dni folks.

I will block you if you follow me so. Don’t do it x

[wolvify-a]

call me crazy but i moved to a solo blog. same url <3

[wolvify-a]

don't worry, i'm not here to kill you.

she says it like it's nothing. like she isn't crouched in the shadows of your dingy apartment, surrounded by the wreckage of your life —– the scraps of whatever the hell you've managed to hold onto over two-hundred years (and some). you grunt, legs swinging over the side of the bed, the old springs creaking in protest. the city outside is as unforgiving as ever, rain hammering against the window. you've always had a thing for shitty weather. it suits you, matching the tornado raging inside your body. feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, you don't bother with the light. no need. you know the layout, and hell, you know her. been too long since you've had to, though.

"red." her name is rough, a grumble the barely cuts through the air between you. "could've fooled me. last person who said that to me put a bullet through my gut." standing, you feel the weight of your bones dragging you down —– the years have made you slower, but not soft. never that. you haven't survived this long by going soft, not even for a phantom from the past. gaze landing on her, you observe her silhouette near the window. she's got that stillness to her, the kind that only comes from a lifetime of training —– of learning how to kill a person a dozen different ways before they even know what's coming. you taught her some of that. back when you thought it'd make a difference / back when you thought you had anything left to offer anyone.

"if you're not here to kill me, what the hell are you here for?"

[elek7ra]

CAUGHT BETWEEN A SLIGHT GLARE AND AN UPWARD ROLL, her eyes undergo a bit of an uncontrollable flutter, accompanied by a hefty exhale through flared nostrils that's accented quite clearly by the rise and fall of her chest. it's followed by a slight, near unnoticeable shake of her head before she tosses a glance over her right shoulder, between and behind them. no one noticed. no one but her and the bartender, that is: just as he intended. elektra feels for the boy, watching as he scrambles, sweating, to acquiesce what logan has demanded of him —— another thing they have in common: they both know how to get their way. a personality trait that's been the rotten root of more than just a few of their arguments. ❛❛ no need for a show. ❜❜ she makes a mental note to leave a nice tip. palms fall from where they laid on the bar to rest in her lap, and she's studying him again —— their shared gaze something like a standoff —— all brood, difficult to read. she could push further ... but she's smart enough to know when to fold.

❛❛ you don't want to talk? that's fine —— ❜❜ leaning back in her seat, frustration slips to reveal something softer, yet somehow more sinister in nature. ❛❛ after all, dialogue's never been your strong suit, darling. much better with your hands. ❜❜ like pieces on a chess board. and, check. she'd be lying if she said she didn't find pleasure in this game they play: even catches herself giving the line slack on purpose, if only to watch him tug a little harder. ❛❛ as far as thanks goes, ❜❜ scarlet lips pursed, coy grin to mirror his curling the corners. ❛❛ how could i? you haven't even offered me a drink yet. though —— ❜❜

she leans forward now, ever so closer to him, holding his gaze with her own while digits slowly migrate, crossing over into hostile territory. for a moment, it's as though they'll venture somewhere onto his person —— instead, straight past him. she finds the neck of the bottle he's chosen, twisting it around on the countertop to get a better look at the label. ❛❛ might have to venture a few shelves up to suit my taste. ❜❜

[wolvify-a]

you watch her with narrowed eyes, the familiar tug-of-war crackling between you like electricity in the air. she's always been good at this —– knowing how far to push, how to twist the knife without drawing blood. but you're no stranger to the game either, and if she thinks she has the upper hand, she has another thing coming. the bartender's nervous energy ripples through the building, but you barely register it —– your entire focus is honed on elektra. on the way her eyes flutter with that combination of irritation and something else —– something more dangerous, more enticing. it's the game between the two of you. when she leans in, closing the distance, you don't flinch. instead, you mirror her move, inching your head closer to hers until your breath mingles with her —– the scent of her perfume cutting through the lingering smoke and whiskey.

"ain't no show. just business." you rumble, a low dangerous edge in your voice. she's toying with you, like she always does —– seeing how far you can go before you snap. but this time, you're not in the mood to playing the waiting game. "you're right about one thing: talkin' ain't never been my strong suit." the words hang between them, heavy with the unspoken between the lines, before you pull back just enough to reach for the bottle in her hand. fingers close around it, brushing hers for the briefest moment —– enough to send a jolt through you. but instead of snatching it, you leave it in her grasp, eyes glinting with that feralness she knows far too well. "but i ain't one to leave a lady unsatisfied."

a smirk curls at the edges of your mouth, matching the coy grin she's tossing your way. with two taps on the bar surface, the bartender turns around quickly —– as if his life is on the line. (it's not, but you appreciate the energy.) "get her whatever she wants." you don't even glance in his direction as you speak, your gaze remaining latched onto her. maybe it's her, maybe it's the whiskey flowing through your bloodstream, but you lean in closer to her ear —– a snicker leaving your lips. "you could have a lot more than a drink comin' your way. if you're here for that."

[wolvify-a]

Always get tempted to make this into a solo blog but ugh, what will I do when ppl actually follow me LMAO

[notmorbid]

i could live here forever, pt. 1.

dialogue prompts from i could live here forever: a novel by hanna halperin.

don't worry. i'm not here to kill you.

must be nice, having friends to hang out with.

i didn't know things could be this easy.

i started to write you a text, but it was getting really long.

my last name is ___, by the way.

are you going to look me up?

if i google you, am i going to find your mugshot or something?

if you want to join us, we'd love to have you.

you probably have a lot of questions about me.

you're perfect-looking.

lonely is normal for me.

we took ourselves so seriously.

i want to see the world in a way i've never seen it before.

i understand if you want me to leave.

tell me what feels good.

i could stare at you all day.

i feel bad for anyone in the world who isn't us.

i didn't know i deserved to be this happy.

things were better, before ____.

there are certain memories i'd never write down or tell anyone.

i know what happens when you write things down. they change shape.

losing you has never stopped.

where do you go, those times when you leave?

i wasn't a normal daughter. i always knew that.

i've never seen you cry before.

i didn't just agree to a date, did i?

you sound different than i remembered.

i feel better just being with you.

i'd never actually seen that side of you before.

i haven't seen you like this for a long time.

you're big in my heart.

can i take your picture?

what did [name] have that i didn't?

i think they threw me out of here a few times.

i like being out with you.

how do you feel about pda?

what's mine is yours.

you should have woken me up.

i don't fit in here. i never have.

i'm a work in progress. i'm not perfect.

there's this thing between us. this buzzing, electric hum.

i need to be on my own for a while.

it was good running into you.

i've had this in my bag for weeks. now i can finally give it to you.

i looked forward to love more than anything else about growing up.

all i want is to be known completely by someone. to know someone completely.

i had this horrible feeling in my stomach and i got in my car, and i ended up outside your place.

do you want to come in?

[redpooled]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . . supermassive black hole by muse.

@wolvify: sender punches receiver in the mouth.

" if you wanted to kiss me you could have just asked, peanut. " you're bleeding all over your teeth, but he can't see it through the mask; can't see the grin you sport either, big and maybe a little on the other end of sleazy. a nose scrunch — iron mixed with the tonkotsu you had for dinner. fucking bummer, dude.

quickly your arm shoots up to block the next punch, finger held up to serve as your white flag, the time out. you lift the mask with your free hand, just a bit, marred flesh rearing its more than ugly head, and spit crimson onto the dirt. stick your tongue out in a mocking gesture, poke the bear. have your fun. a cough when you pull the leather back down, white flag down, " what'd i do now ? i won't deny it, but for the record i think whatever it was wasn't that bad and you're being dramatic. "

[wolvify-a]

the first thing you notice is the taste of blood —– sharp, metallic, a reminder you're still kicking. you wipe it away with the back of your hand, feeling the sting of your split lip —– by that point, it's already healed itself. "ain't nothin' dramatic about a claw to the gut, bub." you spit out another glob of blood, watching it splatter onto the dirt like a fucked-up picasso painting. "but if you're lookin' for a kiss, i can give you somethin' a little sweeter." the gap between you closes with a step, the scent of iron and sweat swirling through your the air. there's a wildness in your eyes that matches his, and for a second, you wonder if you're both just two sides of the same fucked-up coin.

but there's no time for that kind of introspection now —– not with wade. not with the way he looks at you, like he's daring you to make the next move underneath the mask. your lips curl into a sneer as you lean in close, just enough he can feel the heat of your breath through the red spandex mask. "actually, i ain't in the mood to taste disappointment tonight." you raise your right hand, fingers flexing, ready to emerge claws if he pushes you just a little far. but instead, you pull back, giving him a rough shove that leaves him stumbling. "you done fuckin' around?"

[wolvify-a]

i told olivia i wanted to talk about logan's sexuality at some point, so i'm going to finally do that before i sleep <3

obviously, logan's entire life has been defined by violence, loss, and just marching through time. his body heals but his mind carries the scars of every single battle, every lost love, and every moment of confusion about who/what he truly is. logan has always been at a constant battle with himself. for a man who's seen so much change, there's always been one constant and it's sense he doesn't fully belong anywhere, not even with himself. and, because of the trauma through his life, he's gotten to a point where he doesn't attempt. his relationships with people have always been super complex — he's loved so many, but it's a kind of love that's overshadowed by guilt and the certainty he'll outlive them lol. it's hard to... really allow his desires to be let out since he's compartmentalized them his whole life?

growing up in the late 19th century, obviously the world wasn't kind to those who strayed from the norms of sexuality. heterosexuality was it, that was that. anything else was to buried away, so when logan first felt stirrings of attraction towards a man, he did what he always did— fought them off. it's easier to throw himself into the next fight, the next war, the next bottle of booze than face the truth. (he's gay.)

i do think as the times changed/the world became more open to being gay, so did he??? albeit, slowly and reluctantly? but i do think for a man who's been alive 200+ years, he would obviously be grateful for that shift in society just from a... breath of fresh air standpoint? THAT BEING SAID, i do not think logan genuinely acts on his attraction until joining the x-men? in those moments between missions, logan would find himself thinking oddly about scott? not just about jean who's definitely always viewed as this focal point of a "triangle", but i think... logan had these confusing thoughts about the way he noticed things about scott? the way his jaw would clench when he's angry, his "pretty boy smile". i don't think logan knew if it was love, lust, or even just fucking friendship since he's never truly had a friend his entire life LMAO.

UM, but yeah, i do think he starts realizing that denying his like... sexuality was denying his very nature LMAO. he just wants to bang sometimes, yanno? and i think, currently the way i write him, he does not care and is most definitely a bisexual poly king hehehehe

[lanwdc]

DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE dir. Shawn Levy (2024)

[elek7ra]

THERE'D BEEN WHISPERS —— of a legend left to rot somewhere out in the desert. elektra didn't believe them; not at first. but if you hear something enough times, spoken with enough conviction, it starts to ring true. even something like this. still —— she had to see it for herself. her own end didn't cross her mind often; not since the first time she'd brushed fingertips with death's frigid hand, only to be brought back thrashing wildly into the land of the living, albeit a little different than before. not quite a ghost, not quite a woman either. if given the chance to go gracefully ——  though ripped open once more, left to bleed out somewhere in the dark on cold asphalt seems more likely —— she'd like to think she'd retire back home. on the cusp of cerulean waters, in the salt air, under a greek sun. she'd given logan's death even less thought. but here? somewhere lush and green seemed more fitting. he looks so out of place in this wasteland; out of place in his own body. but it is him, she could make no mistake about that. both slender palms raise to lower the black fabric that clings to her face from the nose down, to a resting point around her neck; no point in trying to conceal her identity now that he's laid eyes on her. ❛❛ logan —— ❜❜ sickeningly saccharine drawl is accompanied by a 'tsk' and the slow roll of lazurite colored irises: it wasn't exactly a warm welcome, not that she'd expected one. some things don't change. ❛❛ now, that's not any way to greet an old friend, is it? ❜❜

[wolvify-a]

the sound of her voice  —– that half-teasing lilt wrapped around your name like a blade hidden in velvet, hits you harder than you'd like to admit. you've almost forgotten what it feels like to hear your name fall from lips that aren't full of fear or disdain. but it doesn't soften the blow. if anything, it makes it worse —– peeling away another layer of that bastard exterior you've been clinging to like a lifetime. you grit your teeth, a growl rumbling low in your chest as you take her in, standing there like she hasn't aged a day. like the world hasn't bled out all the good, leaving nothing but rot and misery in its place. you're a man without a future, without a past that matters anymore. just a hollow shell filled with regrets and memories that gnaw at your insides like a hungry wolf. and now, here is she, sauntering back into life like some twisted angel of death. "friend?" you spit the word out like it's poison —– something foreign you can't quite wrap your head around. the bitter laugh that follows is more like a bark, harsh and jagged as your insides. "i don't got friends. not anymore." all your friends are six feet under, rotting corpses —– just as you will be soon enough. just as you would like. you take a step closer, the pain in your joints a dull throb you shove to the back of your mind. (the scorching southern heat doesn't help your troubles either, sweat beginning to line across your forehead.) none of this matters, though —– not now. not with her here, looking at you like she's trying to decipher through the years of scars, blood, and turmoil that've piled up between you. "so unless you came here to put me out of my misery, or settle some old score —– turn around and walk away."

[wolvify-a]

Guys if y’all see me writing w myself in the near future, mind ur business. Love y’all x

[wolvify-a]

should i order raising canes to this hotel room

[wolvify-a]

You never thought you’d see @elek7ra again. Certainly not like this — not when the years have crawled across your skin like barbed wire, leaving you a husk of what you used to be. But there she is, cutting through the shadows with the same lethal grace all those years ago. Time has had no claim on her — not like it has you. An attempt is made to hide the limp in your step, but there’s no disguising the truth: the lines etched into your face, the way your breath hitches like a rusty engine, or the fucking ache that’s settled in your bones like an old friend who’s outstayed his welcome. You’re dying, every part of you knows it— from the sluggish beat of your heart to the way your hand trembles as you reach for a cigar you don’t even want anymore. The great Wolverine, dying in El Paso— you’ve heard of worst endings. Though, that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily the ideal way. (Or, the way you had always anticipated.)

“Aw, Jesus—” Your rasp out, voice more gravel than man. Features scrunching in irritation (eyes squinting from newly-blurred vision), your right index finger is pointed in her direction. “Fuck off. Whatever you’re here for: fuck right off, Elektra.”

[wolvify-a]

I love you sir

[wolvify-a]

rewatching logan (2017)

[wolvify-a]

pees again

[wolvify-a]

i love writing 2 starters within the span of fifteen minutes cause i genuinely love writing a character and feel like i get him on a personally deep level

[wolvify-a]

the whiskey burns as it slides down your throat, but it's a welcomed sting. a familiar kind of pain —– sharp, fleeting, and easy to drown in the next glass. perched on a stool at the edge of a dive-bar, eyes narrowed against the dim light, you focus on the low hum of conversation. it's too quiet for your liking. gives you too much time to digest, too much space for memories to claw their way up from the depths. you don't want to think. you're better when you don't. halfway through your third drink, the entrance swings open —– you feel more of the draft than you hear. you don't need to turn around to know who it is. years spent with @ciclopz, you recognize the way the air shifts when it walks into a room —– his aura pulling everyone's focus without even trying. always the leader, even when he doesn't mean to be. "cyke," the word's half-growl, half-greeting / you keep your gaze on your glass, watching the amber liquid ripple as you swirl it around. "figured you'd be too busy playin' hero to come down here." though he doesn't respond right away, you can feel his eyes on you —– that intense, brooding look he gets when something's occupying his mind. something important, something involves saving the world or some other shit you could give a damn about right now. you're tired of the fight —– no, that's a lie. you love a good fight. you're tired of what the fight costs.

"you gonna stand there all night, or you gonna sit your ass down?" you finally glance his way, gaze meeting his —– there's that pull. that undercurrent of tension that's been there longer than either of you would care to admit. "ain't got all night to babysit you, bub."