively than if it was just for friends.

There's a reason that spaces like AO3 and Tumblr exist with such large fan communities- because the communities are meant for fans. It's all well and good when CC's decide to take a peek or participate in said fan spaces of their own volition. They're the ones making the choice to engage. It's NOT all well and good when someone, as a fan, is trying to make that choice FOR them by shoving fanworks at the CC begging for clarification on what is okay with them. You're not going to help anyone in that way. Fan spaces exist separately from the CC spaces for a reason. The CC is a person behind the screen who you don't know. The character or role they play in the series you watch? You might know just about everything there is to know about them!

If a CC has laid out a boundary that they aren't comfortable with X Y Z, then there's a really, really simple solution here. Don't show it to them.

Don't put it in main tags, don't tag them in the post, hell, block the CC so you know they won't be able to view something that makes them uncomfortable.

There's a lot of what comes across as almost puritanical virtue signaling I've seen lately, where people are talking about CC boundaries everywhere and trying to police fanwork. I will again refer you to the point above. The fanwork is not made for the CC. It is made for fans, and if it is something the CC isn't comfortable with, then don't go posting it where they might regularly look at things (such as main fanart/fanwork tags.)

Yes, there are CCs who are over here. Yes, they look through fan works. This app is primarily a fan-oriented space and it has tags that CC's (or anyone else!!) can block to avoid things they are uncomfortable with. Though at this point the few that are over here either were already gay dot com natives or have basically become one.

I may have gone a bit off my original topic but TL;DR:

KEEP FAN WORKS TO FAN SPACES, AND STOP HARASSING THE CC'S PLEASE. LET THEM EXIST IN PEACE.

[carrottheluvmachine]

Help me move to Scotland to be with the one I love

Hello, my name is Colie and I'm trying to raise the money needed to be able to apply for a partner visa to go and live with my girlfriend in Scotland.

3 years ago, my life was in a hellish place. My step-dad, the greatest person I have ever known, was diagnosed with cancer and put on hospice care. He took me in when I had to leave my old life behind me; when I lost my home in New York and had no where else to turn to. He accepted my 3 elderly cats and cared for them like they were his own. Although he came into my life late, he acted as a father and a friend to me.

In August of 2021, right as my step-dad was diagnosed, I met the love of my life. I wasn't looking for love. I was searching for a writing partner and she came along. 2 weeks later, I told her I thought I might be in love with her, and to my surprise she said she felt the same way.

Steph was there for me as my step-dad grew weaker and weaker. She was the first person I told the morning when he passed away. I helped my mother care for him in his last days. I listened obsessively at the wall between our bedrooms for his last breaths. To this day, I still refuse to go into the spare bedroom where he passed away. I am traumatized, I am broken, but to Steph I am so much more. She was there for me to lean on whenever I needed her. She cheered me up with her silly puns. She made me smile and she reassured me that I was worth loving.

My life has never been easy, but the easiest thing in it has always been Steph. I knew right away that I loved her. I admired her from the first moment I met her. She stuck by my side despite my disabilities, despite my losses, despite my will to end it all.

I have severe anxiety, depression, and bipolar disorder. Because of this, it has never been easy for me to keep down a job. Because I have never been able to hold down a job, I have been living off the good graces of others and cannot afford therapy. Only recently did I find a way to receive remote therapy and I'm working to improve myself.

I have lived a sheltered life since moving down here to Florida. I lost everything I ever knew in New York. I have seen family members only a handful of times in the past 11 years, and I haven't visited any of my friends since. I have lost touch with the people I called my friends back home, and I haven't been able to make new friends down here.

It's a different world here, and I am very fearful as a gay person in a red state. I do not tell anyone that I'm gay because I fear for my life here. Especially after the 2024 election results.

I have become a recluse who has nothing but her online friends, her mother, and her cats. The one shining light in all of my life has been Steph. We were able to meet in the summer of 2023 and I flew to Scotland to be with her. For the first time in my life, I was living and doing what I wanted to do. I was happy. I smiled every single day. I was traveling outside and seeing things I've never seen before, all with the person I loved most in the world. At the end of my trip, Steph turned to me and said "So, what do you think about living here?" and I swear to you, I've never smiled brighter.

The reason I have started this campaign is because of the financial requirements to obtain a visa to move to the UK. The financial requirement is £29k, which is roughly $37k USD. Steph just graduated from university with a degree in screenwriting, but she has yet to find a job in her field. For the time being, she's working in childcare, which she also has a degree in, but it does not make the kind of money needed to sponsor me for a visa.

Our choices were either to make the 29k annually, or to have 31k in savings (equating roughly to 39k USD) so that I could apply for a visa stay support both of us for 2 years before I would have to apply again. Unfortunately, the income earned cannot be combined with any savings to meet the financial requirement. The requirement also does not allow me to contribute with a US income, as the person who is responsible for sponsoring me has to be the one earning the money because I won't be able to work in the UK until I have a spouse visa.

It is incredibly difficult not seeing the one you love day in and day out. My life has never been easy, as I said before, but I feel as if it has been put on pause ever since I was forced out of my home to come and live in Florida. I haven't been living, I have been surviving.

I want to live again, and I want to live with the girl I love.

Please, if you can, donate. Even if it's just a dollar, anything helps. Please help my dreams come true.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

~Colie

Link to gofundme

If you could reblog this post, I would greatly appreciate it!

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

Yeah... I remember seeing the architectural design majors at my uni having this breakdown each semester...

[canibalistic-brownie]

I have to keep reminding myself that none of y'all know me in real life and even if you think what I'm writing is cringe, its not for you, its for me. But h-h-h-h-holy shit is it hard to get out of that mindset of anxiously wondering what other people will think of your writing the entire time.

[tenderizedjestersteak]

LOVE your star wars work immensely your characterization is immaculate and such a joy to read

thank you very much! I had a lot of fun writing the fics I wrote and I hope to have just as much fun writing in the future :]

[usagifuyusummer]

Is this what you meant @jjimene123, on the Timmy Turner and Pink Diamond parallels lmao?

Been thinking abt this quote from end of an era!! It makes me THINK

[chatterbox-juice]

GOVERNMENTS! LEADERSHIPS! WOO!! i hate politics but Jamaa having a flag (last time I checked) suggests that there's some type of government or organization right?? like, yeah the jammatians could've just joined together and said something like "we stand together forever" but no. nah. no thank you. SO, i haven't thought about fully implementing this yet, but i kinda want to? hear me out; the lands of Jamaa have different pseudo-governments and cultures. there's only so much you can do in a game that [was] focused about educating kids the alphas don't count here k? Jamaa Township has a council-based "government;" the alphas make decisions. Township is a jack-of-all-trades thing, anyone from anywhere lives there, so the culture is one big loving doting hug of complete fuckery. Nothing makes sense except the things that do. A leopard runs the news station alongside a penguin. A great horned owl is playing the orchestra on top of the diamond shop. Jam Mart is always empty, a room filled with nothing but pillows exists, it's always crowded and nobody knows personal space even if it gutted them. It just makes sense. Appondale and Kimbara, which are in a territory dispute in my rewrite, both have a vague government structure following the same thing; battle. Appondale and Kimbara both LOVE battle, but in different ways. Appondale, and every other land, by default, also has the alphas that live there in charge (ex. Atlas and his pride, Olive, Biff, etc.) Outside of that "official" government, it's a chieftain system. Tribes in Appondale are somewhat isolated. News gets around, but everyone wants to be left alone outside of events. A gathering for something and other happens, Appondalians (?) celebrate and build camaraderie, and then the camaraderie is basically forgotten about when they retreat to their respective tribes, families, etc. Kimbara, being a smaller land in my rewrite, dabbles in military aristocracy. Protection is NEEDED, and since Kimbara is so bare, warlords are celebrated instead of regular chieftains. Tactical brilliance on the battlefield is what earns you respect. If you have a good sturdy build in Kimbara, use it! They're probably more interconnected because of this. Not necessarily hosting meetings per say, but maybe just little things, like marriages between different tribes. Castes most likely exist in families because of this, we'll see.

Being a warlord's offspring isn't earning you any leverage in Kimbara; blood is as thick as water until it's on the ground. Meritocracy but not really but actually kind of.

In Appondale, blood means everything, to the point of family heads being the ones who call the shots for the land, especially noticeable in Atlas' pride, where obviously the males/head of the family is in charge.

also here's proof about my au's map im transferring it to digital rn

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.

[chemicalarospec]

.

[nagalias-mindscape]

Sis: So.... that SCP fanfic you've been writing...

Me: What about it?

Sis: You said Iceberg's actual name is Julian Evergreen Finn-Finnegan, yeah?

Me: ... Yeah?

Sis: How often does Dr. Bright tease Iceberg with the acronym Jeff?

Me: Icy's the sort of guy to prefer Jeff to both Iceberg and Finn-Finnegan. More confusion, too, with any eavesdroppers.

[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.