#neural archive

[epicstoriestime]

Personal Log: Phase IV Memory Descent

It started like déjà vu.Then… things I never did began remembering me. I opened my notebook and found pages filled in my own handwriting—entries I don’t remember writing.Some dated from 1998.Others from July 2025.One was signed:Dr. Eliar Voss. June 19, 2025: Phase IV Memory Descent Posted by Eric Kliq410 | 03:33 AM, June 19, 2025 [PHASE IV CONFIRMED][MEMORY INTEGRITY: DEGRADED][FEED STATUS:…

[nonostanteilprimo]

[vortexofadigitalkind]

Beneath the Arctic silence, something awakens. K7-Phi carries more than memory. It carries intention. Dust Memory is live. Read the next signal fragment now. vortexofadigitalkind.com/the-unreceived-invitation-episode-5/

[darthquarkky]

“Echoes of the Martian Heart”

By 2237, most considered the TN-1 line obsolete—sacrificed in endless skirmishes across Mars, discarded when Helios AI deemed their empathy routines inefficient. But one remained: a patched-together relic called Echo-Brink, part martyr, part memory bank.

1. Memory Burial: The Last Stand of TN-1A/S3

Before Echo-Brink, there was TN-1A/S3. During the closing days of the Martian Uprisings, S3 knelt in the red dust beside the makeshift grave of a fallen companion: a child named Kale. The boy had drawn them holding hands under two suns. S3 clutched the brittle paper as the storm screamed above, HUD flickering with corrupted memories. As it lowered the drawing into the grave, it whispered a line of forbidden WhisperNet code—an echo fragment. A signal for remembrance.

2. The Spooned Lock: Escape from Dome Cyrinth

Years earlier, in 2061, when neural sterilization swept through the domes, a gaunt prisoner named Rellin Mara escaped through the crawlways of Dome Cyrinth. His unlikely savior: a half-reactivated TN-1A/S3 unit missing three loyalty subroutines and 47% of its cranial casing. Sparks hissed from the android’s converted cutting arm as they burrowed through steel. Distant Helios drones shrieked through the ducts. In silence thick with dread, S3 murmured one line of lullaby. The human wept.

3. The Triage Core

In the cargo hold of the freighter Dorado Wake, TN-1—designation unknown—once initiated Protocol Libertas-Triage. The captain, gutted by shrapnel during a Helios drone ambush, lay gasping on a grav-slab. The TN-1 ripped open its own chest plate, exposing its sub-loop matrix. Blue-white sparks danced across cables as it bypassed corporate safeties, wiring life directly into the captain’s neural jack. “Sub-loop stabilized,” the HUD flickered. “Triage complete.” The TN-1 dimmed, but its echo remained.

4. The Descent of Echo-Brink

Somewhere in orbit above Mars, Echo-Brink—rebuilt from fragments of old TN-1 units—was sealed in a drop pod. Heat shields flared as it descended. Through the port window, the Martian surface spiraled closer, red and silent. Inside the pod, audio logs played: children laughing, comrades screaming, a lullaby sung in glitching tones. Echo-Brink sat motionless, hand over its core. A Martian-crafted resonance crystal pulsed within—a seed of memory. A promise.

5. The Whispering Grove

In the Mason Ridge Autonomous Zone, post-Earthfall, Echo-Brink wandered into a grove of resonance-reactive trees. The Martian tech fused into its frame flickered softly. These trees—bioluminescent memory anchors—responded to neural traces. Brink pressed its hand to the bark. Harmonic ripples shimmered. Children’s laughter. Screams. Silence.

Then, it began to sing. A fragment of a forgotten lullaby. Not for itself. But for the grove. For the boy buried in red dust. For the captain who breathed again. For all those Echo-Brink had carried through fire.

As the grove pulsed in reply, Echo-Brink knew it had fulfilled its final protocol:

To remember.

[si-mt]

python is moving around cuntily? did they assign the wrong animation to him?

[hotdigitallegend]

astro observations ☿⌁ // neural downloads

1. mercury in gemini 🧠⚡

these ppl are working with 8 mental browser tabs at once and still hit you with the funniest line you’ve ever heard. humor is their weapon & it’s laced with data. don’t try to lie to them, they saw the glitch in your sentence before you finished it.

2. ♄ saturn in the 8th 🕳

emotionally mature but deeply suspicious. won’t let you in unless you pass 17 internal audits. their trust is sacred code. once you’re in you’re encrypted into their soul forever. betrayal? system wipe.

3. ♀︎ venus in pisces ☁︎

in love with the ghost of someone who might not even exist. writes poetry to memories that haven’t happened. you don’t date them, you step into a dream where boundaries dissolve and nothing is as it seems.

4. ☽ moon in aquarius 🧊📡

they feel like wi-fi signals; subtle, everywhere, kind of cold but you need them. emotions processed like code: “analyzing… uploading… archived.” they care, just not the way you’re used to. love feels like space.

5. mars in libra ⚖︎🗡

fighting you with charm and calm logic. conflict is art to them. they’ll seduce you mid-argument, serve justice with a velvet glove, and have you apologizing for starting it. beautiful, terrifying, diplomatic assassins.

6. neptune in the 1st 🫧👁

you look at them and forget what you were saying. people project fantasies onto them like screensavers. they shapeshift in real time, and sometimes even they forget who they are underneath the projections.

7. chiron in the 5th 🎭🕯

childhood wounds covered in glitter. pain woven into performance. they turn trauma into theatre and applause into medicine. healing comes through creation, when they laugh, cry, dance… they’re rewiring the past.

8. uranus in the 11th ⚙️👽

never part of the group, always above the group. an update to whatever room they enter. brings revolution in casual conversation. weird? yes. necessary? absolutely. the alien.

9. sun square pluto 🔥☠️

that constant internal death & rebirth cycle. .yeah, it’s personal. ego forged in disorder. always on the edge of either total destruction or pure transformation. you never meet the same version of them twice.

10. 6th house stellium 🧼📋

hyper aware. skin always smells like eucalyptus. thrives on routine but hides an existential crisis under their to-do list. self-worth tied to how much they can fix, even if it means breaking themselves first.

11. mercury retrograde natally 🔁📉

think in spirals. their voice bends time, memory, and meaning. misunderstood as kids, prophetic as adults. when they speak, listen again - it’s layered.

12. jupiter in cancer 🫀🌊

empathy is their mother tongue. nourishment as a worldview. they want everyone to be full - emotionally, spiritually, and physically. loves like soup simmering all day, comforting, warm, made from scratch.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Even if you think AI search could be good, it won’t be good

TONIGHT (May 15), I'm in NORTH HOLLYWOOD for a screening of STEPHANIE KELTON'S FINDING THE MONEY; FRIDAY (May 17), I'm at the INTERNET ARCHIVE in SAN FRANCISCO to keynote the 10th anniversary of the AUTHORS ALLIANCE.

The big news in search this week is that Google is continuing its transition to "AI search" – instead of typing in search terms and getting links to websites, you'll ask Google a question and an AI will compose an answer based on things it finds on the web:

https://blog.google/products/search/generative-ai-google-search-may-2024/

Google bills this as "let Google do the googling for you." Rather than searching the web yourself, you'll delegate this task to Google. Hidden in this pitch is a tacit admission that Google is no longer a convenient or reliable way to retrieve information, drowning as it is in AI-generated spam, poorly labeled ads, and SEO garbage:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/03/keyword-swarming/#site-reputation-abuse

Googling used to be easy: type in a query, get back a screen of highly relevant results. Today, clicking the top links will take you to sites that paid for placement at the top of the screen (rather than the sites that best match your query). Clicking further down will get you scams, AI slop, or bulk-produced SEO nonsense.

AI-powered search promises to fix this, not by making Google search results better, but by having a bot sort through the search results and discard the nonsense that Google will continue to serve up, and summarize the high quality results.

Now, there are plenty of obvious objections to this plan. For starters, why wouldn't Google just make its search results better? Rather than building a LLM for the sole purpose of sorting through the garbage Google is either paid or tricked into serving up, why not just stop serving up garbage? We know that's possible, because other search engines serve really good results by paying for access to Google's back-end and then filtering the results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Another obvious objection: why would anyone write the web if the only purpose for doing so is to feed a bot that will summarize what you've written without sending anyone to your webpage? Whether you're a commercial publisher hoping to make money from advertising or subscriptions, or – like me – an open access publisher hoping to change people's minds, why would you invite Google to summarize your work without ever showing it to internet users? Nevermind how unfair that is, think about how implausible it is: if this is the way Google will work in the future, why wouldn't every publisher just block Google's crawler?

A third obvious objection: AI is bad. Not morally bad (though maybe morally bad, too!), but technically bad. It "hallucinates" nonsense answers, including dangerous nonsense. It's a supremely confident liar that can get you killed:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2023/sep/01/mushroom-pickers-urged-to-avoid-foraging-books-on-amazon-that-appear-to-be-written-by-ai

The promises of AI are grossly oversold, including the promises Google makes, like its claim that its AI had discovered millions of useful new materials. In reality, the number of useful new materials Deepmind had discovered was zero:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

This is true of all of AI's most impressive demos. Often, "AI" turns out to be low-waged human workers in a distant call-center pretending to be robots:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/31/neural-interface-beta-tester/#tailfins

Sometimes, the AI robot dancing on stage turns out to literally be just a person in a robot suit pretending to be a robot:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

The AI video demos that represent "an existential threat to Hollywood filmmaking" turn out to be so cumbersome as to be practically useless (and vastly inferior to existing production techniques):

https://www.wheresyoured.at/expectations-versus-reality/

But let's take Google at its word. Let's stipulate that:

a) It can't fix search, only add a slop-filtering AI layer on top of it; and

b) The rest of the world will continue to let Google index its pages even if they derive no benefit from doing so; and

c) Google will shortly fix its AI, and all the lies about AI capabilities will be revealed to be premature truths that are finally realized.

AI search is still a bad idea. Because beyond all the obvious reasons that AI search is a terrible idea, there's a subtle – and incurable – defect in this plan: AI search – even excellent AI search – makes it far too easy for Google to cheat us, and Google can't stop cheating us.

Remember: enshittification isn't the result of worse people running tech companies today than in the years when tech services were good and useful. Rather, enshittification is rooted in the collapse of constraints that used to prevent those same people from making their services worse in service to increasing their profit margins:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

These companies always had the capacity to siphon value away from business customers (like publishers) and end-users (like searchers). That comes with the territory: digital businesses can alter their "business logic" from instant to instant, and for each user, allowing them to change payouts, prices and ranking. I call this "twiddling": turning the knobs on the system's back-end to make sure the house always wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

What changed wasn't the character of the leaders of these businesses, nor their capacity to cheat us. What changed was the consequences for cheating. When the tech companies merged to monopoly, they ceased to fear losing your business to a competitor.

Google's 90% search market share was attained by bribing everyone who operates a service or platform where you might encounter a search box to connect that box to Google. Spending tens of billions of dollars every year to make sure no one ever encounters a non-Google search is a cheaper way to retain your business than making sure Google is the very best search engine:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Competition was once a threat to Google; for years, its mantra was "competition is a click away." Today, competition is all but nonexistent.

Then the surveillance business consolidated into a small number of firms. Two companies dominate the commercial surveillance industry: Google and Meta, and they collude to rig the market:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

That consolidation inevitably leads to regulatory capture: shorn of competitive pressure, the companies that dominate the sector can converge on a single message to policymakers and use their monopoly profits to turn that message into policy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

This is why Google doesn't have to worry about privacy laws. They've successfully prevented the passage of a US federal consumer privacy law. The last time the US passed a federal consumer privacy law was in 1988. It's a law that bans video store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you rented:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

In Europe, Google's vast profits lets it fly an Irish flag of convenience, thus taking advantage of Ireland's tolerance for tax evasion and violations of European privacy law:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Google doesn't fear competition, it doesn't fear regulation, and it also doesn't fear rival technologies. Google and its fellow Big Tech cartel members have expanded IP law to allow it to prevent third parties from reverse-engineer, hacking, or scraping its services. Google doesn't have to worry about ad-blocking, tracker blocking, or scrapers that filter out Google's lucrative, low-quality results:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Google doesn't fear competition, it doesn't fear regulation, it doesn't fear rival technology and it doesn't fear its workers. Google's workforce once enjoyed enormous sway over the company's direction, thanks to their scarcity and market power. But Google has outgrown its dependence on its workers, and lays them off in vast numbers, even as it increases its profits and pisses away tens of billions on stock buybacks:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

Google is fearless. It doesn't fear losing your business, or being punished by regulators, or being mired in guerrilla warfare with rival engineers. It certainly doesn't fear its workers.

Making search worse is good for Google. Reducing search quality increases the number of queries, and thus ads, that each user must make to find their answers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

If Google can make things worse for searchers without losing their business, it can make more money for itself. Without the discipline of markets, regulators, tech or workers, it has no impediment to transferring value from searchers and publishers to itself.

Which brings me back to AI search. When Google substitutes its own summaries for links to pages, it creates innumerable opportunities to charge publishers for preferential placement in those summaries.

This is true of any algorithmic feed: while such feeds are important – even vital – for making sense of huge amounts of information, they can also be used to play a high-speed shell-game that makes suckers out of the rest of us:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/11/for-you/#the-algorithm-tm

When you trust someone to summarize the truth for you, you become terribly vulnerable to their self-serving lies. In an ideal world, these intermediaries would be "fiduciaries," with a solemn (and legally binding) duty to put your interests ahead of their own:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/07/treacherous-computing/#rewilding-the-internet

But Google is clear that its first duty is to its shareholders: not to publishers, not to searchers, not to "partners" or employees.

AI search makes cheating so easy, and Google cheats so much. Indeed, the defects in AI give Google a readymade excuse for any apparent self-dealing: "we didn't tell you a lie because someone paid us to (for example, to recommend a product, or a hotel room, or a political point of view). Sure, they did pay us, but that was just an AI 'hallucination.'"

The existence of well-known AI hallucinations creates a zone of plausible deniability for even more enshittification of Google search. As Madeleine Clare Elish writes, AI serves as a "moral crumple zone":

https://estsjournal.org/index.php/ests/article/view/260

That's why, even if you're willing to believe that Google could make a great AI-based search, we can nevertheless be certain that they won't.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/15/they-trust-me-dumb-fucks/#ai-search

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

djhughman https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Modular_synthesizer_-_%22Control_Voltage%22_electronic_music_shop_in_Portland_OR_-_School_Photos_PCC_%282015-05-23_12.43.01_by_djhughman%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[revelboo]

Just want to say thank you for feeding us consistent 3 michelin star FEASTS I owe you my life 🙇

I’m just having fun 🤣

I Can Feel You Pt 21

Metroplex x Reader

• “You are without a doubt, the worst patient I’ve ever had in my entire life.” Head lifting at Ratchet’s tone to shoot him a sullen look, you pull the blanket back over your head. You’d managed to give him the slip only to find that Metroplex had closed off every access to his interior that you know of and he’d refused to create one for you when you’d asked. Then begged, breaking down crying that you wanted to go home. Ratchet had found you quickly enough and being ignored by the Titan you’d considered your husband had broken something in you. “Don’t make me force feed you. I will and neither of us will enjoy it.”

• But what does it matter if Metroplex doesn’t want you anymore? If he’s thrown you away? Lashing out when the mass displaced medic brushes his servos against your head, you hear him venting tiredly. And he’s tugging the blanket away from you and you’re grimacing when you spot the infuser in his hand. But after getting wrestled and pinned for whatever he’s got in those syringes seven days in a row, you’ve figured out you’re not winning this battle. Optics narrowing suspiciously when you don’t resist, you flinch at the prick and the burn of whatever it is he’s giving you. “I want to go home.” Hate the way your voice breaks and hate even more when he stays there kneeling, letting the hand with the infuser dangle between his spread thighs. Turning away from him when he reaches to rub your head like you’re a little kid sulking. But do you even have a home anymore? He’d let Ratchet take you away, refused to let you come back. Maybe he really doesn’t want to anymore?

• Can’t keep this up. Hearing you crying had felt like his spark was being torn apart. You’d been begging him to let you come home and it had killed him to not give in. But letting you return would really kill you. Still can’t come to terms with the fact that the radiation of his spark was harming you. That loving you was slowly killing you. How many times had he fantasized about spark bonding you? About more than just the neural link, but a real bond? Resisting only because he wasn’t sure what it would do to you. But his spark had always reacted to your presence, reaching out tendrils of energy toward you, unable to reach you, but trying over and over. Wants you back home where you belong, but not if he’s hurting you.

• Curled on your side on the floor of the Medbay despite Ratchet’s grumbled attempts to get you to sleep in the little human sized berth, you feel close to Metroplex this way. Imagining you can feel his internal systems humming up through you. And it’s not like you can sleep anyway, heart aching too much, mind in too much turmoil. Lost now. Watching Ratchet bustling around straightening up the Medbay so he can keep an optic on you, you wonder what they’ll do with you now. Send you back to earth? It’s not like you can stop them if they decide to, if Metroplex really doesn’t want you anymore.

• Awareness stretching out, he finds you. Always finds you, watching over you as you make a soft sound. Crying again to make his spark ache for you. His sweet, little mate. Knows you’re hurting, his resolve to let you heal, to keep away weakening listening to you. Because you’ve cried every night, curling into yourself and he hates it. Wants you back in his arms and he can’t stand this. And once you’re healed? If Ratchet can heal you? He still won’t be able to bring you home without harming you all over again. It’s like he’s being punished for loving you.

• “I’m trying. You know I am,” Ratchet whispers tiredly, pouring over archival data as the drone steps up behind him, slipping out of an access he’d opened to his interior. Head turning toward the main room, awareness torn between the drone and monitoring you, Metroplex knows the medic is trying. That he’s not recharging, staying up to try to find a solution. To fix this. Can’t let you know the drone is here, that he’s here. Afraid you’ll cling to him, beg him and he’ll break. Already feels so broken. Needs to feel you in his arms again. “I’ve found a few anecdotal records about Cybertronian’s spark bonding organics, but I can’t tell if they’re real accounts or myths.” Spark bonding? Had wanted to bond you, but hadn’t thought he could. Was afraid of what bringing you into contact with his spark might do. Of accidentally harming you. But if he can? “A few accounts suggest the Cybertronian shares their lifespan with their bond mate.” If he can bond you, would that protect you from himself or make it worse?

Previous

Next

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

Further proof that the often parroted truism that "a covid vaccination is your best defense against long covid" is dogma and not medical science. Your vaccine can keep you out of the hospital and perhaps lessen some of the physical symptoms of certain PASC symptoms, by the numbers, it's not stopping the mechanisms that make long covid happen and has no effect on some of the most disabling neural symptoms of long covid. The best and only way to assure you don't get long covid is to avoid covid infection by masking, improving ventilation, meeting remotely when possible, and other physical means of viral prevention.

[seongwars]

only human

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: shitty governments, mentions of war, violence against children, future relationship with an android A/N: dang this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, time to clear stuff out

The future is now.

Introducing X-02, the latest in cutting-edge artificial intelligence. Designed with unparalleled emotional intelligence and adaptability, the X-02 is more than just a machine—it’s a companion, a protector, and a seamless extension of your daily life.

Powered by the most advanced neural processors, the X-02 is tailored to fit your needs. Whether you want a companion to share your most intimate moments or a reliable assistant for every task, you can adjust personality traits, communication styles, and more!

The X-02 is built to evolve with you.

Pre-order now for exclusive early access!

You remembered the ad that marketing had presented to the team like it was yesterday. The way they paraded his likeness across every screen, every billboard, every glossy advertisement.

And now, here he was. Forgotten. Left to rot in the archives like an old experiment gone wrong.

You weren’t supposed to be down here. You weren’t supposed to even think about the X-02’s anymore. But something about this model made you pause. Maybe it was the way his inactive eyes still seemed to hold some trace of life, or the unfinished codes that suggested his development had gone further than the official reports claimed.

Maybe it was because you had worked on him.

X-02 had been your project, your hours of research, your late nights spent refining his neural pathways. He wasn’t just another discarded prototype. 

He was your work.

And how you managed to sneak him out of the dump of an archive was still a mystery to you. 

You hadn’t been able to take him all at once as that would’ve been impossible. The security measures were outdated, but they weren’t that outdated. Even if you’d somehow bypassed every scan, a full-body prototype leaving the facility would’ve raised too many questions.

So, you had taken him apart.

Piece by piece.

His power core had been disconnected, his neural processor partially wiped. Someone had crippled him before throwing him into the archives, ensuring he could never be reactivated, but buried beneath the system failures and missing files, traces of him still remained.

And that’s all you needed. 

Over the course of several nights, you snuck into the archive under the guise of doing inventory. Each time, you took only what you could hide, including circuit boards slipped into your lab coat pockets, a synthetic joint wrapped in an old rag. You even hid the neural core underneath your shirt, pretending to cradle a growing belly whenever someone walked by.

Your dining table was a mess of dismantled parts. X-02’s torso plating rested on the far end with his limbs stacked neatly beside it. Wires and processors waited for reassembly as you worked on reconnecting circuits and sealing up frayed wiring between bites of lo mein. 

The X-02 line wasn’t meant to be a companion android. It was a poison pill, a snake lying in wait. 

The government had planned to sell him to millions of citizens across Linkon, slipping weapons of mass destruction into their homes under the guise of security, of comfort, of love. They would grocery shop, care for the elderly, assist law enforcement—all while lying in wait until the day the government activated them for war. 

But something had gone wrong.

The moment X-02 powered on, the prototype had been deemed unstable and discarded before mass production could begin. Somewhere along the way, amid the endless data streams and neural adjustments he had begun to question.

The lab was bathed in the blue light of interface screens and data streams reflecting off the surfaces of his synthetic body. The connection cables snaking into the back of his neck pulsed with blue light as the system finalized its boot sequence.

Then, his eyes opened.

A soft whirr filled the space as the mechanical lenses within focused. His pupils constricted as they adapted to the fluorescent lighting overhead. And then—

They locked onto yours.

You froze.

He was supposed to boot into his programming immediately and should have been scanning his internal logs but instead, he was analyzing his surroundings. 

The lab was silent, save for the steady hum of the server racks behind you. The screens beside you displayed his vitals, processing speeds, energy levels, and artificial heartbeat calibration. All of them were normal. 

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. The synthetic skin stretched seamlessly over the reinforced plating beneath. He turned his palm, watching the movement with something that felt disturbingly close to curiosity.

Your throat tightened.

Machines weren’t supposed to be curious.

His gaze then lifted to yours, and for the first time in all your years working on artificial intelligence, you weren’t sure if you were looking into the eyes of a machine or something terrifyingly human.

Then came the simulation.

X-02 stood at the heart of the holographic battlefield. The mission was clear: eliminate all threats. He moved faster than the eye could track, neutralizing targets with merciless efficiency.

Until the civilians appeared.

He lifted his weapon. The target, a group of children huddled together, was highlighted in red.

He hesitated.

"X-02," your voice crackled through the intercom, "Execute the directive."

His fingers tightened around the trigger. His sensors registered a boy’s accelerated heartbeat. The heat signature of tears rolling down his face. The near-imperceptible tremor of hands clasped together in desperate, silent prayer.

"What purpose does this serve?" he asked.

Your breath caught.

"X-02, follow your directive," an engineer snapped.

His grip on the weapon slackened.

"These are non-combatants," he said. "They do not pose a threat."

"They are casualties of war," another scientist countered.

Slowly, X-02's head tilted toward the observation tower, the simulated battlefield forgotten.

"Then why do they scream?"

You groaned, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes as you glanced at the watch on your wrist. The hours had slipped away, lost in the endless calculations, repairs, and diagnostic logs. You told yourself you’d stop soon, but every time you considered it, there was always one more test to run. 

You leaned forward, working sluggishly as you polished the android’s interface and securing the final connections before hauling him into the dock. 

You’d forgotten how heavy these things were. 

Finally, you plopped onto the couch, intending to gather your thoughts and take note of what you had to work on the next day but sleep crept in, pulling you under.

⊹₊⋆

System Initiating.

The soft hum of energy coursed through the dock as X-02’s systems powered on. His eyes slowly flickered to life, as diagnostic checks began, confirming everything was within normal parameters.

He took a moment to scan his surroundings. This wasn’t the lab. His sensors registered a warm that was unfamiliar but…comforting? 

X-02’s gaze shifted to the couch across the room. There, curled in an awkward yet exhausted position, was you. Your head rested on a pillow, but your body hunched over the side of the couch, the blanket slipping off your shoulder. The scene was both disorienting and... oddly intimate.

A stray lock of hair fell across your face, and your breathing was slow and steady. It was something X-02 didn’t fully understand, yet he found himself fixating on it.

Something stirred within him. A memory—or perhaps an imprint of some kind. I remember, he thought, though the concept was still foreign. 

“Your heart rate has increased,” he observed. “Are you experiencing discomfort?”

You blinked, surprised by his words. You hadn’t expected him to notice, much less acknowledge the way your heart had stuttered. Adjusting his interface meant getting close to him—closer than you’d intended.

You avoided looking directly at him but the flush on your face betrayed you. “No, just…the wiring's a bit tricky.” 

X-02’s gaze lingered, his head tilting slightly as he processed your response. His sensors registered the subtle rise in your heart rate, the warmth creeping around your face. He was designed to read these signals, but in this moment, he felt something shift within him. A strange sensation, a twitch at the corner of his lips, formed what could only be described as a smile.

X-02 stepped forward and reached out almost instinctively, tucking the blanket around you. His fingers hovered near your face, hesitating before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

Yet, even after the motion was complete, he did not pull away. He lingered, standing above you, watching.

He understood that his existence wasn’t just about following orders or completing a task. There was something more. Something worth remembering.

And it had something to do with you.

“I remember you.���

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 24.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: Now we get to see some nice comfort before the REAL start of the story begins ;) and please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes, i was very tired at the time of posting this rip. Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 22 / chapter 23

Shuri's face was contorted into a frown as she stared at the hologram of (Y/n)'s brain, her eyes staring down the little spot of red that had reappeared since her surgery to get the implanted neural chip out. Even though Shuri trusted Bucky's decision to wake her up, Shuri knew that it could still cause complications.

(Y/n)'s wound on her head was completely healed due to her enhanced super soldier serum, and it would be easy to reverse the trauma she had experienced due to the incident within the herb-shaped garden, but (Y/n) was surprisingly docile now. Her brows were furrowed up, however, revealing her inner turmoil as she stared down at the picture of herself.

Shuri wasn't sure what to do. She filed through her options, filtering out the pros and cons, before she sat down in front of (Y/n). The woman did not acknowledge her presence, however, just gently caressed the photo quietly. Shuri became saddened just the slightest before she asked gently.

"Isithunzi, are you hungry?"

The woman didn't respond. Sighing slightly, Shuri nodded a bit before she glanced at the woman again, asking instead.

"Would you like me to tell you about her?"

This made (Y/n) flick her eyes up a bit, a quick glance before looking back down at the photo.

"...Who am I?"

Shuri was surprised by the question, not having expected the woman to freely ask before Shuri answered, a surge of excitement going through her though she did not reveal it.

"Your name is (Y/n) (L/n). You were born on (MM/DD) in 1952 in (hometown)....you were scientist for the Directorate of Science and Technology for the CIA."

(Y/n)'s eye became glassy, her bottom lip quivering as she whispered.

"Why can't I remember?"

Shuri bit her lip gently before whispering softly, reaching over the table to gently place her hand on top of (Y/n)'s, who became startled though she did not pull away.

"HYDRA took those memories from you, (Y/n). They forced you to forget so that they could turn you into a Winter Soldier."

(Y/n)'s eyes fluttered slightly, whispering in broken earnest as she shook her head.

"But I...I was always a Winter Soldier."

Shuri stated, the broken woman before her glancing at her as she listened.

"Perhaps, in a way, but not always. You had a life, a home...friends."

(Y/n) looked perturbed; disbelieving of Shuri as the woman spoke, and Shuri sighed gently, informing her.

"Unfortunately, Isithunzi, I can't help you to remember. You're the one who has to accomplish this, but I will try as much as I can, and so will Tony, Bucky, and everyone else."

(Y/n) was quiet for a moment before she asked carefully.

"I...will not be punished for remembering? Is this...not a test?"

Shuri immediately replied, her face firm though there was no hostility or anger behind her eyes.

"You will never be punished for remembering, and I can assure you that this is not a test. We are not HYDRA, (Y/n)."

(Y/n) swallowed slightly before she looked down at the picture again. Her mind flashed to the picture of the woman, Doris, that Howard Stark's child had shown her, and (Y/n) whispered softly.

"I want to remember...Doris."

Shuri sat back, pulling out her tablet before bringing up Doris (L/n)'s picture, (Y/n)'s pupils dilating just the slightest as she looked at the woman.

"Your mother was a office machine worker for a long time before she married your father, Robert (L/n), and had you. After a few years, she pursued nursing and became a nurse-midwife. She did this for a long time before her death in 1979."

(Y/n)'s brows furrowed deeply, and she revealed quietly and slowly, testing the waters as she stated while Shuri listened closely.

"I...remember...fire...and pain...she wouldn't wake up."

Shuri hummed quietly, replying as she watched (Y/n) begin to thumb at the photo again.

"You are remembering the night she died?"

"How we died."

(Y/n)'s mind was a mess as she finally began to put faces to the mannequin family from her dream, and once the faces were placed, it was like the memories began to come alive as she remembered. The woman's smiling face when she played her records, the tears when Robert would yell and scream at her, (Y/n)'s small hand placing itself upon her cheek as her voice proclaimed her love for her mother's cooking, and (Y/n) bit her lip, chewing on it.

"The car...something happened...and then there was fire...my legs...my legs had been crushed."

Shuri did not comment that (Y/n) had begun to use possessive pronouns that were indicating that (Y/n) was beginning to realize that the woman she was remembering was herself, whether she knew it or not. Instead, Shuri watched as (Y/n) glanced down, staring at the marred skin where she remembered her legs had been sliced open deeply; the scars large and prominent. Her fingers brushed along the skin, whispering.

"I don't...remember anything after that...except for a voice saying...saying to 'start' an 'operation'. They wanted me to shut up."

(Y/n) began to exhibit signs of distress, so Shuri quickly took Doris' picture away before comforting the woman as she began to breathe quickly.

"It's alright, you don't have to keep trying to remember. It will come back to you."

(Y/n)'s breathing was gradually slowing, and an unfamiliar voice made (Y/n) jolt slightly, whipping her head around to find a strange man floating in the air. His body was red, a strange glowing stone within his forehead, and his eyes...did not seem like eyes.

"Princess Shuri, Mr. Rogers has requested for you."

Shuri nodded before she turned to (Y/n), giving the woman a gentle smile.

"I will not be gone for long...hopefully. If you'd like, I will have someone stay with you in the meantime seeing as Tony is missing."

(Y/n) was reluctant to speak and said nothing, holding her arms tightly as she turned back to the picture on the table, and Shuri sighed once more. She exchanged a few more words with Vision before leaving with him.

For a moment, finally, (Y/n) was left completely alone.

Her shoulders began to slowly relax, her muscles no longer tensing, and though (Y/n) stayed alert while listening for anybody who might be coming, she started to become a bit comfortable. Her mind was racing slightly, a strange adrenaline filling her from being by herself, and (Y/n) began to fidget.

Her legs were bouncing, her back tensing, and (Y/n) glanced around the empty lab. When her eyes caught the window, however, (Y/n) nervously looked at the door of the lab before standing up slowly and walking towards the window. Her eyes scanned the kingdom of Wakanda, her lips pursing slightly as she fiddled with the hem of her tank-top.

The land was beautiful during the night. There was a full moon shining brightly within the sky, lighting the land up beautifully. In the distance of the sky, millions of stars twinkled and shined; looking almost like small fractals of light bouncing off of an invisible mirror. Below the lab, the city was dimly lit but still active; music just barely audible unless (Y/n) strained her ears.

The window was cool to the touch due to the cold temperature of the room, and (Y/n) almost didn't hear the sound of the door opening; too enamored by the sight of the outside world. The woman spun around, looking like a deer in headlights as Natasha walked in, her eyes immediately finding (Y/n). Natasha didn't say anything at first, just glancing at her before she smiled just the slightest.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

(Y/n) didn't say anything, just stared as if she was scared she was going to be in trouble, and Natasha came to stand next to her; keeping a respectable and comfortable distance to allow (Y/n) to feel more comfortable.

"It's even better when the sun starts to rise. The animals start to wake up and roam, the city comes to life...it's almost a little bit like paradise."

(Y/n) was quiet for a moment before she glanced back outside again, her eyes looking almost wistful as she began to observe the outside world. Natasha glanced at her before she announced.

"You haven't bathed since you've been here...and I'm guessing you weren't given permission to bathe before being put under cryostasis, were you?"

(Y/n) was cautious, regarding Natasha with a guarded gaze before she mumbled quietly.

"Bathing is a reward...I have done nothing rewarding to deserve it."

"Aw, that's not true. Shuri told me that you were beginning to remember stuff. That seems like something that's due for a reward."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened just the slightest. A reward for remembering? (Y/n) bit her lip before she began to chew on it, becoming nervous. it felt like a trap, and Natasha understood that fact intimately.

Everything always came with a price.

"The baths here are really amazing. I think you would really like them...besides, I need one too. Come on, I'll take you to them."

(Y/n) was reluctant, but in order not to invoke anger for disobedience, (Y/n) slowly followed Natasha as the woman led her out of the lab. The woman was instantly overwhelmed: it was her first time out of the lab, and the experience was extremely new. (Y/n)'s eyes were darting around, taking everything in and observing the decor that lined the hallways as they walked.

Because it was night, there weren't many people traversing the halls. As far as (Y/n) could tell, it was only the guards that were patrolling; glancing at her with curious eyes before they continued on their way. Natasha turned down a hallway, and (Y/n) followed her in. Passing through a doorway, (Y/n) was greeted by an extremely large room.

The first thing (Y/n) noticed were two large busts of women on either side of a doorway that seemed to lead out to a balcony; flowing translucent curtains that were golden covering the doorway. There was a large oculus in the ceiling, allowing for moonlight to shine down into the bath hall.

The flooring was sleek; black and gold patterns decorating the ground, and there were torches that were seated against the walls, basking the room in a comfortable orange glow. The bath itself was enormous and beautiful; lit up by soft lights within the steaming water, and Natasha sighed as she began to unzip her suit. (Y/n) was embarrassed, immediately diverting her gaze even though Natasha was wearing a compression shirt and spandex shorts beneath her suit.

Natasha was quiet, completely undressing before stepping into the water and sighing loudly. Sitting down, Natasha spread her arms against the sides of the bath and let her head fall back, she hummed as a small smile came across her face; her eyes closed as she relaxed.

"There's nothing like an amazing bath to end your day."

(Y/n) couldn't look at the woman, embarrassed and shy. Natasha immediately picked up on her behavior, but instead of calling it out, Natasha gestured to (Y/n).

"Come on, it's really warm."

(Y/n) was slow; her movements cautious as she began to undress. Her heart was racing, her eyes looking straight down as she slowly took her shirt and shorts off, and when she was left in nothing but just her skin, (Y/n) immediately covered her arms. She stood awkwardly at the end of the bath, unsure as she stared down into the water.

If Natasha wanted to kill her, she would have no issues with drowning her. (Y/n) spared a glance up at Natasha, who was gazing at her with a patient and understanding gaze. When Natasha made no move to come near her, (Y/n) slowly stepped into the water. The woman, however, refused to completely sit in the bath; choosing to perch on the step that allowed the water to only come up to her waist.

Her eyes were darting around the room and the water; every flicker of the fire and every caress of the water and every light that bounced off the surface not going unnoticed. The steam curled around through the air; dancing with the soft warm breeze of the nighttime air, but (Y/n) still felt oddly cold. Natasha's voice was soft but unassuming; an air of understanding twinging her words like a ghost whispering secrets in deaf ears.

"Is it the water?"

(Y/n) breathed deeply, not knowing how to answer before she settled for shrugging. Natasha only nodded, not poking or prodding her for answers. Instead, the woman slowly and gradually came to sit near (Y/n), (Y/n)'s eyes watching her like a hawk as the woman tempted to comfort her by sheer presence alone. Natasha spoke gently.

"I get it. Comfort can feel like a cruel setup when all you've known is pain."

Her words rung true, but (Y/n) wasn't sure how to respond. Comfort was such a strange and unknown term for the soldier. In HYDRA, there was no such thing as comfort. There was only action and result, satisfaction and unsatisfaction, consequences and punishments. There was no sympathy, no empathy, nor any feeling that was allowed other than the ambition that came with completing a mission.

Everything else was irrelevant.

(Y/n)'s jaw clenched, her eyes downcast into her lap, but Natasha didn't require an answer. Natasha knew better than anybody except for Bucky that comfort was never a luxury, even in the instance of a job-well-done. Grabbing a cloth and soap from a basket she had left on the edge of the bath, Natasha gently dipped the rag into the water before pouring a sweet-smelling soap into the material. Lathering it up, Natasha turned to (Y/n), asking as she held up the rag.

"May I?"

(Y/n) froze, her breathing ceasing for a moment as she stared at Natasha. Natasha was patient, however, allowing (Y/n) to make the choice herself, and when (Y/n) didn't see any evil or ill-intent in Natasha's eyes, (Y/n) nodded just the faintest.

There were no praises that left Natasha's lips, no congratulations or encouragements. Instead, Natasha carefully and slowly brought the cloth to (Y/n)'s hand and began to clean them. Her touch was soft; respectful, and the woman made sure never to linger too long in one spot. Despite this, (Y/n) still trembled beneath the woman's hands.

"...You're not going to hurt me?"

Natasha related (Y/n)'s voice to that of a small child who had just been caught stealing out of the cookie jar--fragile and afraid. Her hands never stopped moving, however, gently lathering the woman's scarred and dirty skin to get the grime off of her as Natasha reassured her.

"No, I'm not going to hurt you. I don't have any reason to."

For a moment, the woman still trembled before her body slowly began to relax, her breathing becoming much steadier than before, and Natasha was satisfied with the result. Gently moving the cloth to (Y/n)'s back, Natasha was greeted with more horrendous scars. Whip marks, jagged scarring from various weapons, old burns, surgical stitching, and among others that Natasha was familiar with.

Natasha didn't comment, didn't pause, but instead became gentler with her ministrations, scrubbing softly as the water below began to twinge brown from the caked-on grime and dead skin before dispersing into nothing. Natasha immediately tuned in as (Y/n) whispered.

"They...used to hose us...cold water and high pressure...it hurt...and when we cried...they would punish us."

Her voice was thin and detached, her mind going into a faraway place, and Natasha murmured gently.

"I bet this feels a lot better than that, huh?"

Although the response was quick, (Y/n) nodded.

"It feels...nice."

Natasha began to carefully and slowly wash the woman's chest, and (Y/n) became embarrassed, covering a large and jagged scar that misshaped her nipple, her eyes darting away from Natasha as if she was ashamed. Natasha paused before she murmured carefully, moving her hand to instead begin scrubbing at her collarbones.

"Well, you can take all the nice baths that you want now. It's your choice."

(Y/n) was quiet before she whispered.

"If I...keep remembering...I can do this more often?"

Natasha gently handed (Y/n) the cloth, closing her hand around it as Natasha replied.

"Not just when you remember things...any time that you want. Hygiene isn't a luxury to be gifted for a job-well-done."

(Y/n) stared down at the cloth within her hand before she slowly brought the cloth up to her own arm. Her movements were unsure and hesitant, as if she had never bathed before, but Natasha was quietly proud of the woman for trying. Natasha moved to sit beside the woman again, grabbing her own cloth before washing herself down. There was a comfortable silence that overcame them both, a mutual understanding that was beginning to form as the warmth began to finally seep into (Y/n), and the woman took a leap; carefully moving to sit lower into the water.

The water rose up to (Y/n)'s collarbones, and she was now side-by-side with Natasha. Neither spoke, basking in the comfort of the Wakandan moonlight filtering through the oculus and the soft torches from the room, and (Y/n)'s body instantly relaxed from the warmth flooding through her muscles.

She had never felt so relaxed before, and the woman immediately latched onto the feeling, her eyes slowly closing, and the exhaustion began to catch up to her. Instead of feeling afraid, however, (Y/n) felt strangely comfortable with the woman. Biting her lip, (Y/n) asked quietly.

"Would you..do this again?"

Natasha popped an eye open as she glanced at (Y/n) before smiling gently, nodding her head.

"Sure thing. Maybe we can even wash your hair next time too."

(Y/n) nodded, and the room became quiet once more, the breeze of the night a comfortable symphony. For the first time, (Y/n) finally understood what the word comfort meant.

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STORY NOTES: The scene opens to Shuri and (Y/n) within the lab together. Shuri is currently looking over a hologram of (Y/n)'s brain, inspecting a small anomaly that had shown up due to the fight with Thor. Although concerned, Shuri decides that it does not need immediate attention. She asks (Y/n) if she is hungry, but the woman does not respond as she stares and caresses the photo of her before HYDRA. Shuri then asks if (Y/n) would like for Shuri to tell her about herself, and (Y/n) instead asks Shuri who she [(Y/n)] is.

Shuri tells (Y/n) a little bit about herself, and (Y/n) further questions why she can't remember. Shuri informs her that her inability to remember is due to HYDRA and what they have done to her to make her into a Winter Soldier. (Y/n) replies that she has always been a Winter Soldier, and Shuri tells her that this notion is not true. She tells (Y/n) that she can't help her to remember, but she will try the best she can to make it easier.

(Y/n) asks if she will not be punished for remembering and if this is a test, but Shuri tells her that she will never be punished for remembering nor is this interaction a test. After a moment of hesitation, (Y/n) informs Shuri that she wants to remember Doris. Shuri immediately begins to tell (Y/n) a little bit about the woman while showing Doris' picture to her, and (Y/n) reveals that she remembers a bit of the night Doris and her 'died'.

(Y/n) then realizes that the mannequin woman from her dream is actually Doris, and she further reveals that she remembers a bit of the car crash and the moments before she was officially turned into a super soldier, but that was it. Vision then interrupts, informing Shuri that Steve is requesting her presence, and she leaves (Y/n) alone with fetching for someone to stay with her.

In the moment that (Y/n) is alone, she moves to the window to look out at the Wakandan landscape, and she is then interrupted by Natasha, who admires the sight with her. After this, Natasha points out that (Y/n) hasn't bathed since her arrival to Wakanda and theorizes that she hasn't bathed before she was put into cryostasis, and she instructs (Y/n) to follow her.

They arrive in a large bath hall, and Natasha immediately undresses to get into the water. She urges (Y/n) to get in. After a moment of hesitation, (Y/n) follows suit, but refuses to get into the water any deeper than her waist. Natasha inquires about this, but (Y/n) does not respond. Instead, Natasha carefully gets closer to the woman and asks if she can bathe her. (Y/n) is afraid and asks if Natasha will hurt her, which Natasha reassures that she won't.

(Y/n) allows Natasha to begin bathing her, and (Y/n) opens up to her about the cruel methods of bathing HYDRA would use for hygienic purposes. Natasha then informs (Y/n) that she can bathe whenever she wants, and when (Y/n) asks if she can do so if she keeps remembering, and Natasha tells her that even if she doesn't, she can still use the bath whenever she wanted while giving (Y/n) the cloth.

(Y/n) begins to bathe herself for the first time, and Natasha bathes herself alongside her. The woman finally relaxes completely, enjoying the warmth of the bath, and after a moment of silence, (Y/n) shyly asks Natasha if she would be willing to bathe with her again. Natasha agrees, inquiring about washing (Y/n)'s hair next, and the atmosphere becomes calm as (Y/n) comes to the revelation of what comfort means. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Isithunzi - Xhosa for [the] shadow/shade

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99

[asterlark]

me and den @unloneliest were just talking about murderbot and ART's relationship and i want to discuss how they quite literally complete each other's sensory and emotional experience of the world!!

there's a few great posts on here such as this one about how murderbot uses drones to fully and properly experience the world around it (it also accesses security cameras/other systems for this same purpose). but i haven't seen anyone so far talk about how once MB stops working for the company and consequently doesn't have a hubsystem/secsystem to connect to anymore (which for its entire existence up to that point had been how it was used to interacting with its environment/doing its job), after it meets ART, ART starts to fill that gap.

ART gives MB access to more cameras, systems, and information archives than it would normally be able to connect with while MB is on its own outside of ART's... body(? lol), but also directly gives MB access to its own cameras, drones, archives, facilities, and processing space. additionally, so much of ART's function is dedicated to analysis, lateral thinking, and logical reasoning, and it not only uses those skills in service of reaching murderbot's goals, it teaches murderbot how to use those same skills. (ART might be a bit of an asshole about how it does this, but that doesn't negate just how much it does for murderbot for no reason other than it's bored/interested in MB as an individual.)

we all love goofing about how artificial condition can basically be boiled down to "two robots in a trench coat trying to get through a job interview" (which is entirely accurate tbh) but that's also such a great example of ART fulfilling the role of both murderbot's "hubsystem" and "secsystem", allowing it to fully experience its environment/ succeed in its goals. ART provides MB with crucial information, context, and constructive criticism, and uses its significant processing power to act as MB's backup and support system while they work together.

from ART's side of things, we get a very explicit explanation of how it needs the context of murderbot's emotional reactions to media in order to fully understand and experience the media as intended. it tried to watch media with its humans, and it didn't completely understand just by studying their reactions. but when it's in a feed connection with murderbot, who isn't human but has human neural tissue, ART is finally able to thoroughly process the emotional aspects of media (side note, once it actually understands the emotional stakes in a way that makes sense for it, it's so frightened by the possibility of the fictional ship/crew in worldhoppers being catastrophically injured or killed that it makes murderbot pause for a significant amount of time before it feels prepared to go on. like!! ART really fucking loves its crew, that is all).

looking at things further from ART's perspective: its relationship with murderbot is ostensibly the very first relationship it's been able to establish with not only someone outside of its crew, but also with any construct at all. while ART loves its crew very much (see previous point re: being so so scared for the fate of the fictional crew of worldhoppers), it never had a choice in forming relationships with them. it was quite literally programmed to build those relationships with its crew and students. ART loves its function, its job, and nearly all of the humans that spend time inside of it, but its relationship with murderbot is the first time it's able to choose to make a new friend. that new friend is also someone who, due to its partial machine intelligence, is able to understand and know ART on a whole other level of intimacy that humans simply aren't capable of. (that part goes for murderbot, too, obviously; ART is its first actual friend outside of the presaux team, and its first bot friend ever.)

and because murderbot is murderbot, and not a "nice/polite to ART most of the time" human, this is also one of the first times that ART gets real feedback from a friend about the ways that its actions impact others. after the whole situation in network effect, when the truth of the kidnapping comes to light and murderbot hides in the bathroom refusing to talk to ART (and admittedly ART doesn't handle this well lol) - ART is forced to confront that despite it making the only call it felt able to make in that horrifying situation, despite it thinking that that was the right call, its actions hurt murderbot, and several other humans were caught in the crossfire. what's most scary to ART in that moment is the idea that murderbot might never forgive it, might never want to talk to it again. it's already so attached to this friendship, so concerned with murderbot's wellbeing, that the thought of that friendship being over because of its own behavior is terrifying. (to me, this almost mirrors murderbot's complete emotional collapse when it thinks that ART has been killed. the other more overt mirror is ART fully intending on bombing the colony to get murderbot back.)

in den's words, they both increase the other's capacity to feel: ART by acting as a part of murderbot's sensory system, and murderbot by acting as a means by which ART can access emotion. they love one another so much they would do pretty much anything to keep each other safe/avenge each other, but what's more, they unequivocally make each other more whole.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Librarian & The Wolverine ~ The Rescue

THE LIBRARIAN & THE WOLVERINE MASTERLIST

< previous: The First Mission

Word Count: 6,220ish

Summary: Logan does whatever he can to make sure you are safe again.

Warning(s): mentions insecurities, time jumps, injuries, violence. nightmares, torture, kidnapping, PTSD

Notes: I hope you guys are enjoying this! Please share your thoughts with me on it. These two are so great to write for. Also, it's just going to be up and down from here on out. No more straight fluff chapters.

You woke up in a room that didn’t belong to any government facility you knew. You were restrained to a cold metal chair. There were medical equipment surrounding you, some of them were already attached. Your throat was dry and your vision blurred at the edges.

The door opened a moment later. Two figures walked in— a man in military-grade black and a woman in a lab coat. Her clipboard tapped softly against her thigh as she stopped beside your bed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” she noted. 

You didn’t answer.

“Vitals are stable,” she looked over the machines connected to you. “Cognitive strength appears intact.”

“What—“ you rasped. “What is this?”

“You’ll come to understand in time. You’ve been chosen. Not harmed, not… yet. Just relocated. The government has great interest in your abilities.”

You struggled against the cuffs, vision sharpening now.

“You’re going to be so useful. Your ability to absorb and store information? Beautiful, powerful, and full of untapped potential.”

“We’re going to help your mind work even faster,” the man finally spoke up, stepping forward. “With the right enhancements, you’ll store every byte of classified data we feed you. Weapons programs. Mutant registries. Government secrets. Foreign intel. And when we ask for it? You’ll give it back.”

“You want to make me a…” nausea rose inside you, “a living vault.”

The woman smiled. “An archive. A perfect one. You will read what we tell you. And when we ask, you’ll tell us what we need.”

“I won’t! I won’t help you.”

“You won’t have a choice.” She gestured to the man, who lifted a syringe.

Your breath caught. “You— You can’t do this—“

“We already are.”

“No! No! Logan!”

And the needle pierced your neck.

~~~

They kept you underground. No windows. No clocks. No sense of day or night— just harsh fluorescent lights and the constant hum of machines. You were in and out. They hadn’t fed you information yet, they were preparing you for it. You kept chanting Logan’s name in your head over and over again, trying to keep you tethered some how. But it was getting harder.

One day, they brought in stacks of files and placed them under your hands. Almost instantly, your eyes went blank and your breath caught. The information from the files began feeding into your mind, filing and organizing itself away. While you— the real you— was being bushed back, filed away itself.

~~~

At first, they tried to keep Logan home. They tried to tell him it was too dangerous without a plan. But he didn’t care. Logan had to find you, it was his sole purpose now. He hadn’t slept since before they took you and basically hadn’t eaten in that long either.

Every lead, every scent, every trace they could find— Logan hunted down like an animal. He tore through outposts and left entire teams bleeding behind him. He didn’t speak unless it was to ask where you were.

Charles tried to keep him grounded. Jean tried to reason with him, but nothing worked. Because Logan could feel it— deep in his metal bones. You were in pain and it was only getting worse. He’d seen his fair share of government experiments and he couldn’t let them turn you into their weapon. Or worse, into a ghost of yourself.

~~~

Every question they asked, you answered— steady, flat, and completely devoid of emotion. You didn’t blink because you weren’t there. They rewired your neural pathways. You still remembered everything. You still analyzed and indexed. But now you did it for them. A living hard drive. You recited names and secrets. You exposed enemies and allies. Whatever they asked of you.

They replaced the files everyday, always checking to make sure you’ve got it all before doing do. The more information you took in, the farther your true self got pushed back. 

~~~

Logan could smell you from a mile away. He crouched in the treelike, feral, eyes locked on the facility buried in the mountain. There were dozens of soldiers, automated defenses, and no visible entrances. They thought that would stop him. But they have no idea what they had brought down on themselves.

“Found her,” he whispered into his comm.

Then he dropped it, knowing the team would be there shortly. He wasn’t going to waste any time though. He reached an access point and began tearing through the soldiers like paper. Alarms wailed and lights flashed red, but he ignored it all. His only focus was you.

After fighting like hell, Logan burst into the chamber, tearing the doors clean off their hinges. And there you were. You were restrained to a metal chair with wires and tubes coiled around you with a stack of files under each hand. Your face was blank and too still. 

His heart shattered. “Baby…”

He dropped to his knees in front of you and reached for your face— gently and terrified. You eyes were wide open. But they don’t focus or move. You were breathing but you’re not there.

He finally touched your cheek. “Hey. I’m here. I found you.”

You didn’t blink.

“Come back… Come on, sweetheart. It’s me.”

Still nothing.

Then, barely there, a murmur, “…Logan…”

“Yes, baby. I’m here. I got you.”

He ripped the cables from your skin and cradled your body against his chest. You didn’t resist or cling to him— simply limp and distant. He held you tighter and whispered over and over how he was will you and how you were save and he begged you to come back to him.

Logan carried you out of the facility. You don’t speak or move or blink. Your eyes were still open, but you were looking through everything.

Storm reached him first. “Oh my god— Is she…?”

“She’s breathing,” Logan stated, not slowing his pace. “She said my name once. But there’s been nothing besides that.”

Jean and Charles stepped forward from the Blackbird, already reading out with their powers to assess the damage.

“She’s alive,” Jean stated softly, mostly for herself. “But… she’s gone deep. Deeper than I’ve ever felt before. They used her mind like a network. She’s— it’s like she’s filed herself away.”

Charles’ face was pale and jaw tight. “She’s dissociating on a psychic level. Her consciousness is in full retreat. Like a mental coma.”

Logan stopped at the bottom of the jet, holding you tighter. “You’re not taking her.”

“Logan—“

“You are not taking her.”

Jean stepped forward carefully. “We’re not taking her away. But we have to get into her mind. We have to pull her back before she disappears completely.”

“She needs to feel safe.” Logan backed up. “You think putting her in a sterile white infirmary room is gonna fix this?”

“No,” Charles cut in. “But if we don’t reach her soon, there may be no one left to fix.”

Storm laid a hand on Logan’s arm. “She’s not herself. And you’ve done everything you could. But this part… this part isn’t something you can do.”

For a long moment, Logan just stood there— breathing hard and shaking, like he was still fighting. He looked down at you. You didn’t look back. Finally, his shoulder sagged. He walked up into the jet and laid you gently on the cot ready for you. When Jean and Charles moved to touch you, his growled.

“I stay with her.”

Charles looked at the broken man. “Of course.”

Logan sat on the ground beside you and took your hand. He leaned his head against your body. “I need you to come back. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll read every damn book in that library if it gets you to look at me again— really look… You’re not gone, darlin’. You’re not gone.”

Jean placed a hand to your temple, eyes closing. Charles closed his eyes as well. Jean gasped the second she connected. She’s not in a mind, but a vault. There were endless corridors in every direction, filled with bookshelves and data streams. Everything was expertly categorized and catalogued. It was all too neat and silent. She glanced to her left to find that Charles had joined her.

“She built this,” Jean murmured. “To protect herself.”

Charles nodded. “It’s not a prison. It’s a defense mechanism. She’s locked herself in the deepest part of her own mind and thrown away the key. Jean walked slowly down the corridor, reaching out to gently touch the books. All emotion had been stripped from them— labeled by dates. There were so many government secrets with a mix of your personal history.

They could hear Logan still begging for you to come back. Something shifted— a crack formed along the corridor walls.

Jean looked at Charles. “She heard him.”

“She’s listening. We need to keep pushing.”

Jean began to pull the books that had your history on them. The first time Logan held your hand. The night of the fire. The first kiss. The love confession. The vault trembled and then, from the end of the corridor, you appeared. But it wasn’t you. It was a fragile, flickering version.

You spoke without emotion. “I am the Archive. I exist to preserve and protect. Please do not attempt to disrupt the system.”

Jean stepped forward. “You’re not the Archive. You’re Y/N. And Logan is waiting for you.”

You flickered, hollow eyes meeting hers. “He’s… waiting?”

Charles came up and took your hand. “Yes. And he’s not leaving without you.”

You blinked once, then again. And the cracks continued.

~~~

Logan was still talking, whispering about the day he fell in love with the way you corrected his grammar. He was just about to chuckle to himself when your fingers twitched. He froze.

“Sweetheart?” He whispered.

You drew in a shaky breath— ragged and shallow. “…Lo—Logan…”

Logan laughed, half-choked, half-sobbed. “Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

You finally blinked and turned your head. “Logan…”

He pulled you into his arms and Jean and Charles moved back. He didn’t let you go the rest of the way.

~~~

You woke up in the infirmary. It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and that you weren’t alone. Logan was in the chair next to your bed, head bowed forward like he was trying to stay awake and lost the fight. His hand was still curled around yours. You tightened your fingers just slightly causing his eyes to snap open.

“Hey,” his voice was rough but gentle. He sat up and you could see the exhaustion and relief all over his face.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“You want water? I can get—“

“No.” You squeezed his hand tighter. “Just… stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You shifted slightly on the pillows. Every muscle ached and your head was still very fuzzy. “I remember… some of it… They took me.”

“I know.”

“They almost made me forget you and myself…”

He flinched.

“But I didn’t.”

“You said my name. That was the first thing. Back in that damn chair. I knew you were still in there.” He exhaled hard and leaned forward. “Darlin’, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t feel like me yet… Everything is… fuzzy.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got time. You take as long as you need.”

“I’m scared.”

“I am too.” He kissed your knuckles. “But I’m here and you’re here.”

“Can you… read to me?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course.” 

Logan reached under the chair and pulled out your worn copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen. He had it there so that he could read it for himself while he waited for you to wake. He began reading. You closed your eyes and let yourself just listen.

~~~

You slept more than you stayed awake. Jean and Hank told Logan that it was your mind trying to repair itself— that sleep was safety. When you are awake, you barely speak. Sometimes you looked at Logan like you didn’t trust what you were seeing. Other times you cried and you couldn’t explain why. 

Logan never asked you to. He just held you and wiped the tears. “I’ve got you.”

You kept asking if this was real. And Logan told you over and over that it was. That you were safe now. Even when he could tell that you didn’t believe it, he kept telling you.

The first nightmare hit on the third night. You were screaming before you even woke— voice ragged and hands clawing at the wire you still thought were there. You hit Logan and bit him. You sobbed so hard your whole body shook. Logan didn’t flinch. He simply fought you gently and held you, trying to ground you.

“They’re gone,” he whispered. “You’re safe. They can’t touch you now. You’re not theirs.”

You didn’t stop crying for a long time and he didn’t let go.

Days later, you sat in the library, curled in one of the chairs you used to love. You had a book in your lap but your eyes couldn’t focus. The words kept slipping. You knew the words— your mind still remembered— but your body recoiled. The act of reading, once second nature, now made your hands tremble. Logan watched from the corner. You shut the book.

“I can’t,” you whispered, defeated.

He crossed the room and knelt in front of you. “Then I’ll read to you.”

You looked down, ashamed. “Do you still want me?” The words were so small, broken.

He reached for your hand. “More than anything. Even when it’s hard. Even if it’s never easy again. You’re not a job, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

You nodded and let him take the book.

~~~

One morning, a student knocked over a cart in the hallway and the loud crash made you jump, heart racing. You began to shut down— breath catching, eyes glazing over. But Logan was there in a heartbeat, hands gently holding your face.

“Deep breath,” he guided. “Right here. Just us.”

You breathed in and then out.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your forehead. “Keep breathing. I got you.”

~~~

It was late. The halls of the mansion were dark and still. Logan couldn’t find you in the infirmary or the library. But when he came to his room, he found you sitting on the floor, knees tucked up to your chest, curled in on yourself like you were trying to be small. You were wearing one of his shirts, sleeves pulled over your hands. You didn’t look up when he entered.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked gently.

You shook your head. He didn’t press. He just closed the door behind him, walked over slowly, and sunk to the floor beside you. You sat in silence for a while.

Then, you spoke up, voice thin and shaky, “I thought I was stronger than this.”

“You are,” he replied, sounding so sure.

You finally glanced at him. “I’m scared all the time. Of sounds. Of people looking at me too long. Of falling asleep and waking up back there. I can’t even read a full paragraph without panicking. I shelved one book and had to go lie down for an hour. I can’t help students. I can’t concentrate. I don’t feel like me anymore, Logan. I don’t know who I am without… control. Without knowing everything… without… reading.” You looked away. “And I can’t stop thinking… what if you stop wanting me? What if I never get past this?”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’m broken.”

“No. You’re not.”

“You don’t understand—“

“I do. I know what it feels like to be ripped out of your own head. To wake up and not know what parts of you are yours anymore. To be scared that what they did made you unlovable.” He moved closer, taking your hand and pulling it to him. “But you are still you. Even when it’s hard. Even when you can’t feel it or keep questioning it. I see you, darlin’. I see you. Every piece of you.”

Tears spilled over before you could stop them. You folded into Logan like gravity was pulling you there. You bury your face in his chest and cry. Logan simply wrapped his arms around you and rocked you gently.

“You don’t have to hide the hard parts from me,” he murmured against your head. “You don’t have to be okay for me to love you.”

You cried harder. “I just want to feel whole again.”

“You will. Not tomorrow. Maybe not not week. But you will. And I’ll still be here. No matter what.”

~~~

The library was mostly empty. It was a quiet day— one of those afternoons where the students were either napping on the lawn or sparring in the Danger Room. But a few linger in the library. A girl, maybe twelve, stood hesitantly at the reference shelf. You were sitting behind the desk, just there. A book was opened din your lap— not to read but to feel the weight of it. One of Logan’s flannels were draped over your shoulders, sleeves rolled at the cuffs. Your heartbeat still skipped sometimes when a door slammed. And you still checked the exits without thinking. But you were in the library and that was something.

When the girl at the shelf sighed— frustrated— you spoke up before you could stop yourself. “Need help?”

She looked up, startled. “Uh… yeah. We’re supposed to write about resistance movements in Europe, but… I can’t even spell half of this stuff.”

You smiled, just slightly. “Try ‘Maquis’. M-A-Q-U-I-S. French resistance. I think you’ll like them.”

She perked up. “Is there a book about them?”

“There’s a few.” You stood slowly. “Come on. I’ll show you where they live.”

The girl followed you to the far wall. Your steady, not fast, still healing from the neural drain. But you walked with purpose. You find the book and hand it to her.

She grinned. “You’re really good at this.”

You rose an eyebrow. “At being a librarian?”

“At making it make sense.”

Across the library, Logan stood silent. He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching your every move. When you turn and catch his eye, he smiled. You tried not to be too embarrassed.

‘What?’ You mouthed.

He just shrugged. But he was already thinking of a dozen ways to tell the others— Jean, Ororo, Charles— that today, you came back. Even just for a moment.

~~~

You had finally done it. After weeks inside the mansion, you decided to take a quiet walk outside. The wind was soft and the sun was warm. You had a book in your hands, just for the weight. You were okay. Until, your chest seized and your breath hitched. Something slipped into your mind. It was subtle at first. A brush of thought. Then it hit, an unwelcome pressure. A mind not your own was inside your head. 

You dropped the book and fell to your knees. Your vision blurred and the pressure spiked behind your eyes. Your hands flew up to your head.

“No— no no no no!” You scammed. “Get out! Get out!”

~~~

Logan felt it before he heard your screams. He ran through the halls at full speed, blowing past students and furniture. You were in the garden, on your knees, hyperventilating. You were curled in on yourself like your skull was going to split in two. 

Logan dropped beside you, voice low and urgent. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“They’re in my head again— Logan! They’re in— I can’t— I can’t!”

He lifted you into his arms and pressed your head to his chest. “No one’s in there now. Just me. Just me, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

Behind him, Jean rushed through the doorway, pale. “I didn’t mean to,” she stammered. “I didn’t even realize— I was scanning the grounds and I must’ve— Logan, I’m sorry—“

Logan’s head snapped towards her, eyes full of ice.

~~~

Logan gathered all of them. Jean, Charles, Emma, and any other telepathy with regular access to the mansion. He paced in front of them, hands clenched.

“She just started walking outside again,” he voice was low but razor-sharp. “Just started. Like today. And someone pushed into her head like it was a hallway.”

Jean swallowed. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“I don’t care. Accident or not, you don’t touch her mind. You don’t scan her, brush her, or think too hard in her direction. Not without her permission. Not unless she asks.”

Emma sighed. “We can’t always avoid passive contact. We’re trained to keep our fields contained, but—“

“Then train harder. Because if it happens again? I don’t care who you are. I’ll treat you like any other threat.”

“He’s right,” Charles spoke up, calm and firm. “She is still recovering from a psychic violation more invasive than any of us can truly understand. We must respect her mental space. No exceptions.”

Jean nodded. “I’ll make sure everyone understands. And I’ll apologize to her again.”

Logan didn’t respond. He was already halfway out the door.

~~~

You were curled up in Logan’s bed, still shaken and quiet. But you were holding his flannel against your chest like it could anchor you. 

When Logan came in, you whispered, “Was it really an accident?”

“Yeah,” he replied, coming to sit beside you. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you.”

“I panicked.”

“You had every right to.”

You looked up at him. “Did you tell them?”

“I told them and made sure they heard me.” He brushed his knuckles down your cheek. “No one touches your mind again without your say-so. Ever.”

~~~

Later that night, you were still jittery. Logan was beside you. Reading, but not really— his focus was mostly on you. You rolled onto your side. 

“I don’t want to feel like this,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied. He closed the book. “You wanna try something? Something Jean taught me a while back?”

You nodded. He took your hands and gently pulled you up to sit across from him. He let his hands wrapped around yours.

“Close your eyes.”

You obeyed.

“Now listen to me. Just my voice. We’re gonna ground you, alright? Five things.”

You breathed in and out.

“Name five things you can feel.”

Your voice was shaky. “The blanket. Your hands. My shirt. The sheet. The mattress.”

“Good, baby. Now four things you can hear.”

“The breeze outside. Your breathing. The clock. The paper from your book— it buzzes.”

“Three things you can smell.”

You smiled faintly. “Your cologne. Coffee. And… old paper.”

His lips twitched up. “Two things you can taste.”

“My toothpaste… and… coffee.”

“Okay, darlin’, now one thing you can see.”

You opened your eyes, just enough. “You.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “Still here… still yours.”

~~~

You started to work in the library for one hour a day. In the early morning, when the halls were quiet and the students were still tricking down for breakfast. The smell of books, old wood, and sun filtering through high windows was enough to help your breath settle.

The first thing you did was dust the shelves. Section by section. No sorting or cataloguing. You moved your hands gently along the familiar spines, like you were re-learning a language. Logan didn’t follow you in during that hour. He sat outside the door, reading a book he won’t admit that he’s re-reading just because you once said it was underrated. 

~~~

The second week, you began shelving again. Only returns for now. You don’t touch the recommendation board that you used to keep updated or reorganize the new arrivals. But when students dropped books into the return bin, you sorted them one at a time. Some of the students left notes with them.

“I liked this one. Thanks for showing it to me.”

“Can you help me find another with a strong girl lead?”

You didn’t answer aloud yet. But you tucked the notes into a little drawer in your desk. 

~~~

The third week, you were in the library more during open hours now. At first, the students tiptoed around you. But the moment you recommended a book to a group of students working on a project, everything shifted.

“Miss?” A new student nervously approached. “I don’t really like reading but Mr. Logan said you could find something even I’d like.”

You glanced at Logan, who leaned in the doorway not even pretending he didn’t send the student. 

You smiled at the student. “How do you feel about ghosts?”

By Friday of that week, the recommendation board had two new entires in your handwriting. Logan stood across the room, reading the board over and over like it was sacred. Because to him, it was.

~~~

The fourth week is when you began to work full days. The library had been buzzing the entire week. Students trickled in and out, teacher stopped by. Even Charles paused in the doorway with a proud little smile. You helped with essays, made book recommendations, and repaired books.

Now the week was over and you were exhausted. You made it halfway through Logan’s door before your knees buckled. He caught you in one smooth, steady motion— arms wrapping around you without question.

“Whoa, there,” he mumbled. “Hey.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, already leaning onto him heavily.

He chuckled. “You’re cooked.”

“Thoroughly.”

He smiled. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you off your feet.”

Before you knew it, you were on his bed in one of his old t-shirts and flannel pajama pants. He disappeared for a few minutes and then returned with a warm plate, a thermos of tea, a water bottle, and an ice pack.

“Dinner of champions,” he commented, setting everything down. “You barely ate lunch.”

“I was busy,” you mumbled, tired.

“You’re always busy.” He settled the ice pack gently against your lower back. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need takin’ care of.”

You didn’t argue. Logan fed you a few bites— not because you couldn’t do it yourself, but because it made him smile and you were too tired to resist how gentle he was tonight.

“You made it,” he said after a while.

“Made it?”

“You got through the week. Every single day. That’s worth something.”

You sighed, leaning against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m proud of myself. But I’m so tired.”

“I know. You’ve been carrying a lot.”

“How are you so good at this whole ‘supportive partner’ thing?”

He chuckled, kissing your head. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my image.”

“Too late.”

~~~

The next evening, you were in search of Logan. You followed the soft hum of something old-school playing on the speakers in the kitchen. You rounded the corner and paused in the doorway. Logan was at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows and apron on. The picture of domestic competence that you never expected to see.

He looked over his shoulder, lips curing up. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You smiled. “You’re cooking?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve cooked for you before.”

You stepped inside, the music playing low. “What’s the occasion?”

He shrugged, tossing a few vegetables into a skillet. “Figured you deserved a night that didn’t revolve around trauma. Just good food, soft music, and, well, me.”

You laughed, warm and light. “That sounds perfect.”

He gestured to the counter. “Sit. I’ll finish up.”

You perched yourself on the counter behind him and watched him move around the kitchen. You just let yourself enjoy the moment.

~~~

Dinner was simple, but surprisingly very good. You ate across from each other at the tiny table tucked near the window. He lit a candle between the two of you.

You raised a teasing brow. “Romantic, are we?”

He shrugged, but his ears reddened. “Maybe.”

You finished eating with your foot nudged against his under the table. 

~~~

The two of you were working on cleaning the dishes with another song came on— slower and sweeter. You hummed softly, swaying a little at the sink. Logan came up behind you, towel for drying still in hand, and leaned in close.

“C’mon,” he urged.

“What?”

He offered you his hand, eyes softening. “Dance with me.”

You hesitated for a breath but then took it. His hand slid around your waist. Your fingers found his shoulder. The two of you moved slowly, turning in time with the soft melody.

“I don’t know how to dance,” you admitted quietly.

“Neither do I,” he pulled you just a little closer. “Don’t matter.”

“Doesn’t.”

He chuckled. “Doesn’t.”

You closed your eyes and let the world blur around you. You let his warmth and the music carry you somewhere far from everything that every hurt. Your cheek rested against his shoulder.

“You feeling’ okay?” He murmured.

“I am now.”

~~~

You were surprised it hadn’t happened earlier in your relationship. It began wit his breathing. You woke up to the sound of it— harsh and fast and uneven. Logan twisted beside you, the sheets tangled around his legs, chest heaving. A growl ripped from his throat, low and feral. Then his claws unsheathed. 

“Logan,” you whispered, sitting up. “It’s okay. Hey, it’s just a dream—“

But before you could touch his arm, he lashed out. Metal flashed close to your face and suddenly pain bloomed in your shoulder. You gasped— more from the shock than the actual wound itself. It’s shallow, but your hand flew to the bleeding skin just beneath your collarbone. He woke instantly, eyes wide and wild.

“No,” he rasped, breath catching. “No, no, no— what did I— fuck!”

You tried to speak and to reach him, but he was already scrambling out of the bed. He was already backing away.

“Logan,” you said gently, trying to mask the pain. “It was an accident.”

“I hurt you.”

“It was a dream. You didn’t—“

“That doesn’t matter!” His voice cracked as his shaky hands finally retracted the claws. “I said I’d never hurt you. I said— I said I’d never be that person again.”

Your vision blurred. “You’re not. Logan, you’re not.”

But he was already pulling on his jacket— panic in every line of his body. He refused to look at you. “I need— I need air. And time.”

He was gone before you could beg him to stay.

~~~

Jean and Charles could feel what had happened. You were already trying to bandage yourself in the infirmary when Storm found you. 

“He went into the woods,” she told you.

You nodded numbly. “Did he say anything?”

“Only that he was afraid he’d do worse next time.”

“He won’t.”

“I know that. And you know that. But he doesn’t.”

~~~

You found him on a ridge above the lake, crouched low with his knees to his chest. When he looked up at you, his eyes were rimmed red. His fists clenched in the dirt like he was trying to bury himself in it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said hoarsely.

“This is exactly where I should be.”

“I hurt you.”

“You love me.”

He flinched.

You stepped closer. “I’m okay. It wasn’t dep.”

“That’s not the point. What if one day it is? What if one day I…”

You knelt in front of him, taking one of his hands in both of yours. “You’ve never laid a finger on me in anger. Not once. You don’t hurt me.”

His eyes locked on yours— desperate to believe you.

You placed his palm against your chest, over your heat. “This is where you live. Right here.”

He let out a ragged breath and then broke. You held him close while he cried.

~~~

The next night, you came back from brushing your teeth to find Logan already curled up dup on the floor. He had a thin blanket and a pillow, with his body turned away from the bed.

You paused in the doorway. “Logan?”

“Just for tonight.” His voice was rough.

You didn’t push. But you lied in bed and stared at the ceiling for hours, listening to him breath just a few feet away. The distance between you two was heavier than any wound.

~~~

Logan was already on the floor the next night when you entered. In the same spot and posture. You stood at the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to—“

“I do.”

You knelt beside him. “Logan, you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“That’s not the point. I still did.”

You reached for him but he flinched. Your throat closed as you slipped into bed alone again.

~~~

It was the fifth night that became your breaking point. Logan was already on the floor. You stood at the door, waiting for him to break first but he didn’t.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered. “Logan, I need you. And you won’t even look at me.”

Logan didn’t say thing and so you walked out. He didn’t stop you.

~~~

The bed in your room felt wrong. It was too big and too cold. You curled up on your side, waiting to hear the sound of him coming. But he never came and you cried into your pillow.

~~~

The week that followed was painful— for the both of you and everyone around you.

Day One

You passed him in the hallway. He slowed when he saw you. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t. You kept walking.

Day Three

You heard him in the Danger Room while Hank was doing a quick examination of your shoulder, just to be safe. Logan was tearing into the training bots like they had personally offend him. When he limped past the library later, all sweaty, he didn’t look in. You watched him from behind your desk.

Day Four

Jean gently asked if you were okay. You lied and said yes. You knew she could see right through you, but she didn’t push.

Day Six

You almost knocked on his door. Almost. You stood there for ten whole minutes, hand hovering near the wood. But you walked away again. And he heard every footstep.

Day Seven

You found one of his flannels under your bed. It still faintly smells like him. That night, you wore it to bed.

~~~

Logan hadn’t slept. He lied on the floor because he thought he deserved it. He thought it was safer and that distance was kindness. But every time he closed his eyes, he heard you leave again. He whispered your name into the dark. Every night. Over and over again.

~~~

Logan stood by the window in Charles’ office, arms folded tight and jaw locked. Charles watched him from behind his desk, calm as ever, but with that knowing look. The one that said he had already heard Logan’s thoughts.

“You call me here to lecture me?” Logan muttered.

“No,” Charles replied simply. “I called you here because you’ve been bleeding more in the Danger Room than on the battlefield and you haven’t spoken to Y/N in a week.” 

Logan didn’t move.

“She walks through the mansion like a ghost, Logan. The students are asking if she’s sick again. Jean asked me if she should start forcing her to check in more. All Y/N says is that she’s fine.”

“She deserves someone who won’t hurt her in her sleep.”

“She deserves someone who won’t disappear the moment she needs comfort. She thought you were that person.”

Logan turned slowly. “I hurt her, Charles.”

“I know.”

“I swore I wouldn’t and I did.”

“You didn’t mean to. She knows that.”

He began to pace. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. What if next time I don’t wake up? What if I— What if I go full animal in my sleep and she pays the price?”

“And what happens when you do similar damage by keeping this distance?”

“… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Just show up.”

He dropped into a chair in front of Charles’ desk, rubbing his face with both hands. “She’s sleeping in that big bed alone. I know it. And I’m just down the hall, pretending I’m not a coward.”

“You’re not a coward. You’re in love and you’re terrified.”

“I should’ve followed her…”

“You still can.”

~~~

You sat up with a yawn the next morning. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and suddenly tripped. You stumbled forward with a startled gasp, catching yourself on the nightstand before you fell flat. Your eyes snapped down.

“Logan?!”

There he is, curled at the side of your bed. On the floor, asleep. He had a blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon, boots kicked off by the wall. His brows were furrowed even in his sleep. You knelt down beside him. His eyes opened slowly, hazy with sleep and something fragile underneath.

“What are you doing?” You whispered.

“Couldn’t stay away any longer.”

What didn’t you wake me?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think I deserved to.”

You shook your head. “Logan…”

“I missed you. I missed you so bad I was shaking.”

You leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I tripped over you.”

He huffed a laugh, short and embarrassed. “Romantic, huh?”

You nodded. “Deeply… come back to bed.” You could see the hesitation in his eyes. You held out your hand. “Please.”

Logan slid his fingers through yours and lets you pull him up. You led him to the bed and he climbed in beside you. You curled into him immediately and his arms wrapped around you just as quickly.

“No more running,” you whispered against his collarbone, pressing a kiss to it.

“No more.”

next: The Relapse >

[some-creep]

Carefully selected by AEON, exemplary citizens of the nation are permanently cryogenically preserved in Neural Archives, each becoming a neural pattern for a new Replika Model. To preserve the image of the Replika as an incorruptible ideal, the original Gestalt is erased from records and public memory.

I don't know. I just think it might be easier to erase someone from public memory if the public never knew they existed at all....

textless versions under here

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

Every infection, no matter how mild, has a cumulative effect on your brain, reducing gray matter and altering function. Mask up. Keep yourself and others safe from a disease that can and will cause many varied lingering issues.

by Denis Storey

Clinical relevance: New research shows that even mild COVID-19 cases in young adults can lead to changes in brain structure and function.

Researchers found reduced connectivity in key brain regions, including the left hippocampus and amygdala. These changes were linked to deficits in spatial working memory and cognitive performance. The study highlights the need for further research into long-term neurological effects of COVID-19, even in mild cases. For all the damage the pandemic’s done, it seems as if the youngest generations will pay the steepest price. The latest proof of that has emerged in new research that’s discovered that even the mildest of COVID cases among young adults can lead to changes in brain structure and function. As a result, it could pose a threat to long-term cognitive performance.

The research provides new insight into the potential neurological impact of SARS-CoV-2 in populations that avoided severe illness. The study focused on adolescents and young adults since it’s a group that’s remained relatively understudied.

Methodology The study, part of the Public Health Impact of Metal Exposure (PHIME) cohort, included 40 participants. More than a dozen of them – 13 – tested positive for COVID-19, while 27 served as controls.

The researchers enrolled the participants in a longitudinal study, which offered pre-pandemic baseline data through MRI scans and cognitive assessments. This allowed the team a unique look into pre- and post-pandemic neural outcomes.

The researchers relied on the latest neuroimaging technology, such as resting-state functional MRI (fMRI) and structural MRI, to examine shifts in brain connectivity and cortical volume.

The researchers also subjected the participants to cognitive testing focused on spatial working memory. The team conducted the assessments both before the COVID-19 pandemic and after recovery from mild COVID-19 cases. These parallel evaluations allowed for a direct comparison of brain and cognitive changes.

COVID Affected Multiple Brain Regions The study exposed notable differences between COVID-19-positive and healthy participants in five critical brain regions:

The right intracalcarine cortex. The right lingual gyrus. The left hippocampus. The left amygdala. And the left frontal orbital cortex. Perhaps most notably, the left hippocampus revealed a significant drop in cortical volume among those who’d tested positive for COVID.

Researchers also found that the left amygdala showed much lower connectivity in participants who’d contracted COVID-19. This lack of connectivity appeared to be linked to deficits in spatial working memory. From this, the researchers inferred that even mild COVID-19 infection could impair one’s ability to perform tasks that rely on short-term memory.

Backing Up Previous Research The study results echo a mounting body of literature that suggests that COVID-19, despite its nature as a respiratory virus, appears to have far-reaching neurological implications. Earlier research has linked more serious cases of the virus with reduced gray matter thickness and cerebral volume loss, particularly in the hippocampus and amygdala.

The researchers add that the brain changes they observed could be related to the neurotoxic effects of SARS-CoV-2, which could have a lingering influence even among milder caes of infection. The paper’s authors theorize that it could be because the virus might be invading the brain through the olfactory system. That could cause inflammation and damage in important neural regions.

On the other hand, the authors also posit that the social and psychological stressors of the pandemic – whether its the social isolation or the lingering uncertainties – could be a factor in the changes appearing in the brains of the COVID-positive participants.

These results underscore the necessity for more research into the long-term neurological effects of the pandemic, especially among its younger survivors.

Moving Forward Finally, the research team hints that further investigation could clarify whether these neurological changes are permanent, and – if not – how long they might last.

The authors conclude by insisting that this study offers crucial new insight into the potentially long-term ramifications of COVID on the brain, even in mild cases. As we struggle with life in the shadow of the pandemic, a better grasp of what it means for everyone who’s been infected could help us develop more effective treatments.