#Change the expiration date

[hostradio]

i'd  like  to  imagine  the  hunter  responsible  for  shooting  al  also  ended  up  in  hell  —  a  fact  that  al  is  FULLY  aware  of,  but  instead  of  killing,  maiming  or  torturing  him  like  one  might  expect,  he  just  shows  up  periodically  to  make  his  life  (  even  more  )  miserable  in  mildly  inconvenient  ways.

[ryansjane]

Did you watch Off's latest interview (both article and video) with GQ magazine where he talks about his career and everything else? I would like to know what you think since you're like the biggest Off stan that I know lol. I got a bit emotional after watching him talk about his retirement and post GMMTV life even though I wish the best for him.

dude you gave me the BIGGEST heart attack lmao I thought off had announced his retirement 😭😭😭 but thankfully he said he's signed a new contract with gmmtv until he's 37, so at least we know he's there for 4 more years 🥰🥰🥰 I always love to listen to off talk, he's such a self-introspective person! it was especially interesting to hear him talk about wanting to do a movie bc yeah, I've been dreaming of a movie for him for years!!! and the fact that he said he actually has gotten offers but felt like the characters didn't fit him 🥺 I hope he gets a character perfect for him & I can see him on the big screen very soon!!!

xxx

[feralsneeze]

Not sneeze just mental health rambling in the tags

[thesaltyace]

Y'all I'm so pleased with myself.

My partner's nephrologist said they need to restrict sodium intake due to their kidney condition, so we're now logging our food in an app to make sure we're doing our best. The app allows us to scan product barcodes which has made the process super easy in most cases.

But we have some food items that are very annoying to remember to scan. These items are typically (1) items bought in bulk and decanted into non-original containers for daily use, such as Costco Olive oil; (2) items that are refrigerated - I hate holding open the fridge door to find and scan items; or (3) items that require additonal prep steps, so we often throw away the packaging long before we remember it needs to be scanned.

I made note over the past few weeks which items we used often but forgot to scan, and decided to put my niche skills to use.

BEHOLD!

A barcode cheat sheet for the fridge door! All it took was copying the originating barcode numbers and creating identical digital version with a free UPC barcode generator tool. And because I'm always a little ✨ extra ✨ I included photographs of each thing to make it visually easy to match what I want to scan. 😊

I also measured the volume that our cups and ladles hold so we can cook and portion easier in the moment, then use the reference sheet later for logging.

It's always such a good feeling to banish small annoyances. 😁

[batsplat]

if you could change the outcome of any 3 motogp races (the outcome of the championship doesn’t change regardless tho) which ones would you chose?

one of those asks that immediately made me forget every single race I've watched in my life. it's a tough one, especially with the championship thing... I'm gonna add another criterion here and say nothing to do related to injury/death

so... I came up with one quite quickly, then got stuck, then came up with a second and got even more stuck. I'm quite reluctant to change any 'plot-relevant races' in the context of specific careers and rivalries, plus I'm ideologically opposed to stealing any win off a non-alien and giving it to an alien. which then kinda left me?? well. stuck. I don't like these picks but well maybe I'll come up with something better at some point

assen 2018: I simply could not come up with a third race so I'll just throw this one in. dovi + valentino really really should have gotten onto the podium in this race, those were extremely podium-worthy performances, it was such a deeply silly incident between the pair of them that took them out of podium contention. also it's still seen as a classic race and... I don't even begrudge the two beneficiaries for their podium, it's just one where the three best riders that day didn't end up on the podium and I would change that!! I don't even really care that much but also look I had a spot to fill. would've enjoyed the rancid podium vibes, it's what a race of that quality deserved

sepang 2018: just deeply annoying? like, I think it was a super impressive performance, the consistent lap times trick from a 78 year old was very neat, it was cute when jorge did unprompted valentino prop for metronome solidarity reasons, it's one of literally two premier class races where valentino crashed out of the lead so I don't even hold it against him. but... well, that one might have been building to a battle between marc and valentino, and it would've been fun to see that! not least because of location + relationship vibes in 2018. I'd change the result in preventing the crash, don't really care who wins after that point - hey, they can crash each other out if they want. I Just Wanted To See It

styria 2020: bit of a niche one but I remember being pissed off by this so I'm going with it - this should have been mir's win without the bloody red flag. now I'm very sorry that maverick was just having an abysmal time in austria, peace and love to him, I'd probably never step foot in the country again after the eight days he had in that country.... but still, his bike attempting to murder him did ruin what really should've been joan's first win. I'm very defensive of mir's win stats and I was supporting the title bid with zero wins agenda once that looked plausible, but now that he's just gotten stuck on one win for quite a few years... well, again, I do think it's kinda iconic but I'd also let him have two. and back then he wasn't even really looking like a title contender and was still going for his FIRST win.... I was feeling very sorry for him so. there

[minglana]

bus ticket sellers i love you <3

[fandoms-spamdom]

Nah cause lemme rant chat lemme rant

[kittlyns]

I've been getting lost in my own head so much lately

[shiniestcrow]

I'm hungry and tired and had a woman get really fucking angry at me today because gift cards expire and she's convinced that they don't

[2dnos]

vareeous HOOCHiE conceptz

[zorkaya-moved]

‘you should have a drink, too.’ (from lyney!) (i'm sending you memes like 2 days late I'M SO SORRY)

@apocryphis

How kind of him to offer her a drink after his Father left, leaving them both to enjoy a couple of drinks and simply enjoy each other's company. Lyney is one of the small number of people who is aware of the snake living in the Akademiya, the actor of all actors who changes her whole identity with a snap of fingers to such a chilling degree you'd think you never knew the reality when interacting with her.

An opportunistic pragmatist with ambition running through her veins since her childhood, an older sister of two demons of the north from Snezhnaya. Well, not like anyone outside of their little village would know that and, perhaps, a couple of Harbingers. Arlecchino certainly doesn't forget to call Sokolova out on her dark reputation of a poisonous snake to her face, even today while Lyney was here. She was so rude about it, too (not that Zarina cared, keeping her self-satisfied and calm smile with a gleam of her golden eyes to showcase the biting capabilities). But why would she leave Lyney with her? Possibly to gain favors, to win trust, or simply because Arlecchino knows there are some similarities between the two of them that can be used for future.

Older twin siblings, that's what they were. Isn't it an entertaining similarity to share? Arlecchino didn't need to mention Victor before them both today either, stating that her brother was doing well. What a bitch, she knows which buttons to push to remind where they both stand: do not underestimate. As if she can allow herself to underestimate the Knave. Zarina almost laughed in the woman's face right with the magician in the room, but held back, instead showing nothing but laid-back and relaxed smile.

When Lyney offers a drink, her golden gaze finds him immediately. He's a smart one, an observant one. He has a bright future in the world down below, but does he wish to continue this path if he doesn't stand on top of the pyramid? She's sure that if not for her ambition, she'd wish for a calmer and sweeter life. Zarina studies Lyney with a blank expression but her smile crawls back on her face as she approaches him with a bit of a playful hum as her hands reach out for the glass offered by the young man.

However, her hand instead of grabbing the glass of wine, she finds herself turning the magician's face to herself. She tilts her head to the side, studying him a bit more with that sharp gaze of hers and a smile that seems a bit too perfect. The magician must always know when to hide their tricks up their sleeves, correct? He must be observant and has questions to her. Arlecchino clearly has big plans for him and she wants to see if she can give him any tricks to keep in his sleeve. Why? Because it'll make everything more fun. He can turn those against her in the future, but so what? It'll make the entertainment more fun. This life of hers will be less dull if there are more competent actors.

Oh, this is going to be fun. She needs more capable pieces on this board.

"You have talent, Lyney. Your Father has such hopes for you," she lets go of his chin, finally taking the glass of wine. Her vision on her hip shines and the magician will see how the glass would become covered with a bit of frost. Chilling her own wine like this, showcasing precise control over her vision. A showcase of power, a showcase of control, a showcase of sharp fangs. Does he not want power? If not, what does he want? Protection of his siblings will require more power, more knowledge, more ambition. "Good job at taking my card now, by the way."

She winks and laughs, patting her now empty pocket.

"Open it and read it," she takes a swing of her glass, not caring about how the red liquid would roll down her chin and then on to her white shirt. It looks like blood in this lighting and her gleaming golden eyes and the scarlet lips don't make the view any less intimidating. As she wipe off the trail off her chin, Zarina chuckless. What he sees is a hedonist, a woman who cares for nothing but her own self-satisfaction. But she's sure he is aware this is another facade, another acting role with a mix of truth hiding in it. They are all in a theater play called life and it's always going to be a toxic drama with tragic twists. In life, villains might as well win unlike in happy fairytales. "Use that invitation to find me next time. Arlecchino left you here with me to ask all the questions that intrigue you. What do you desire? Tell me and I'll let you know how possible it is and how you can achieve it."

The more capable pieces there would be, the more fun the game will be. And the more humanity will succeed in moving forward, away from Archons and the old order.

[clemmietimes]

tbh i don’t really see clementine getting pregnant, like i think she’d be very “uh huh nope” about it after what happened to christa and rebecca and also bc she already raised a kid

[thesaltyace]

Y'all I'm so pleased with myself.

My partner's nephrologist said they need to restrict sodium intake due to their kidney condition, so we're now logging our food in an app to make sure we're doing our best. The app allows us to scan product barcodes which has made the process super easy in most cases.

But we have some food items that are very annoying to remember to scan. These items are typically (1) items bought in bulk and decanted into non-original containers for daily use, such as Costco Olive oil; (2) items that are refrigerated - I hate holding open the fridge door to find and scan items; or (3) items that require additonal prep steps, so we often throw away the packaging long before we remember it needs to be scanned.

I made note over the past few weeks which items we used often but forgot to scan, and decided to put my niche skills to use.

BEHOLD!

A barcode cheat sheet for the fridge door! All it took was copying the originating barcode numbers and creating identical digital version with a free UPC barcode generator tool. And because I'm always a little ✨ extra ✨ I included photographs of each thing to make it visually easy to match what I want to scan. 😊

I also measured the volume that our cups and ladles hold so we can cook and portion easier in the moment, then use the reference sheet later for logging.

It's always such a good feeling to banish small annoyances. 😁

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since. 

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[blairelythere]

I pay $2000 dollars a month to live in a 900 square foot box.

I delivered $120 worth of fast food to an 8 bedroom house in a gated community. In that hour, I earned less than it cost to buy myself a frozen pizza and toilet paper that night.

My account was overdrawn. I was charged $35 for being $2 short.

Didn't have the money to pay for new car tabs when they expired -> $250 dollar ticket.

Rent was submitted by the due date but processed two days after. That was an $180 late fee.

I was discriminatorily fired because my self-harm scars are "triggering to others," and I "abandoned my job" after being harassed about it. Yeah, sorry, you should've stayed in the abusive work environment, bit your lip, and merrily carried on if you didn't wanna be fired. Oh, and also, you don't qualify for unemployment now.

Don't want to have to tell a future employer your dead legal name while job hunting? $200 filing fee, $150 record request, a court hearing, and 3 months of wait time for a name change.

Just reach out to the family that abused you. Reach out to the family that abused you. Reach out to the family that abused you. Reach out to the family that abused you. Reach out to the family that abused you.

Disability payout is awaiting approval. Oh, sorry, the wait time is 6+ months for a response. Yes, we know that you're already legally disabled. Yes, you still have to wait.

Did you miss a credit card payment? Well, shucks, gonna lower that measly score now. Don't worry about how it's a qualifier for apartments, car loans, and mortgages; it certainly won't negatively ripple throughout the rest of your adult life.

I still have my things - my knickknacks and toys. For now. The fact that you haven't sold them is a sign that you simply aren't trying hard enough... did you know that? Times are tough! It's time to sell everything replaceable and irreplaceable. Things are just things, right? You must have nothing left before you truly may have help.

I can't quite capture the feeling I'm feeling.

You must have nothing left.

It's awfully expensive being queer, poor, and alive.

[luveline]

bombshell finds tickets to a russian movie thing sitting in spencer’s desk at work and they’re about to like run out (?) so she presents them to spencer and asks him on a date and pretends that she didn’t just pull them out of spencers desk in that bombshell way

You’re looking for gum. If Spencer were at his desk, you’d politely beg for a stick and he’d give it to you, but he’s not here, so you must search. 

You sit in his seat, slinking down as he does with poor posture, your kitten heels hitting the spine of a book kept under the desk. Your dress’ skirt rises up your thighs, the fabric at your neck pulls, but you have bigger problems. You’re feeling the weird franticness of unspent energy and only a stick of gum is gonna fix you. 

He has a drawer full of things, neatness traded for space. Blue and pink paper clips in an arrowhead shaped box. Push pins of all colours, their box more ordinary. He has a travel book on indigenous North American birds with stamps held between the pages, a plastic bottle cap, train stubs from Quantico to the station outside of his apartment and a bottle of ibuprofen missing half of its contents. 

Your fingers dig around for the familiar shape of a packet of gum, hesitating thoughtfully against the thread of a thicker cardstock. 

You pull a cream envelope from the desk and, perhaps wrongfully, unveil the contents: two tickets to see any Russian flick at the foreign language theatre free of charge (if you buy a large drink). They expire tonight. 

You press them to your chest and spin in Spencer’s chair without any regard for whoever might see you slouching. Across the office with his hair out of his face and a smile bordering lackadaisical stands your favourite. He even has a pencil in hand. He likes to underline things in the books he reads for your benefit. It’s the pencil that decides your next move. 

You stand up, brushing down your nice dress that he seems to like, a black cotton with thin pinstripes settling nicely just above your knees. You check your lipstick in the black reflection of his sleeping monitor, buzzing. 

He’s watching you when you turn back. You hide the tickets behind your hip and begin a light walk to his side, the chug of the printer a constant hum you can feel in your shoes. 

“What’s up?” he asks. 

You tilt your head toward your shoulder ever so slightly. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” He squints. “You’re acting strange.” 

“Suspicious,” you correct. 

“That, too.” 

“How come you let me hold your hand?” 

Spencer doesn’t hide his surprise at your question very well. His eyes turn deer in the headlights, then down to the printer. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

“When we first met, you wouldn’t shake my hand. And that’s okay,” —your smile is loving in the hope that he finds your question as the curiosity it is and not an interrogation— “I’m just wondering what changed.” 

“I was distracted.” He’s talking about the first time you took his hand, the two of you on the way to the office. “You stopped me from being late.” 

“Right, but I should’ve asked and I didn’t. And now we hold hands all the time.” You take a half step back. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, I’m just wondering.”

“Nobody’s held my hand in a really long time. And you’re mostly clean.” 

“Mostly!” you laugh, giving him a guilty smile. “I’m super clean, I just forget how gross door handles are sometimes.”

You have embarrassed him, in a way. It’s really not what you meant to do, not when you’re about to ask him on a date. 

Ever since you started your official position at the BAU, you and Spencer have grown closer, but there’s a difference between flirting because he’s lovely and flirting because you want him to be your boyfriend. (Not that he knows what you want.) You shouldn’t have started with the hand holding thing. 

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you go on a date with me?” You present him with the movie tickets. “Got these, they expire tonight…”

“Are those from my desk?” he asks, taking the tickets from you to look over closely. 

“I’d love to go with you, unless you’re gonna take someone else, which is fine.” You embarrass yourself a little, even though you’re not, hoping it makes up for the hand-holding investigation. “Yeah, they’re from your desk. Sorry. I really wanted a stick of gum, my– my nervous energy is through the roof today.” 

Spencer frowns at you again. “How come?” he asks softly. 

“I don’t know. It just happens sometimes.” 

And that’s nothing you’ve ever admitted to him. Your perfect mask is broken, and Spencer doesn’t look at you any differently. “Do you actually wanna go to the movies?” he asks. 

“Only if I’m not stealing you away from somebody else.” 

“There’s no one else.”

Spencer abruptly turns his attention to the printer, where he collects his copies and shuffles them into a straight, neat pile. 

You recover quickly, though inside your heart is a stuttering mess. “I should hope not,” you say. “Okay. Awesome. I’ll bring hand sanitiser and you can hold my hand through the previews.”