#100 faces Francis

[fava4]

I recently had an idea to draw 100 emotions of Francis. It took about 1-2 minutes to draw one face, so the drawing looks simple (yes, I'm lazy).

[miroana]

“It is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially” (Tartt, 31).

I am absolutely fascinated by the fame and reverence this quote from the Secret History has achieved. It terrifies me. Let me explain.

Who’s line is this? Oh, yes. Professor Julian Morrow. Julian, in his lecture on how death begets beauty, on how Dionysian madness lends immortality. Julian, who isolates the greek class, buries them in the glories of the past and in their privilege, and submerges them beneath illusions until his students can’t tell right from wrong and real from imagined.

These words are satire. This is NOT a lesson any teacher should impart, and should NOT be beloved and relatable. In one sentence, Donna Tartt summarizes the entire cautionary tale of the novel: the selective, warped, and obsessive view on life the greek class held, born from entitlement and cultivated by Julian, led the students to tear themselves to pieces.

What’s more, the way people quote it all the time makes this line all the more haunting. Widespread parroting of Julian’s teachings only reinforces Donna’s themes: human minds are easily manipulatable, it can be hard to think critically about what you are taught and what you read, and that the easy, self-assured conviction belonging to the reader that, “I, personally, would have behaved differently than Henry, Richard, Francis, Camilla, Charles, and Bunny” is nothing but another illusion.

[emacrow]

The Watchtower found a enormous floating crystallized casket in space. Part 2.

The one idiot to accidentally open the casket was Francis whom just came to work and decided not to check the do not get near tape wrapped around the casket by Constantine who was too busy at the moment to explain why they shouldn't open it.

He wa so getting fired when one of the corpses slowly rose and stretched slowly, cracking a couple joints. It was the middle corpse that was a young boy, who rubbed his close eyes and opened them to reveal glowing lararus green eyes that was enrapturing Francis deeper and deeper as the light kept him staring deeper and deeper until...

Which seem like it was a mere 5 minutes, but unfortunately for Francis to unholy scream as his eyes, nose and ears literally bleed, his mind ruptured beyond belief as he saw the very end of what becomes of the living when they become dead.

Which alerted the justice league immediately to the laboratory section of the watchtower.

Only them to see Francis passed out on the floor, bleeding slowly from his face, and a corpse missing from the casket where the other two remains.

Batman immediately got everyone of on a man-corpse hunt around the watchtower base for 3 hours straight..

Only for Flash to speak through the comms..

"I found him. He in the kitchen." Flash spoke as he watch in slight horror and amazement as he watches this kid eating a enormous amount of unique combination of food mashed together like an unholy yet fascinating dish.

The kid looked much more ravenous then a man dying for thirst in the Gobi desert when flash found him first, literally raiding the fridge, eating every leftover and frozen food items as he almost got flash hand as well if it weren't for his extra fast reflex before getting an idea to distract the once corpse being with a large enough meal to keep him occupied.

Meanwhile danny only took a nice long vacation nap in his casket for a lil 10 days as a break from king work... which would've been about 100 years in another dimension before he gotten a not so good awakening and his dormant caveman reptilian brain went straight to hunt food instinct until his main consciousness wake up later.

[s1m0nth3swag]

More milkman x reader smut but can you do chubby reader?? Please

Yes ofc!

As a chubby guy myself, none of my stories are ever written with a certain body type in mind, BUT obviously, I'm gonna write smth when requested so yeah!

Also I hope its okay that I brought body issues into this because I just think it fit the situation and the idea I had was just immediately "Francis would just be the absolute sweetest when making sure his partner loved themselves as much as he loves them".

Thanks so much for the request, anon!

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Smut, more soft, GN!Reader, Chubby Reader, Francis being just a tiny bit obsessed, established relationship, mentions of insecurity/ body image issues, Francis being a sweetheart and showing Reader that he loves them no matter what ♡♡

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!

Nothing annoyed you more than the days when you would feel like you didn't look good. You stared at the mirror, looking at your body with slight disgust and disappointment. You felt like you were too big in all the wrong places, and you can't help but hate yourself for it. You should work out, eat less, all that. Instead, you threw on a wide hoodie - one that belonged to your boyfriend Francis, hid your legs with loose fitting pants, and snuggled up on the couch, determined to ignore the thoughts you were having.

Francis was at work, so you were alone, and honestly, that wasn't helping one bit. You knew he'd help you, he always said that he loved you no matter what, not for your body but your soul, or something like that, but right now you doubted his words a little.

Once Francis returned, he found you on the couch still. You were focused on some random show you had put on to distract yourself, but he noticed the way you hugged your body uncomfortably. "You okay, love?" He asked, walking over and sitting down on the couch beside you. You nodded solemnly but didn't look at him. He immediately knew what was going on. He sighed, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you onto his lap, cradling you softly. He placed kisses on your cheeks and neck, murmuring softly. "You know I love you, baby.. you're the absolute most perfect being on the planet for me." He tells you, but your insecurities have long taken over. You cling to him desperately, and even though deep down you knew he wasn't lying, you didn't fully trust his words.

After a few minutes of sitting together, Francis telling you that he loved you and peppering your face with kisses, he softly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom - for a simple milkman, Francis was stronger than he looked.

He muttered something along the lines of showing you that he was being honest before pulling the hoodie off of you. You protested, tried to keep the fabric covering your body, but Francis wouldn't let you. He didn't even give you the chance to say something. Instead, he held your hands over your head and placed soft kisses all over your upper body. He paid special attention to the areas he knew you hated most, muttering praises in between each kiss. You were a flustered mess, and though the feelings about your body didn't magically disappear, they definitely weren't your main focus anymore. The way Francis' lips felt against your now feverish skin was almost heavenly, and you swore he was probably an angel sent to you by God just to help you through life. It would explain a lot, actually.

Your boyfriend took his sweet time with you. He didn't pull off your pants before he was 100% sure that you didn't think about your body type anymore. Soft kisses against your thighs, his hand ghosting over the hem of your underwear as you practically begged him to finally take them off. "Promise you aren't thinking lowly of yourself anymore?" He hummed, grinning against your skin. You whined, pouting. "I promise, jus'.. please..?" You muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "Wouldn't be able to deny you any longer anyway." Francis chuckles, sliding your underwear down slowly, making you squirm impatiently. You hated that he was still fully clothed, so you did your best to tug at his shirt, mumbling something about unfairness. "Always so needy.." Your boyfriend hummed, but he gave in to your request, his shirt hitting the ground, his pants following soon after. The only thing separating the two of you were now his boxers - and of course, Francis had to be a dick about taking them off.

"You're so stunning... Do you know that baby?" He purred. "Tell me you know that." His hands slid over your thighs, squeezing lightly as he patiently waits for you to repeat his words. You wanted to protest, but at the same time, you knew he wouldn't let you get off easily. "I know.." You mumble, looking away from him. "Ah-ah. Look at me. Be honest." Francis smiles, placing a kiss against your thigh. You grumbled, looked at him, and repeated your words a little more strongly. "There you go." He hummed in answer, leaning up to press a kiss against your lips.

Francis made a point of giving you praise after every thrust. He refused to go faster since he wanted to make sure you fully understood. It didn't seem to bother him that you almost cried while begging him to move faster. He just kept dragging his hips slowly, mumbling a praise with a shaky voice and pressing kisses onto your cheeks or lips. While sure, it was really sweet, you couldn't help but genuinely want him to be a little rougher. You knew this was soft torture for him as well, since you could feel him twitch inside you, eager to chase after release. Francis only gave in after he had made sure that you knew he really wasn't playing around. He loved you. He didn't want you to feel bad about yourself just because of the way your body looked. You were more than attractive to him, after all.

You whined when he finally thrust into you properly, clenching around him as you gripped onto his back harshly. Francis let out a soft groan, snuggling his face against your neck as he finally allowed both of you to reach the high you had been begging for - and he had denied himself just to make sure you were focused. He didn't even care when he came inside you, too lazy to pull out in time as he pressed wet kisses against your neck.

"Promise you believe me, sweetheart?" He hums, resting against you. "Promise. For now." You chuckled, slightly tired after all that. Francis sighs and pouts, looking at you sternly. "Do I need to start all over again?" He asks, smiling as you shake your head and kiss him. "Just cuddling will do." You mumble against his lips.

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐭.5

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Previously: After years of brutal torture by Francis, Y/N finally escaped, fighting her way out of the lab and fleeing into the dense woods. Each step was a struggle, but she knew she couldn't stop. With the guards on her heels, she disappeared into the shadows, determined to reclaim her life.

This story takes place between the second and third movies (warning: not 100% movie/comic accurate)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x (fem!)Reader

Genre: Angst, revenge, Fanfiction, Marvel

Warnings: Movie Spoilers! Explicit content, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 3640

The slums were from now on her home. Y/n had escaped from the clutches of the facility, but the scars of her past- both mental and physical- were still engraved deeply in her body. The nights were the hardest, when the world around her was quiet and the memories screamed the loudest. She lived in a cramped, old apartment, the flickering neon lights outside her window casting shadows on the walls.

It had been weeks since her escape, weeks of hiding and laying low, blending into the filthiness of the city. Here, she was just another face in the crowd, another soul struggling to survive. But she was different. She could feel the darkness within her, the uncontrollable power that surged through her veins. She had to find a way to control it, to suppress it before it consumed her.

Y/n spent her days looking for information, piecing together bits of knowledge about mutants, about powers like hers. She searched through the back alleys and seedy bars, listening to rumors and whispered conversations. Slowly, she began to understand the nature of her abilities, the twisted gift that had been forced upon her. But understanding was not enough. She needed control.

One night, in a ed bar that reeked of sweat and stale beer, Y/n finally found a lead. She had been sitting at the counter, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey, when she overheard a conversation between two men at the next table. They spoke in low tones, their words slurred from alcohol, but Y/n's ears caught every word.

"Essex House... that place was a nightmare," one of the men muttered, his face half-hidden in the shadows. "They did some real messed up shit there."

The other man, a burly figure with a ashen beard, nodded grimly. "I heard they had a way to control mutants. Some kind of device."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. She leaned closer, pretending to adjust her coat as she listened.

"Yeah, I know a guy who used to work there," the bearded man continued. "Big guy, real quiet. He hangs around here sometimes."

Y/n did not waste any time. She slid over to their table, her movements smooth. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice low and steady.

The men exchanged a glance, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" the bearded man said, gesturing to the empty seat.

Y/n sat down, fixing them with a piercing gaze. "I couldn't help but overhear. You mentioned Essex House. I'm looking for someone who worked there. A guard, maybe?"

The first man, looked her up and down suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Let's just say I'm looking for answers," Y/n replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If you can help me, I'd appreciate it."

The bearded man scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know his name, but he's usually around here. I'd be careful, though. He doesn't like to be bothered."

"Point him out," Y/n she said, her eyes scanning the bar.

The bearded man nodded toward the far corner, where a large figure sat hunched over the bar, nursing a drink. "That's him."

Y/n followed his gaze and saw the man- a huge, muscled frame with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of violence. He was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders hunched over as he downed another shot of whiskey. There was a darkness about him, an aura of danger that warned others to keep their distance.

Y/n thanked the men and made her way toward the bar, her eyes never leaving the figure in the corner. She did not approach him directly, instead choosing to observe him from a distance, waiting for the right moment. 

The man continued to drink heavily, oblivious to the world around him. It was not long before he started to show signs of drunkenness- his movements sloppy, his head nodding as if fighting off sleep.

Now. This was her chance.

Y/n moved swiftly, her steps silent on the worn wooden floor. She slipped behind the man, her hand reaching into her coat to retrieve a small vial of chloroform and a cloth. In one fluid motion, she pressed the cloth over the man's face, her other arm locking around his throat.

The man struggled, his instincts kicking in despite his drunken state, but Y/n was quick and precise. Within seconds, his body went limp, his heavy frame slumping against the bar.

She wasted no time. With the strength born from desperation, Y/n dragged the unconscious man out of the bar, navigating through the back alleys until she reached her hideout.

The basement of an abandoned building, it was cold and damp, the walls lined with old newspapers and broken furniture. She had set up a small, makeshift interrogation room- just a chair and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Y/n tied the man to the chair, securing his wrists and ankles with thick rope. She stood back, her heart pounding as she waited for him to wake up. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, her hands shaking slightly as she paced the room.

Finally, the man moved slightly, his dazed eyes blinking against the harsh light. He groaned, tugging at the ropes before realizing he was restrained. Panic flickered across his face as he looked around, his gaze settling on Y/n, who stood before him with a cold, determined expression.

"What the hell—?" he began, his voice stammered from the lingering effects of the chloroform.

"Shut up," Y/n snapped, stepping closer. "I'm the one asking questions. You're going to answer them."

The man's eyes narrowed, anger replacing his initial fear. "You've got no idea who you're messing with."

"Oh, I think I do," Y/n replied, her voice icy. "You used to work at Essex House. You were a guard there."

The man's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Y/n's patience was wearing thin. She had spent too long hiding, too long searching for answers, to be stonewalled by this brute. She leaned in, her face inches from his, her voice low and menacing.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed. "I know what they did in that place. The experiments, the torture. I know about the children. If you think I'm bluffing, you're sorely mistaken."

The man's boldness stopped for a moment, but he quickly recovered, sneering at her. "You don't know shit."

Her hand moved faster than he could react, striking him hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I said, don't lie to me!" Y/n shouted, her voice trembling with fury. "I know what kind of monster you are. I know what you did to those kids. Now tell me about the device that suppresses mutant powers."

The man spat blood onto the floor, glaring up at her aggressively. "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."

Y/n's fist connected with his jaw again, this time with more force. The man groaned, his head lolling forward as he struggled to stay conscious.

"You have no idea what I've been through," Y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The things I've seen, the pain I've endured. If you think for one second that I won't make you suffer, you're dead wrong. Now, talk."

The man's resolve began to crumble under the weight of her words, the fear returning to his eyes. He took a heavy breath, finally giving in.

"There's a wristband," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "It was designed to suppress mutant powers. But that place... it's gone. Some kid blew it up, the whole building came down."

Y/n's heart raced as she absorbed his words. "Where can I find one?"

The man hesitated, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for a way out. Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"Maybe there's still some in the storage rooms beneath the building. But it's dangerous. The whole place is crawling with security, even now."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. She had what she needed, but the anger still burned within her, the memories of those children haunting her every thought.

"And one more thing," the man added, his voice a broken whisper. "There were others involved in that explosion. A man in a red and black suit... mutants from the X-Men... and some scary guy with a teddy bear."

The mention of the man in the red and black suit made Y/n's blood run cold. Wade. The man responsible for her suffering. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Thank you," she said coldly, before slamming her fist into his face one last time. The man's head snapped back, and he slumped in the chair, unconscious.

"You deserve much more, you little piece of shit," Y/n muttered, her voice thick with disgust. She untied him and dragged him out to a nearby street, leaving him there to be found. She had no use for him anymore.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

The ruins of Essex House stood before Y/n like a tombstone, a monument to the atrocities that had taken place within its walls. The once impressive structure was now a gutted shell, its walls burned and crumbling, overtaken by creeping vines and nature's slow reclamation. The air was thick with the stench of decay and rot, a fitting aura for a place that had been a living nightmare for so many.

Y/n moved silently through the rubble, her senses heightened, every sound increased in the stillness of the night. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long, sinister shadows that danced across the broken ground. 

She had checked out the area earlier, avoiding the main entrances, which were still patrolled by security teams guarding whatever was left in the aftermath of the explosion, a few months ago. She needed to find the storage rooms beneath the building, where the guard had said the wristbands might still be.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked through a craggy opening in the wall, her eyes scanning the darkened interior. The building's skeleton remains were a labyrinth of broken beams and collapsed ceilings, the floors plastered with rubble and shattered glass. Every step was a calculated risk, the floorboards creaking ominously beneath her weight.

Y/n made her way down a long corridor, the walls covered in peeling paint and faded sceneries that had once depicted happy, smiling children- an ironic touch for a place that had been anything but.

Her breath stuck in the throat like there's a blockage as she approached a large door at the end of the corridor, its frame cracked and splintered. The guard's words echoed in her mind, urging her forward. She pushed the door open, and stepped into a vast chamber that had once been a laboratory.

Y/n's breath stopped as her eyes landed on the twisted metal chair in the center of the room. It was unmistakable- a torture device designed to restrain and torment its victims. The cold steel of the torture chair, the searing pain of electric currents coursing through her body. The sight of it brought a wave of nausea crashing over her, memories of her own time in such a chair flooding her mind, the mocking laughter of Francis as he watched her suffer in agony.

Flashback

She was strapped to the chair, her wrists bound with cold, hard metal. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and blood. Francis stood before her, his cold eyes glinting with sadistic glee. He was dressed in his usual black combat gear and white coat, his arms folded as he watched her struggle against the restraints.

"Ready for another round, sweetheart?" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling from the aftershocks of the last session. She had lost count of how many times he had done this to her, how many times he had pushed her to the brink of death, only to pull her back and start again.

"Please... no more," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Francis chuckled, his laughter a cruel, grating sound that echoed in the small room. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he said, reaching for the control panel beside the chair. His fingers danced over the buttons, and a low hum filled the air as the machine powered up.

Y/n's eyes widened in fear as the currents of electricity surged through her body, her muscles spasming uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable, like being ripped apart from the inside. She screamed, the sound tearing from her throat, but there was no one to hear her, no one to save her.

Francis watched with detached amusement, his expression one of mild curiosity. "You know, it's fascinating," he mused, his voice calm and measured. "Watching how much pain a person can endure before they break. You're tougher than most, I'll give you that."

Her vision blurred as the pain reached a crescendo, her mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. But she held on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken. She had to survive, had to escape, no matter what it took.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the currents stopped, and Y/n slumped in the chair, her body limp and exhausted. Francis leaned in close, his face inches from hers.

"Don't worry, darling," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "We'll keep doing this until you learn to behave."

Present

Y/n snapped back to the present, her hands trembling as she stared at the torture chair. The memories were like a vice around her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. But she could not afford to break down now, not when she was so close. She forced herself to move, to search the room for the wristband.

The storage room was hidden behind a steel door, half-buried under rubble. Y/n unlocked it with a crowbar she had found earlier, using all her strength to pull the door free. Inside, she found a small, windowless room lined with shelves. Dust coated everything, the air stale and suffocating. She searched through the shelves, her hands moving frantically as she searched for the device.

Finally, her fingers closed around a small, sleek wristband, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. This was it- the device that could suppress her powers, that could give her the control she so desperately needed.

But as she pulled the wristband from the shelf, a shrill alarm pierced the air, the sound reverberating through the building. Panic surged through Y/n as she realized she had triggered a security system, her heart racing as the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the halls.

She had to get out, and fast.

Y/n bolted from the storage room, clutching the wristband tightly in her hand. She sprinted down the corridor, her mind a blur as she searched for an escape route. The footsteps were getting closer, the shouts of guards filling the air.

She spotted a window at the end of the hall, its glass cracked but still intact. Without hesitation, she launched herself at it, her shoulder slamming into the glass. The window shattered with a deafening crash, and Y/n tumbled through the opening, her body twisting in midair.

The world spun around her as she rolled to her feet, glass shards cutting into her skin. But there was no time to stop, no time to recover her injuries. The guards were right behind her.

Y/n ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she sprinted through the darkened streets. The sounds of pursuit faded into the distance, but she did not stop. She could not stop. Not until she was safe.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she slowed to a halt, her body aching and exhausted. She had made it. She had escaped, and she had the wristband. But as she stood there, alone in the shadows, the memories of Essex House lingered in her mind, a reminder of the horrors she had endured- and the revenge she would soon unleash.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Y/n sat in her dimly lit hideout, the cold, metal wristband clasped tightly in her hand. She had waited for this moment, the promise of control over her powers finally within her grasp. With a deep breath, she slipped the wristband onto her wrist. A series of tiny, almost inaudible clicks signaled its activation. She felt a slight hum of energy ripple through her body, a sensation that was both foreign and strangely comforting.

"Okay, Y/n," she whispered to herself, her voice barely more than a murmur in the silence. "Time to see if this thing really works."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she picked up a small, sharp knife. She took a moment to steel herself before pressing the blade against the palm of her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she drew the knife across her skin, wincing as a thin line of blood welled up. She braced herself for the familiar agony of her powers activating, but to her astonishment, the pain remained localized. The cut did not heal as it usually would.

"It works," she breathed, a mix of relief and awe in her voice. "It actually works."

She wrapped her hand in a bandage, her mind already racing with the possibilities. For the first time in years, she felt like she had a measure of control over her life, over her destiny. She was not just a victim of her circumstances; she could be the master of them.

Over the next two years, Y/n threw herself into training with a passion that bordered on obsession. She perfected her combat skills, mastering various martial arts and weapons. She trained with knives, guns, and swords, each session pushing her limits further. Her hideout became a makeshift dojo, littered with training equipment and weapons of all kinds.

Her reputation in the slums grew as she took on hitman jobs to fund her training. She became a ghost, an unseen force of retribution for those who could not fight back.

One evening, she was approached by a woman with bruised arms and tear-streaked cheeks.

"Please," the woman begged, her voice trembling. "My husband... he beats me. I can't take it anymore. Please, make him stop."

Y/n looked into the woman's eyes, seeing the same helplessness and desperation she had felt so many times before. "What's his name?" she asked quietly.

"Jack. Jack Thompson. He works at the docks," the woman replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n nodded. "Consider it done. He won't hurt you again."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈•

Two years had passed since Y/n had escaped from Francis, two years of relentless training and hard-earned survival. She decided it was time to visit her own grave, a symbolic gesture to honour the person she once was. She made her way to a small flower shop, her mind set on finding the perfect bloom.

As she approached the counter to pay for a single white lily, she saw a woman laughing and chatting with the shopkeeper. The sight made her freeze. It was Vanessa. Alive and well, her smile as bright as ever. Y/n's heart clenched painfully in her chest, pulling her hood that covered her face even more down. She quickly paid for the flower and fled the shop, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger.

She reached her grave, a simple, unadorned headstone with her name etched into the cold marble. The vase next to it was empty.

"I see," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "Forgotten and abandoned, even in death."

She knelt down, placing the lily in the empty vase. "I can't remember my old self," she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. "She truly did die, as well as her trust in you."

Her thoughts turned dark as she slowly stood up. Wade had saved Vanessa, she realized, her mind piecing together the puzzle with cold clarity.

He must have used Cable's time travel device during the Mutant Rehabilitation incident to go back and save her... but he left me to die.

As she turned and walked away from the grave, she could feel a rising tide of hatred surging within her, anger directed at Wade for abandoning her, for choosing Vanessa over her.

Later that evening, Wade approached the same grave. He was dressed in his red and black costume, the weight of his grief and guilt heavy on his shoulders. In his hand, he held a brand-new flower and a polished vase. He had not missed a single visit, always coming back to this lonely, forgotten corner of the cemetery to leave a token of his sorrow and love.

As he knelt down to place the new flower in the vase, he noticed the fresh lily already there, wilting slightly in the cold night air.

"Who...?" Wade muttered to himself, confusion furrowing his brow. He looked around, but the cemetery was empty and silent.

He placed his own flower beside the lily, a pang of sadness piercing his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the grave. "I'm so damn sorry."

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the headstone as if willing it to give him some sort of answer, some sign that she knew he had not given up on her, that he still mourned her every day.

But the silence of the graveyard offered no reunion, only deepened the gap of misunderstanding that was growing between them, unseen and unspoken.

As Y/n made her way back through the slums, her mind was a storm of emotions. She was determined now, fueled by a dark purpose. She had been forgotten, left to rot in the shadows while Wade had moved on, living his best life with Vanessa.

A twisted sense of revenge began to take root in her heart, and she knew that the next time she crossed paths with Wade, it would be on her terms. And when that day came, there would be a reckoning.

[lady0ctavia]

What They'd Do for a First Date (Axis, Allies, & Nordics)

Something very quick because I just really wanted to get this idea out there. Also, I'm spending more and more time on my 2p!Prussia x Reader fic, but I wanted to make sure the rest of y'all are being fed.

So here are my headcanons on where I think a large chunk of the Hetalia boys would do for a first date!

Italy: While Feliciano's down for pretty much anything, he'd want to make sure the first date is something special. As such, he'd plan a nice, romantic dinner for the two of you where he cooks the food.

Germany: Ludwig would want to have the date at his house where you'd bake something together. He'd rather make either cake or bread. But he'd be open to hearing your ideas on what the two of you can bake.

Japan: I can see Kiku taking you to a painting class. Nothing super fancy or advanced, but something small, simple, and fun. Something where the two of you can delve into your creative side.

Prussia: Gilbert would 100% take you to the movies. He'd be down for seeing whatever you wanted to see, though he's more partial to action/adventure films. However, he wouldn't be opposed to horror, as he likes the idea of you getting scared and holding onto him.

Romano: Lovino will take you on a long walk around Rome sightseeing. He'd be pointing out every last bit of architecture you see and would recite a full history of everything. He's also the kind of guy to wanna take you on a boat ride.

America: Two words; amusement park. Alfred will absolutely take you to an amusement park or a state fair where you'd eat all kinds of fried foods, go on all of the rides, and, if it's a state fair, take you to the petting zoo. He'd also stress over planning the perfect kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel where the two of you'd watch the fireworks.

England: A first date with Arthur would be at a bookstore similar to that of Barnes and Noble. He'd want to look at different books with you and then chat about them over a cup of tea at an adjoining cafe.

France: I know it's kinda cliche at this point, but Francis would bring you to a fancy restaurant for a romantic, candle-lit dinner. Preferably in an area of the restaurant that is somewhat secluded. Hey, if it ain't broke don't fix it!

Russia: Ivan would simply want to go for a walk. Nothing big and fancy. He's perfectly content with something quiet and simple. He'd want to just stroll around town and chat about any of your shared likes or hobbies.

China: Maybe this is a little funny, seeing as he's so old, but Yao would take you to a museum. Mainly to constantly fact-check the workers there, as well as the displays. Especially if it's a Chinese museum. He's been around for 4000+ years, honey. He knows more than the people who work there.

Canada: Okay, this can go one of two ways. Matthieu would either take you on a nature walk through the beautiful Canadian woods, or he'd take you to a hockey game. Either way, the night will end with the two of you going in for a kiss, only to get interrupted by Mr. Kumajiro.

Denmark: I know this is gonna sound ridiculous, but Mathias would absolutely take you to the Lego Store. There is no way you can convince me that this man doesn't love Legos. He'd get cute little minifigures made of the two of you.

Sweden: I can see Berwald either being content with sitting at home and drinking hot cocoa, going to a musical performance of some kind, or, dare I say it, going to an IKEA and talking about what pieces of furniture would look the best in his or your living room.

Norway: Lukas would take you out into the woods late in the evening for the two of you to stargaze. He'd point out different constellations and tell you the stories behind them.

Finland: Alright, we all know Tino's a cutie, but don't let that adorable face deceive you. A first date with this man will either end up with him taking you to a heavy metal concert, or taking you out sharpshooting.

[yawujin]

lord forgive me for what i'm about to request--

imagine the allies and axis with a partner who is submisive --

like let's them take the lead asks them for permission and maybe likes wear collar

love your work btw!! <3

alright , finally got to this req 🙏🏽 thank you very much anon <3 here you go !

{ request } allies & axis x submissive! reader 💭 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

type • nsfw content , dom/sub dynamics , they/them pronouns used , usage of collars , usage of a riding crop , light degradation

allies ♥︎

america/alfred f. jones

i see him as more of a sub/bottom, however-i know he also wants to feel like he has power over someone. it's just what he does. so whenever they ask him for permission; he enjoys denying them what they want...whatever they ask of him, america will be sure to make them wait for it. i've said in another one of my hcs posts that he likes building up anticipation. before allowing them any relief, he'll want them to ache for it first.

england/arthur kirkland

OKAY SO i'm sure this would be too harsh for the soft subs but for ones that are really into it, arthur would 100% make them 'properly' beg. he'd want them to use words like 'sir' when they address him and ask for permission from him. so, if they forget to─he'd get a riding crop and use it to spank them until they got it right. he'll gladly collar them, but whenever they have it on, he'll just treat them like a cute little lapdog. he considers getting a leash for them quickly after.

france/francis bonnefoy

he's more than happy to collar them. thing is though, he'll want them to wear it almost all the time. that way, he has easy access to tug on it lightly and pull them in for a kiss (quickly turned makeout session) soon enough, france has them right where he wants them─which is either face up or face down. nevertheless, they're under him. he can't help but to gush over how cute they look in that collar !

canada/matthieu williams

being quite the softie himself, canada will allow them to do most anything. he enjoys telling them what to do and how to do it, guiding their hand with his own to the places he wants them to touch. his favorite thing to do is glide his fingertips across their skin, in the most sensitive of places on their body. once he gets them worked up, he pauses and waits for the begging that immediately follows after. he cannot hide the grin that graces his face when they plead for him and use his name.

russia/ivan braginski

if he didn't call them pet names before, well now he certainly does. ever since he agreed to put a collar on them, he's been calling them cute, yet ever so slightly degrading names. if they want him to take the lead, he has no problem doing just that. sometimes, he'll even grab them by the back of their collar and pull them in close. he'll lean over just to whisper those same names to them , and feel them writhe against him. it brings him great satisfaction to see them in their place beneath him.

china/yao wang

trust me, he has absolutely zero issues with telling them what to do. first off, he's happy that they would trust him enough with such a thing. but with that established, he can get a little crazy. he wants them to do the most just for his entertainment. he enjoys a little tease now and then. do it too often, and he'll want to take them right then and there. that's quite out of character for him , since he likes to anticipate what they'll try next to get a rise out of him. so when they admit that they like him being the one in charge; china starts making them beg more, ask for permission more, plead for him more until he himself can't take it any longer and finally gives in to them. all in all, he likes to deprive himself. then , when he gets hungry enough to indulge in everything he wants to do to them, he jumps at any opportunity they give him.

axis ♥︎

n. italy/feliciano vargas

most of the time , he teases them. he loves to hear their whines, their pleads. he finds it adorable. of course, eventually he'll give in and let them have exactly what they want─but that comes after he's had all his fun with them. they can't be surprised when he starts petting them like a cat once the collar comes on (:3c)

germany/ludwig beilschmidt

as he expected, they want him to take the lead. he guides them with expertise, finding that it's just as simple as directing soldiers in a training session. he manhandles them quite roughly while saying the sweetest of words to them like it's a second nature to him.

japan/kiku honda

as soon as they even suggest the use of a collar, japan's mind wanders to what other things the two could possibly use. of course, he realizes bringing up so many other items with them now could be quite overwhelming. japan is a patient man. speaking of patience, he could probably edge them for hours at a time, and not grow tired of it. how could he? when they're begging and moaning his name like that...

prussia/gilbert beilschmidt

it's like REALLY hard (wink) for him to keep his cool when he sees them in a collar. he finds it extremely hot for some reason so he's trying to hold back. his mind instantly goes to a long lost fantasy of having them as his thrall. and as much as he'd like to treat them like that, he does his best on dominating them without going too hard at first

s. italy/lovino vargas

he especially likes to do that thing where he mocks their tone of voice which they use to beg for him. he laughs whenever he can make them moan, squirm and whine. he plays with their collar as he kisses them, every single kiss leading up to the moment where he finally allows them to finish. sometimes, scenes like that replay in his head when he thinks about them <3

[bilbobagginsomebabez]

so colonization was a crime against humanity first and foremost but it was also a bureaucratic process. they weren't sending out explorers willy nilly; an extremely important arm of this bureaucracy was information access. at the same time that indigenous nations are fighting against genocide and invasion, the european powers are conducting information warfare with each other to better invade and conquer.

their weapons of war were these explorers. that's why the system of cairns and information deposits existed and why it was so profoundly baffling that what cairns were found were empty. that's why there was such a frenzy after there was no word and no record. because a significant part of their job is relaying information back to the imperial core, whether they survive the acquisition or not.

and that is why i think Francis stays.

via this post by @barryhbo (who said it very well)

croziers mission was a colonial one, and while he doesn't mean to harm the inuit or their land, ultimately he and his crew are their undoing. by first killing the shaman therefore throwing the relationship between the humans and the environment off balance, forcing lady silence to take on the role far too soon. and then by killing tuunbaq (which again, is due to goodsir trying to do something good by killing hickey but inadvertantly poisons tuunbaq too) which leads to silence's exile. the triumph of man over nature in tuunbaqs death is devastating for silence, who will face the consequences while the white men won't. everything they do is coloured by imperialism, and imperialism is shown to cause only destruction

he and james speak about this. "what do we tell them about the creature," the crown would put out a high value bounty for it and attract fools who would risk good mens' lives. crozier is profoundly aware that he cannot control what the crown will do with that information once it's in their hands and he does not trust them with it. he's just lived through the top 100 reasons Colonization Bad Actually, watched it devour his own mens' lives, sanity, and humanity, watched it destroy Silna's life, too. he watched them carry their poison across an ocean, in the form of lead, in their racism, in their first instinct being to split from each other, attack and scrounge and watch all others with suspicion and malice. these were their curses that they brought from home with them.

and any amount of information about what happened furthers the aims of the imperial core. how they died, what killed them and where, everything they saw, all of it will be turned around to do this again and again and again. and crozier knows that. so he tells them nothing.

[honeyspotpie]

Whatever whatever writing this down here so it doesn't get buried in my notes app but here are all the animal motifs for the Gutteral Scream members that exist in my head if you even care... I need to properly design them tbh (I have not properly designed any characters across all three seasons):

Tony - Cat

Self explonitory. Cat like pupils, shaggier hair blah blah

Kelsey - Worm (?)

This one I'm unsure of. Chose worms because apples duh but they don't 100% fit her? Anyways still - round shapes, longer strands and/or curls ect... Not apple related but I'm kinda vibing with bloodworms specifically they have an interesting shape to them^^

Francis - Sheep/Lamb

[violently shakes you] Wolf in sheep's clothing... You see the vision... YOU THINK YOU CAUGHT A LAMB BUT BABY I'M THE WOLF !!! /lyr HEAR ME OUT! Beady big eyes and poofy, slightly curly-ish hair... Considering the extra mile of making his eyes and hair more include more HARSH shapes as his arc progresses... Might be a little on the nose but like. He's losing his innocence...

Trudy - Trout

Once again, self explanatory. Smooth face (and overall skin) plus pinkish undertone (since trouts usually have that!). I've seen people draw little fish shapes on her apron and jewelery and that's extremely silly too /pos

Yeah that's all for tonight thank you very much for coming to my ted talk :]

[follow-up-news]

The owner and manager of the cargo ship that caused the Baltimore bridge collapse recklessly cut corners and ignored known electrical problems on the vessel, the Justice Department alleged Wednesday in a lawsuit seeking to recover more than $100 million that the government spent to clear the underwater debris and reopen the city’s port. The lawsuit filed in Maryland provides the most detailed account yet of the cascading series of failures on the Dali that left the vessel’s pilots and crew completely helpless in the face of looming disaster. The Justice Department alleges that mechanical and electrical systems on the massive container ship had been “jury-rigged” and improperly maintained, culminating in a horrific power outage moments before it crashed into a support column on the Francis Scott Key Bridge in March. Six construction workers were killed when the bridge crumbled into the water.

[fountainpenguin]

Riddle watches New Wish - Post #2

Episode begin! Title card gives us Hazel with wings, so I'm liking where this is going. Gives me "Mile In My Shoes" vibes, and this 100% sounds like a first wish a kid would make.

Cosmo and Wanda are on their 4th godkid in a row with damaged teeth (though in Crocker's defense, his changed later). I was going to say "bold move for giving Hazel the same teeth design as Chloe," but I'm pretty sure Chloe just has a chip, not an entire missing one.

omfg HARTMANVERSE HAS A BROWN-EYED CHARACTER!!!! We get them on occasion (I think some of the classmates in "Bunsen Is a Beast" had them, I think Willy Moore and maybe the tall girl?), but they are SO RARE and now we have a MAIN CHARACTER!

Usually, purple or pink is subbed in instead, even for humans (Exhibit Flappy Bob). Oh, this is exciting. This makes my heart happy.

!!! The title card !!! has Cosmo and Wanda with their OG designs! Even though they have new outfits now! That is super clever, and they're starting us off by giving us Hazel in FOP style too, for the card. That's fun.

Let's begin!

Oh, heckin' yes, we're gettin' a townhouse! Or... whatever this building is. I am already excited about writing 'fics about that roof.

Waxing crescent moon! I am already back on my moon obsession. But oh no, they put stars in it.

Oh, that is a bold move giving Hazel a toy named Rhonda when Wanda's about to enter the scene.

WAIT I KNOW HIM!!!

... Okay, it's not the same cat, but I was very close (and yes, I have this in my files; I have a Francis-centric work that's been in my drafts a few years, though I'm not sure I'll get to it at this point).

I am FASCINATED with the possibility that the photos depict characters in 2D while their bodies are 3D. Jimmy Neutron is gonna lose his FLIPPIN' MIND.

Who is Hazel's VA, do I know her...? /Looked her up- I've seen a few of the relevant media, but I wouldn't have nailed her down in this first sentence.

She's a sibling! Oh, finally... Only rarely do we get siblings in the Hartmanverse. I was so robbed by Mikey's clones in "Mikeyplication." When we saw the sneak peek of geeky Mikey, I thought there was a chance.

Plot twist, Antony pulls a Katty Katswell and shows up for a face-off.

I'm liking the direction this is going for Hazel having a lot of big life changes: Just moved to a new place AND just said bye to her big brother who's gone off to college.

Hazel talks to herself exactly the style I do, I love her.

SLKDFJSDKLFJS she does Chloe's classic squint, I love that for her.

Her first hypothetical wish (before fairies show up) is unlimited wishes. Oh, Jorgen's gonna love you.

Her dad calls her Hazelnut :)

crying, this poor girl wants to see her brother so bad that she thinks he's "visiting early" even though there's no possible way that's true.

Note to self, Hazel's room is last in the hall, to the right, with... wow, that's a lot of doors around her.

Oh thank GOODNESS we got lightswitches. Hey why are the doorknobs so low. Is that how they build them in this universe of chronically tiny children?

OH! Mom's outfit is reminiscent of Timmy's mom's! I like that. Wow, this family loves colorful shoes. Yeah, you goofballs must be new here. We don't do that in FOP.

T'was an apartment! Not a townhouse.

First Cosmo and Wanda sighting!! I paused instantly, but Wanda's definitely gonna point out that Cosmo has his crown still up. Hers has gone down for human disguise.

And OH YEAH, BABY! We get a back view of their hair? This is the show that keeps on giving.

Time for a Post #3!

[alchely]

If you could change Shameless storylines in a sort of "I'm the master puppeteer and I'm all knowing" kinda way, what would you change? And what would you put in place of those changes?

Example: Mickey not going to prison, since Noel is (contractually) staying in this AU Ian and Mickey don't break up at the end of season 5, what does their relationship look like in S6?

Other ideas: Kev and Vee pregnancy with her mother ends up fizzling out because in the middle of Shameless creating that storyline Shanola got pregnant and would have looked pregnant during filming so the story got changed at the last minute. -> Scrap the mother from the script and let's say that Vee being pregnant was very easy, what would they end up doing that season?

Frank should have probably died earlier, and his death should have been unrelated to either his drinking or his age. Probably after Monica, to add irony I'd say it should happen during his Francis arc, when he was sober so... S8? And actually show the Gallaghers dealing with it.

All the early romantic interests should have stayed longer and been even more fleshed out as characters beyond their relationship to their Gallagher, there's a reason ppl remember the early relationships so much more than the later ones, the Milkovich, the Jackson (as much as I don't particularly like Sheila) and Jimmy and his family are sooo weird and dysfunctional and interesting. They should have their own small story arcs every season, also, have them interact with the rest of the family.

Have the actress for S1 Mandy stay the whole show, the energy she brought to the character is soo different, if her version of the character had stayed and had still ended up with Lip I feel like she would have threatened to scalp Lip with a smile on her face before ever turning her anger and desperation on Karen.

Also, her incest/abortion arc is either treated more in-depth or it should get scrapped completely. It's NEVER brought back and it's probably one of the darkest details of S2 that really feels out of place especially in the early seasons.

I'd define the Milkovich family more: how many brothers? How many cousins? Names? It sure was convenient of the writers to just say that the Milkovich themselves don't know how many siblings and half-siblings they have so that they never have to keep them straight and they can appear and disappear and spawn new ones whenever the story requires it.

I really liked Bonnie, Carl's first crush, would 100% bring her back at some point.

Since this is an "I'm an all-powerful being making these decisions" I'd make Noel start out younger, not necessarily his character's age (Noel had a baby face that wouldn't intimidate a bunny) I'd have him start out s1 at 20, so that he can still convincingly play young in the later seasons.

Not sure what I'd change of Debbie's storyline, I'd probably bake hints of her being a lesbian basically every season and have her realize it earlier than in canon, probably bring out Sandy seasons earlier than they did.

A bit less Frank, definitely less Sheila scenes (sorry to anyone that likes her, I just don't).

A lot of those plotlines that involved a single character that ended up fizzling out without going anywhere replaced with a joint storyline with Kev and Vee or Frank and Monica or another sibling.

[omnidoll]

R&D Dolls Susie - Rare Black Curly Hair - Gray Eyes - Peasant Outfit

Rudi Teruel and David Wu introduced their collector fashion doll Susie in 2003, which was issued in limited editions ranging from 100-400 dolls until 2008.* (*Curly-haired Susies are among the more scarce examples.)

According to the company, Susie represents a 21-year-old from a Chinese- and Spanish-American background, who is studying fashion design in San Francisco.

Her face sculpt and articulated body are original to R&D and made of hard plastic/rigid vinyl. (Her head is not a soft vinyl like Barbie.)

14 Points of Articulation - 11 Inches Tall - 1/6 Scale. She can borrow fashions from dolls like Momoko, Takara/Tomy Jenny, Francie, Teen Skipper, Azone Clothing, Robert Tonner’s Tiny Kitty Collier, and some Integrity Toys Fashion Royalty dolls.

This rarely seen example of Susie comes with her original white underwear, well-made white peasant blouse, and unusual hair decoration: Still sewn into her hair is a lovely piece of “silver” and black enamel filigree-style hair jewelry.

Also comes with: new soft vinyl black boots, a removable “silver” bead necklace, and a new black cotton print peasant dress (which was designed to fit Integrity Toys Fashion Royalty dolls, which share Susie’s slender frame.).

She is in excellent used condition, having only been owned by an adult collector and kept out of direct sunlight.

https://www.ebay.com/itm/276731777438?mkcid=16&mkevt=1&mkrid=711-127632-2357-0&ssspo=bbspzw4lRWW&sssrc=0&ssuid=bbspzw4lRWW&var=&widget_ver=artemis&media=COPY #fashiondoll , #susiedollrnd #dollstagram #fashiondoll #asiandolls #doll #dolls #2000sdolls #momoko #momokodoll

[s1m0nth3swag]

Francis got tired from his shift and cuddles with m!reader and kinda just baby talks Francis!! (Francis definitely snores)

Sleepy Francis and Male Reader, sign me the fuck up!!

Francis 100% is the type of guy to just flop down on his partner, demand cuddles and headscratches and the proceed to fall asleep (bonus points if his partner isn't strong enough to lift him up so they just have to resign to fate.) also please excuse that I have no clue how to properly write baby talk and probably fucked that up lol

Thanks so much for the request, Anon!

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Fluff, Francis being tired and stupid, established relationship, Male Reader, just cuddles and love with our favourite Milkman <3, kinda short (sorry)

Francis was tired. Normally, this was a constant state of tiredness, something he could deal with. Coffee got him though the day, and as soon as he got home he'd eat something, drag his boyfriend to bed and make sure both of them got a healthy amount of sleep - though Francis could never escape his chronic tiredness. He was pretty sure that it was a curse by now. It wasn't like you, or him, really cared anyway. The cuddles were good, and neither of you missed out on any love even though your quality time was lounging on the couch or in bed. Besides, both of you were more on the lazy side anyway. Today, Francis was more tired than usual, though. Not even coffee had helped him keep his eyes open, and he had nearly dozed off at work. He grumbled about it the whole day, especially after his Boss had given him that stern look. He just wanted to get home and sleep. There wasn't even a real reason for him to be this tired. He surely hadn't stayed awake with you too long last night, and he had definetly slept like a baby while cuddled up in your arms. It really was a mystery to him. Maybe whatever God existed had decided to piss Francis off today. He didn't even call out for you once he head reached the shared apartment, simply took off his shoes and then continued to walk over to the couch - where you had already decided to place yourself to watch some TV after work - motioned for you to lay down and almost fell on top of you. "Hi Baby." You hummed, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace, one opf your hands coming up to run through his hair while the other rested at the small of his back. Francis sighed as an answer, his arms wrapped around your waist as he snuggled his face into the crook of your neck, basking in your warmth and comfort. "Tired?" You chuckled, and he nodded. "You jus' wanna cuddle?" You add, snuggling your face into his hair slightly. "Yes please.." He answers, his voice muffled by your neck. The two of you lay like that for a while, Francis barely talking while you softly hum about your day, giving him short phrases paired with a soft voice for him to understand easier. You were already used to this, having to use simple speech, almost baby talk, with your boyfriend whenever he came home tired like this. Though he wasn't like this often, mostly keeping a certain amount of awakeness throughout the day, you didn't mind one bit. You thought it was kinda cute, actually. Francis resting on you like you were his pillow, his weight comfortably pressing you down against the couch.. this was probably your personal heaven. "Love you." Francis mumbles, sighing deeply as you can't help but grin at the sweetness of this situation. You don't even care when he slides off to sleep, his soft snores filling the room as you chuckle to yourself and move your arm slightly to grab the TV remote and turn the device off, wanting to make sure he wouldn't wake up because of any loud noises. You feel him snuggle against you further and you grin, pressing a soft kiss against the top of his head as you swiftly lay the remote down again, your arm resting around Francis again, slowly drifting off to sleep together with him.

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐏𝐭.4

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Previously: Y/N, restrained and tortured, learns from Francis that her regeneration causes others to suffer in her place. As the pain intensifies, she weakly mutters his name before passing out.

This story takes place between the second and third movies (warning: not 100% movie/comic accurate)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Reader

Genre: Angst, revenge, Fanfiction, Marvel

Warnings: Movie Spoilers! Explicit content, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 3927

Wade was a broken man, trapped in a relentless cycle of despair and obsession. His life, once marked by chaos and humor, had become an endless string of sleepless nights and futile searches.

The warehouse, which had once been a safe place of his independence and creativity, was now a pitiful reflection of his deteriorating mental state. It was cluttered with stacks of documents, photographs pinned disorganised on the walls, and maps dotted with red circles and frantic scribbles. Every inch of the space was covered in evidence of his failed search for Y/n, and the air was stuffy with the odor of stale coffee and unwashed clothes.

Wade's physical appearance mirrored his mental decline. He had lost weight, his once muscular frame now gaunt and sickly. His suit, once his pride, was now old and stained. The red and black fabric was faded, a wretched testament to his endless struggles.

His face, usually masked by his signature humor, was now painted with deep lines of exhaustion and despair. His eyes, once sharp and full of mischief, were now hollow and bloodshot, reflecting the sleepless nights and relentless guilt that hunted him.

The daily routine was monotonous and the same.

Wade would spend hours looking over the maps and documents, his fingers stained with ink and coffee. He would pace the warehouse, muttering to himself as he memorised every detail of his search. The endless cycle of hope and disappointment had messed up his sanity. Every time a lead turned out to be a dead end, it felt like another nail in his coffin.

Weasel had tried everything to break through to him. He had been by Wade's side through every failed attempt, every new lead that went nowhere. But as the years wore on, his patience began to wear thin.

Dopinder, too, had grown weary. He had watched Wade's descent into obsession with a heavy heart, and the silence in Altheas apartment was often emphasised by the sound of Weasel's frustrated sighs.

One evening, after yet another dead-end search, Weasel finally exploded. His face was flushed with anger and exhaustion as he stormed into the room. The narrow space, filled with the waste of Wade's obsessive quest, seemed to close in around him.

He slammed a stack of papers onto the table, the documents scattering and fluttering across the floor. "Wade, this is fucking insane!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "We've been at this for years! We've gone through every fucking corner of this city and beyond, and there's nothing. She's gone. You need to accept that!"

Wade, hunched over the table, looked up with hollow eyes. His face was pale, his expression a mix of desperation and confrontation. "Don't you fucking tell me that! She's out there. I know it. I can feel it. I promised I'd protect her. I can't just fucking let go."

Dopinder, who had been standing quietly, finally spoke. His voice was steady but laced with frustration. "Sir, he's right. This obsession is making you lose your mind. As you know, I once felt similar to Gita because of my cousin. It's time to face reality. Kidnapping Bandhu and going after her as you told me was not the move. She's not coming back."

Wade's face twisted in torment. "I can't stop. I made a promise to her. I have to keep looking. If I stop, it means I failed her."

Weasel's anger softened into a weary sadness.

"Wade, look at yourself. You're barely holding it together. This obsession is destroying you. It's okay to accept that she's gone. You can't keep going like this."

The argument had reached a fever pitch when Althea, arrived unannounced. She entered the room with a smirk sensing a suffocating atmosphere.

"Well, well, well," Althea drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look at you, Wade. You're like a fucking stray dog, clawing at every lead and getting nowhere. Pathetic, really. You've been digging through garbage for years, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing but a dirty room and a broken spirit."

Wade's eyes flared with anger and pain. "Shut up, Althea. You have no idea what this is like."

"Oh, I have an idea. You're just like a cockroach, scuttling around in the dark, hoping for a crumb. And look at you now- your obsession has turned you into a fucking joke. A pitiful, little joke."

The cruel words cut deep. Wade's resolve finally began to crumble under the weight of his guilt and the relentless pressure from his friends. He slumped into a chair, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. Tears streamed down his face as he realized the immensity of his failure.

Weasel placed a hand on Wade's shoulder, his voice soft but firm. "You did everything you could. It's time to take care of yourself. You've been searching for years. It's okay to let go."

Wade's voice was a broken whisper. "Fine. Fine. She's dead. I get it. She's gone." The admission felt like a knife twisting in his gut. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

The room fell into a heavy silence. He sat alone in the dim light of the warehouse, feeling a hollow emptiness that no amount of searching could fill. The dream of finding Y/n and making things right had ended in crushing defeat.

Guilt catching up on him, eating away at whatever was left of his sanity. He should have been there for her, should have protected her. He would failed her, just like he had failed Vanessa.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

As Wade's search faded into a resigned acceptance of her death, Y/N's reality became one of unending horror.

Francis, the man responsible for her capture, took pleasure in her suffering, using her as a pawn in his twisted game of revenge against Wade.

The sterile, metallic walls of her prison reflected her pain back at her, a constant reminder of the nightmare she could not escape. And as the torture escalated, so too did her resolve- she would survive this, if only to make sure Francis paid for what he had done.

Each day, Francis would enter, his footsteps echoing down the corridor before the door creaked open. He was always methodical, almost clinical in his approach, but his eyes betrayed a sadistic pleasure in what he was about to do.

He would start with the physical pain.

The tools varied- sometimes it was the sharp blade of a scalpel, cutting into her flesh; other times, it was the searing burn of heated metal pressed against her skin, leaving behind the burned smell of charred flesh.

But no matter how much she bled or how deeply the burns seared, Francis always had more in store for her, never satisfied with just one form of torture.

As Francis stood over her, his expression cold and unfeeling, a stark contrast to the cruel image that flickered in his eyes. His hands moved quickly as he secured the straps around her wrists and ankles, ensuring she could not move even an inch. Y/n's breaths were shallow and weak, each one a reminder of the agony her body had endured.

"Comfortable?" Francis asked, his voice dripping with mockery. He leaned over her, his face close enough that she could see the sick pleasure in his eyes.

Y/n managed to muster a weak glare, her voice a raspy whisper, "Go to hell."

He smiled, a cold, predatory grin that made her stomach turn. "Oh, we're already there, sweetheart." He nodded to one of his servants, who stepped forward with a large, filthy rag and a bucket of water. The sight of the bucket made Y/n's heart race, a surge of primal fear washing over her.

"Let's see how long you can hold your breath," Francis said, his tone almost casual, like they were discussing the weather.

The servant threw the rag over Y/n's face, the old fabric scraping against her raw skin. Her world became dark, the air around her thick and suffocating. Panic set in immediately, her body instinctively struggling against the restraints, but it was useless. She was trapped, helpless beneath the weight of the rag and the knowledge of what was coming next.

Francis stepped back, savoring the moment before giving a slight nod. The servant tilted the bucket, and the water poured out in a steady stream, soaking the rag and filling her mouth and nose. It was cold, a shock to her already trembling body, but that was quickly replaced by a more immediate terror.

Y/n exhausted, her body screaming for air, but all she could do was choke on the water. It felt like she was drowning, like her lungs were filling with liquid fire. Her mind screamed at her to breathe, to cough, to do anything to expel the water, but it was impossible. The rag was an unforgiving barrier, the water relentless as it flooded her senses.

"Do you know what the worst part is, Y/n?" Francis's voice cut through the roaring in her ears, his tone conversational as if they were chatting over tea.

"Wade's not coming for you. He's probably already forgotten you, moved on to the next whore who'll get caught up in his mess. You're nothing to him now. Just another casualty of his fucked-up life."

His words were a blade, slicing through the last threads of her resolve. Y/n wanted to scream, to tell him he was wrong, but all she could do was gag on the water that filled her throat, her body arching off the table in a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating torture.

Francis watched her struggle with cold detachment, his hands clasped behind his back. "He's not worth this, you know," he continued, his voice low and insidious. "You're suffering for nothing. For a man who doesn't even have the decency to keep searching for you. How long do you think you've been here, Y/n? Days? Months? Years?"

Her mind spun, disoriented by the lack of oxygen and the overwhelming need to breathe. Time had lost all meaning in this place, each moment stretching into an eternity of pain and fear. She did not know how long she had been here, but it felt like forever. And the thought that Wade had given up on her, that he had moved on... it was a torture all its own.

Francis nodded again, and the water stopped. The rag was ripped away, and Y/n gasped, coughing violently as her lungs finally found air. Her body shaken violently, trying to dodge the water that had nearly drowned her, each breath a ragged, painful gasp.

But Francis was not done. He leaned down, his face close to hers, his voice a poisonous whisper. "He's not coming for you. No one is. You're all alone, Y/n. And this... this is your life now."

Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. But somewhere deep inside, buried beneath the pain and terror, a spark of defiance still flickered. She would not let him break her. Not like this.

Y/n turned her head, her eyes meeting his with a fierce determination. "Fuck... you," she spat, her voice hoarse but filled with venom.

Francis straightened, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "We'll see how long that fire lasts," he said, stepping back as the servant prepared for the next round of water.

And as the rag was placed over her face once more, Y/n braced herself for the flood, for the darkness that threatened to consume her. But she would hold on to that little hope, no matter how small it was. Because it was all she had left.

Days turned into a blur of pain and despair. The cycle of waterboarding became just one of many methods Francis employed to break her spirit. The physical torment was relentless, but it was the psychological warfare that truly triggered her. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in ensuring that she remained as mentally shattered as she was physically.

Francis knew how to break a person from the inside out. He was a master of manipulation, weaving a web of lies and half truths designed to trigger her spirit.

He would lean in close, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered cruel taunts. "You really thought Wade would come for you?". He would say, his voice dripping with malice.

His words were like poison, getting into her mind, making her question everything she had believed. She tried to resist, to cling to the hope that Wade was still out there, searching for her, but with each passing day, that hope vanished.

The isolation, the constant pain, and the relentless psychological assault began to wear her down. Francis took every opportunity to remind her of how alone she was, how forgotten she had become.

He had a way of getting inside her head, twisting her thoughts until she did not know what was real anymore. He played mind games with her, altering the timing of her torture sessions so she could never expect when the next wave of pain would come. Sometimes he would leave her in darkness for days, the silence broken only by the distant echoes of other prisoners' screams, a constant reminder of her own doom.

As the years dragged on, Y/n changed. She had lost track of how long she had been trapped in that hellhole. The days had bled together in a blur of agony and despair. The torture had done more than scar her body- it had twisted her mind, turning her into something she barely recognized.

The physical pain was constant, but it was the psychological torment that truly broke her. The things Francis had done to her, the things he had made her believe about Wade, had planted a seed of hatred in her heart, one that grew with every day of her captivity.

The isolation was suffocating. Y/n found herself questioning her own memories, her own worth. The lines between reality and the lies Francis fed her began to blur. She started to believe that Wade had forgotten her, that she was not worth saving. The thought of him moving on, living a life without her, filled her with a rage she had never known before- a rage that Francis eagerly thrilled.

Six years had passed in a relentless blur of pain and suffering since the accident, leaving Y/n in the dark, cramped cell. Her bruised body and broken spirit showed the unending cruelty she had endured.

The cell was a dark, oppressive space, highlighted only by a sliver of moonlight that struggled through a foggy window. Y/n laid crumpled on the cold concrete floor, her body twisted in exhaustion.

The air was heavy, the stench of old blood and sweat mingling with the scent of despair. Her clothes, once white, were now an old and torn mess, barely clinging to her damaged frame. Her skin was marked with bruises and burns, each one a testament to the relentless cruelty she had faced.

Breathing was a struggle, each inhale short and shallow, as if her lungs were weighed down by the enormity of her torture. Her eyes, hollow and unfocused, drifted across the cracked walls. She mumbled to herself, her voice barely more than a whisper, choked by the weight of her guilt and despair.

"They're... they're suffering because of me," she murmured, her voice breaking with the weight of her own realization. "They're dying... and I'm... I'm still here..."

Her thoughts were a mess, separated by the horror she had endured and witnessed. The echoes of distant screams and cries seemed to mess with her mind, though she knew they were not her own. Each cry, each plea for help, was a stark reminder of the suffering she had become intertwined in.

She tried to push away the images and sounds of others' suffering, but they seemed to get into her consciousness, an unending reminder of the pain she had without intention caused.

"Why... why can't I stop this?" she mumbled, her voice stammering. "Why am I the one who's still alive, when they... they're not?"

She felt a intense sense of disconnection from reality, as if the walls of her cell were closing in on her, pressing her down with the weight of her guilt. The thought that her continued survival meant the maintenance of others' suffering was unbearable. She was a vessel of pain, a curse that dragged others into hell with her.

In the silence of her cell, the only sound was her quiet mumbling and the occasional shudder of her body. Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic blur, a never- ending loop of self-blame and guilt. Despite the crushing weight of her situation, a small, flickering hope remained. It was this tiny spark, barely noticeable that drove her to plan her escape.

The day of Y/n's escape had finally arrived, though its outcome remained uncertain. Her heart pounded in her chest as the guards dragged her into a dark metal room, the weight of her chains clinking with every step.

As she was forced to lay on the cold metal table, her body trembling from the effects of the latest torture, a spark of resistance still burned within her.

They had locked her in a small, dark box this time, the temperature slowly dropping until she could see her breath in the air, until her fingers went numb and her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

The cold seeped into her bones, turning her blood to ice. She could feel the frost forming on her skin, tiny crystals of ice biting into her flesh. It hurt- God, it hurt- but she refused to scream. Screaming would only give them the satisfaction of knowing they had won.

The box was so small that she could not move, could not even shift her position to relieve the pressure on her aching joints. The darkness was suffocating, pressing in on her from all sides. She could not see anything, could not hear anything but the faint sound of her own breathing, growing shallower as the cold tightened its grip on her lungs. She focused on that sound, using it to ground herself, to keep from slipping into the abyss of madness that threatened to consume her.

When they finally pulled her out, her body was shaking so badly that she could barely stand. They threw her back onto the table, chaining her wrists and ankles so tightly that the metal bit into her skin. She could feel the blood trickling down her arms, warm against the chill that still clung to her. Francis stood over her, a smug smile on his face as he looked down at her shivering form.

"You're stronger than I expected," he said, his voice cold and clinical. "But everyone breaks eventually. It's just a matter of time."

Y/n did not respond. She did not have the strength to. She lay there, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths, her eyes half-closed. To Francis, she looked like she was on the brink of passing out, just another victim of his sadistic games. But Y/n was far from unconscious. She was waiting.

Francis turned away, motioning for the guards to prepare her for the next round of torture. They moved around her, their footsteps heavy on the concrete floor. Y/n waited until one of them leaned in close, unlocking the chain around her wrist. In that split second, she struck.

With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, she grabbed the guard's arm and yanked it toward her, using his own momentum to pull him off balance. Her hand found the sharp shard of ice she had hidden, formed from the frost that had coated her body during the freezing torture.

She drove it into his throat with all the force she could muster. The man gurgled, blood spurting from the wound as he collapsed to the ground, the life draining from his eyes.

"Fuck, she broke ou-"

The second guard barely had time to react before she was on him, the makeshift weapon flashing in the dim light as she drove it into his chest. He staggered back, clutching at the wound as blood poured from between his fingers. Y/n did not stop to watch him fall. She was already moving, her body fueled by a desperate, animalistic need to survive.

Francis turned, his eyes widening in shock as he saw her standing over the bodies of his guards, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "You-" he started, but she did not give him a chance to finish. She lunged at him, the ice shard slicing through the air, aiming for his throat. But Francis was quicker than she had anticipated. He dodged to the side, catching her wrist in a vice-like grip.

She struggled, but he was stronger, his hand tightening around her wrist until she could feel the bones grinding together. Pain shot up her arm, but she refused to let go of the shard. She twisted, bringing her knee up into his gut. He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for her to pull free.

Y/n did not waste any time. She turned and ran, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor as she sprinted down the hallway. She could hear Francis shouting behind her, calling for more guards, but she did not stop. She did not look back. All she could think about was getting out, getting away from this place and the horrors it held.

The facility was a labyrinth of sterile hallways and locked doors, but she knew it well. She had been dragged through these corridors enough times to memorize every turn, every exit. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, her lungs burning with the effort, but she pushed herself harder, refusing to let the exhaustion slow her down.

Finally, she burst through a door and into the open air. The night was cold, the sky a dark, starless void above her. But the chill was a welcome relief after the suffocating confines of the facility. She did not stop running, her feet pounding against the ground as she made her way toward the fence that surrounded the compound.

She could hear the guards behind her, their shouts growing louder as they closed in. But she did not care. She was almost there, almost free. With a final burst of strength, she launched herself at the fence, scrambling up the chain-link like a wild animal. Her hands were slick with blood and sweat, making it hard to keep her grip, but she refused to let go. She hauled herself over the top, her body crashing to the ground on the other side with a painful thud.

She did not stop. She could not. Ignoring the pain that shot through her limbs, she pushed herself to her feet and started running again, disappearing into the night, leaving the facility and Francis behind.

But the damage had been done.

As she ran through the darkened forest, the memories of the past years haunted her, flashing before her eyes like a twisted film reel. The torture, the pain, the manipulation- they had all left their mark on her. She was no longer the woman she had been when she first entered that facility. That woman was dead, buried beneath the layers of trauma and hatred that now consumed her.

And as she ran, one thought burned brighter than all the others: Wade Wilson had abandoned her. He had left her to suffer, to be broken by Francis and him.

[astrearte]

Sebastian Michaelis's haircut

i did it. My hair is wavy, but, I did, it's not 100% bcause my IDK say it in brazilian I saw partinha, franja, but I thing u guys see u understand what i am sayng it's still short(help lmaaao)

1°: draw sebastian's hair, works in a all types hair :)

2°: Result in my wavy hair(sorry my clean face i don't have a mask)

3°: Hair styles (Francis Midford who combed last lmao)

And this is mu new hair :) again sorry my clean face and i hope u guys like it

Whoever makes this cut using the reference I made, please tag me so I can see <3

xoxo