#be well friends x

[xxplastic-cubexx]

brain please wake up and draw

bonus :

[causticsunshine]

.

[skateboardtotheheart]

there is just something about the difference between edwin's love interests and having the cat king's reaction to edwin in hell being "i'll be waiting when he gets back" vs charles "no version of this where i don't come get you" rowland convincing a powerful trans-dimensional being to open a door to hell just so he could get him back

i am insane

[heartorbit]

bugs when you lift up a rock

[gomzdrawfr]

y/n please

redraw of @warenai's incorrect quotes from this post

shameless plug but my commissions are open :]

[qrowscant]

ai generated image

[sun-snatcher]

If you're writing for dp3 then Hiraeth from your prompt list would work SO well since they're all stuck in the void! 🤲🏽😭 We need Gambit fics its a DROUGHT HELP

♧ ⎯ LUCK O’ THE DRAW !

summ. You find the Devil himself at the end of the world. Surprisingly, it isn’t the first time you have. It is, however, the first time it hurts. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established relationship. Kinda. Multiverse be funky like 'dat.) w.count. 1.8k a/n. Because Channing deserved that Gambit all those years ago, and I've come to (attempt to) deliver what the the people have asked. Masterlist here.

MOST PEOPLE MEET THE DEVIL at a crossroads, but you meet yours in— quite literally— the back end of fuckin’ nowhere.

It hurt more than it should.

Your heart practically stutters. 

“Remy.”  

Then he turns, and you wait for the flash of recognition in his eyes.

Nothing comes.

And then. And then.

Realisation— logic. The cold, hard truth: This isn’t your Remy LeBeau. Your Remy had died long before, in a Universe that was pruned and erased into nothingness by the TVA. Your Universe. The joke? That the Gambit before you is merely a variant amongst a million. The punchline? He looks exactly the same as the day you’d lost your own. 

“Well, this is awkward. You know off-shoot Hawkeye here?” Wade says, astonished, before his eyes widened. “Ah. Tragic exposition time for the readers, I see.”

Your mind is still reeling. It feels like someone’s just jammed a chisel straight into your gut. “I— Knew a version. Variant, I guess,” you manage to correct yourself, distracted by the skirting trenchcoat and the all too familiar sound of shuffling cards. 

Christ, it’s like he’d stepped right out of your memories.

Remy’s eyebrows shoot up as he studies you. Something in your chest pulls taut, threatening to snap as he speaks. “Apologies, mon ami. But as far as I remember, I ain’t never seen you before.”

“Ouch,” Wade winces, looking between you both. “What a classic trope! This is like, me talking to my past Mom in The Adam Project. Funnily enough, my Mom was you!” He snorts, pointing to Elektra. 

You ignore Wade and offer Remy a wan smile. “I figured. It’s okay.”

…It is obviously, in fact, not okay. 

You avoid him like a plague shortly after the entire commotion; it’s almost comical. Wade had managed to come up with a plan with the rest of the group, albeit a ramshackle, flimsy one, but you’ve hardly been able to pay attention through the bloodrush of shock rocketing in your head, anyway. 

Being around this Remy is stunningly stifling. 

The lilt of his accent, the sharpness in his smile; the flourishing of cards and the faint hum-drum of kinetic charge against his fingertips. 

You’ve seen it all before, once upon a time. You never thought any of it could ever bring you to this bad of a heel. 

It hadn’t taken long before you’d tried drowning yourself at the end of a bottle of brandy Logan had handed you that night. (The whiskey tames his mordance and makes him uncharacteristically civil. He’d said something along the lines of: Y’need this more than I do, bub; look like you’ve just seen a fuckin’ ghost. Shit, I guess you did, huh? )

“Mais la,” comes a huff. “Ain’t that mine?”

A frisson runs through your heart. 

“Sorry,” you say, barely glancing up from the barrel fire tucked outside the team’s hideout. You’re not quite sure you can handle meeting his gaze. “I know I should’ve asked.”

A playful hum. Remy settles on the log adjacent to yours. “S’alright. No harm done, chèr.”

It takes everything in you not to flinch at the endearment. If he’d noticed, well— he’s smart enough not to mention it. He’s curious and it stands to reason; afterall, he’s never quite seen someone look at him as weathered as the way you do. It’s as if the effort itself to do so would be unbearable.

“Y’kno’, I been told I’m easy on the eyes. Not for you, tho’, eh?” Remy shoots you an amicable smile. It’s charming, if a little compelling. “Guessin’ I made bad on you where y’from? You done been boudéin’ since y’first got here.” 

You let out a laugh. It’s the most brittle sound he’s ever heard come from someone. 

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s… You just make me a lil’ homesick, is all.”

Remy bristles with his deck of cards. A Charlier cut; a One-handed shuffle. It’s a mindless tic; your variant used to do the exact same with the exact same ease.

(Such a miracle, you remember thinking once, that there could be symmetries in the Multiverse. Now you learn, perhaps, it’s far more a curse. Either way, you can hear Remy’s doting voice in a distant memory, dimpling coyly at you: “S’just the luck o’ your draw, chèr.” )

You tamp down the memory before it could sink its jowls any deeper in you. 

“You’re curious,” you say.

He makes a noise of assent. Revolution cut; One-handed shuffle. Repeat.

“I ain’t gon’ axe if y’ain’t wanna answer.” 

It’s kind of him. 

You forgot he was like this.

Witty, yet gentlemanly. The way Remy always has been.

Underneath the blanket of the night, the crackle of the flames limn the planes of his face in flickering, hazy saffron. The look in his eyes is sincere as they meet your red-rimmed gaze. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, and in this light no less: tall, cutting, strong.

Lively.

The last you’d seen Remy, he’d been drawn out and battered by the war. Not that he’d ever admit it; he always insisted on keeping up his sunny disposition despite the constant losing battles happening. (Sometimes you think you resent him for doing that; it’d felt like he’d taken the light of the world with him when—)

You thank your lucky stars the variant Remy doesn’t make a comment on how you must be staring so openly. It’s a feeble attempt to committing every detail to memory, you suppose, in case you don’t get the chance again.

“In my Universe, a war was waging against mutants.” Your nails tinker against the empty bottleneck of the flat whiskey you’d nursed, thinking of how to cut a bloodshed of a story short; to get your point across before you falter and lose your footing.

“There was a mission sanctioned, and during it— a decision had to be made at that moment. So… you chose. Easily.” Your brows pinch tight against your will. The molten burn returns to the back of your eyes. “You saved so many lives the day you died.” 

Something catches in your throat when you realise your mistake, find yourself amending instantly, “He. He died.”

(It had been swift. A small mercy, all things considered. There wasn’t even a need to check for a pulse when you finally managed to reach for him.)

You’re fidgeting, too, with something in your other hand. Remy catches sight of it only now: a card, sitting pinched between your ringed fingers. Nine of Hearts. Its edges are torn and creased across the face, singed an ashen black. 

A proverbial piece of Remy’s heart, carried to the end with you.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a cold rush over his body at the sight. 

“…I’m sorry, chèr,” he offers quietly, inadequate as it is. He hadn’t expected that. 

He can’t imagine how haunting it must be to look at someone you’d shared a lifetime with and be met with a complete stranger instead. 

A living, breathing, ghost.

That unbiddable feeling of longing had always seemed to accompany the sight of him; but now it’s different. Now, there’s a blistering, brutal pain to come with; All-encompassing grief, thick as molasses in your lungs, overturning itself like a phantom from wherever you thought you’d buried it a long time ago. 

The only way to smother it would be to reach out, to hold him like you had once before, and isn’t that an ironic inconvenience? 

“No, no. I’m sorry,” you tell him, sigh coming out as an awkward laugh. A breeze passes and you inhale deep to ground yourself. Press your eyes shut momentarily to will away useless tears. “It must be so weird to hear all of this from me about— well, you, technically.”

“Mais, can’t ‘ave all been a bad memory, tho’, right?”

Right. No. It hadn’t been. There’s something else too. An undercurrent. Beyond the grief, the deep ache in your marrows— you think it’s nostalgia. Hiraeth. More bittersweet than it is painful.

It’s… It’s watching mutant schoolkids teaching him UNO for the first time. It’s the bickering over the beignets for breakfast, or your feet on his lap at the couch in the lounge after dinners with the rest of the X-Men. Lazy banter. Conversations that go everywhere and nowhere.

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling something bloom in your chest you thought long lost. “You taught me everything about your home, too. Down South. Told me about the bayou, the cypress trees. Your Cajun, your ways. We used to play Bourré.”

Talk of home has him ducking into a laugh. Remy had been in the Void far longer than the rest (he figures, at least)— he’s very nearly lost most of his fragmented memories to time by now. “Did I? Oughta’ play a game or two wit’ you.”

You buckle at that. “Ah. You were always the better player.”

Then:

He makes the leap before he runs out of steam. “Was we…?”

His finger darts between the space you two share.

“Oh, no,” you override, sheepishly. “No, we, we were good friends and stayed good friends. I was—” Your breath scurries; a reconsideration. “I was glad with that. You had a Southern belle named Anna Marie. A powerful mutant called Rogue. You two were good for each other.”

You must have given yourself away somewhere, though, the way Remy is reading you with a pinned gaze. It’s the same, levelled look you’ve seen before— the kind he gets in a game of cards. 

Something discerning eclipses in his eyes.

He’d gotten the measure of you in an instant. 

“Gambit musta’ been blind blind not t’see you.”

Ah.

You smile. It’s windswept. Resigned. “Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? My Gambit’s gone. No matter how much I wish I can see him again.”

Remy’s eyes dart to your hands.

“Y’kno’, chèr,” he begins, something spirited in his tone. “In the world of cards, each a’ these and they suits hold a meanin’.”

He flourishes his deck, hypnotisingly smooth with every elegant cut, fan and spring. Every shuffle cascades as smooth as liquid in the sleight of his hands.

“Some of my folks back in New Orleans I remember, they learned me to read ‘em. Now, outta the whole deck? What you got there; the Nine of Hearts is also called the Wish card.”

The small laugh that punches out of you is bell-like. “Really?” 

It’s warm. Bright. Musical to his ears. It washes over him, and he can’t help but hang on to the peal. He wanted to hear it again. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Remy clicks his tongue as he shoots you a sunny look. “Would never lie t’you, chèr.”

The cracks in your soul don’t disappear, but they surely lighten as you look gently at him. “Huh. Well, I guess I got my wish, didn’t I?” 

He chuckles. 

“Mais, I ain’t your Gambit but—” 

He leans. Reaches out behind your ear with an empty palm, playfully revealing a gilded card from seemingly thin air with a sharp flick of his wrist:

Another Nine of Hearts. His. He hands it over to you, by way of meaning—  I’m here, now.

New beginnings.

You take the card with a smile.

[gldnstrngs]

whenever i see colin and bradley in behind the scenes or interviews im just like… 🤨 in the least weirdest way possible like they just have a Certain Energy to them

[starry-bi-sky]

"Uhp-uhp-bup-bup." Danny says loudly, cutting off the crime lord bleeding all over his living room. He presses a finger to his lips, despite knowing that Red couldn't see it, and stifles his rage behind a playful smile.

He's lucky he's facing the kitchen, his back turned to Hood. He can see the fury green of his eyes reflecting back at him in the chrome of the sink, he's threatening to crush the rag in his hands. His vision is futzing out in the corners of eyes.

"We don't speak the 'J' name in this household." He says in almost a sing-song, because if he doesn't, then the Gotham oil sitting, boiling, behind his teeth and coating his tongue will spittle out and Danny's already haunting his apartment just by his mere presence. He doesn't want to haunt it more.

He can hear the whine of the lightbulbs, threatening to burst like a popped balloon. He turns the water off and and rings the rag out tighter than he perhaps should.

"You don't like the clown?" Hood asks him, and Danny's not sure if he's mocking him for it. There's a knowing lilt in his voice that throws back Danny to their first meeting on that balcony. If he were anyone else, Danny might've just punched him.

His heel turns sharply towards him, a tight smile on his face and an even tighter look around his eyes. At least he knows that the green has faded because the pounding behind his eyes are gone, his grief-born, death-made rage sizzling back beneath his veins. "I think you already know why, Ridin' Hood."

A grief like this don't stay buried, after all.

[mid-80s]

fixing eddies bangs

pov: eddie asks you to fix his bangs

cw: grinding, implied sex

you immediately say yes.

it has been a dream of yours to cut eddies hair or to style it in any way and you hop at the opportunity when it's presented.

you're both on the floor of eddies room, him practicing for his gig the following night, you picking an outfit for him for it.

you don't know when you'd become his personal stylist, but you always find yourself picking out his show outfits.

suddenly eddies soft tune that he's been playing stops. "can you cut my hair?"

the question out of the blue, as they hadn't even been saying anything before, simply content in the others presence.

you turn around, stunned, and look at him with a look that says really?

"c'mon, i know that styling my hair is like a wet dream of yours," you roll your eyes and turn back to his closet, being stubborn. "but i really need my hair cut for tomorrow!" you don't budge. "you're my bestest friend in the whole wide world and i would really like you to cut my hair." nothing. he rolls his eyes.

"please?"

and that's how you ended up sitting on a flustered eddies lap cutting his bangs.

he kept squirming and you're no expert, so didn't want his hair to look worse than it already did. soo you sat on his lap. not the best idea for either of you as now you have to try not to squirm as eddies manhood is rubbing up against your clit just right.

you're both a blushing mess and you pray he can't feel your pussy twitch from his big hands around your waist, the cold from his rings giving you goosebumps through your thin shirt (that's probably his, you don't remember), and his big doe eyes, staring at you like you're the prettiest thing on earth.

and you're not far off as that is exactly what eddie is thinking.

having the girl he's been crushing on for years a half an inch away from his face is not helping the feelings he's been trying to push down, or his growing boner.

it's just the way you press your lips in a line when you're focused, the furrow of your brows, the tilt of your head. ugh, the twitch of your tight cunt against his boner. fuckkk.

he feels his cock jump at that and he knows you feel it too. and as much and he doesn't want to admit it, he's kind of glad you do, especially now because he knows you're feeling the same.

just a few more snips. you tell yourself. it's not helping you feel better because you have absolutely no idea what to do when you're done. eddies grip on your waist tightens and your pussy twitches again.

and then you feel eddies cock twitch. like it's fucking mimicking yours. you finish his hair, and look him dead in the eyes.

"fucking finally." you sigh, breaking the heaving silence hanging over your both.

you brush the hair off his face and practically throw the scissors on the counter while keeping eye contact and eddie looks at you terrified and confused.

you kiss him at the same time you grind against his fat fucking cock. you can't believe you didn't realize how hard he was before.

eddie tries his hardest to kiss you back but can't hold back the moan that comes deep from in his chest.

this is gonna be a long night.

[bluerosefox]

Courting Chaos (to Balance)

A KlarionxDanny brain worm that has spawned

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin gets kidnapped suddenly and very randomly by Klarion in the middle of a JL and others meeting.

Leaving with a

"I'LL RETURN HIM WHEN HES NO LONGER USEFUL JUSTICE LOSERS!"

And fire and chaos in his wake.

While the JL, and others scramble to figure out what Klarion has planned this time, Tim manages to break free of whatever Klarion had used to kidnap him only to find himself on a couch and Klarion nervously petting Teekl on his lap while also sitting in a chair across from him.

When Tim goes to demand to know why Klarion kidnapped him Klarion finally speaks.

"Okay, I wanna strike a deal. I won't bug you or your little Young Just US buddies if you help me ask someone out..."

"...What the fuck Klarion?" Was Tim's only response.

-x-x-

So it turns out, every so often the three main entities and actual factions of Order, Chaos, and Balance get together to well discuss things happening in certain Realms, worlds, and timelines. Basicly to touch base, see where everyone was at. Etc etc.

Order was Order. Chaos was Chaos.

Very simple.

Both could be bad. To much order caused restraint and could snuff out growth. To much Chaos could get out of hand and cause ruin.

Both could be good. Order help stabilizes worlds and builds their future. Chaos allowed creativity to roam and brought forth wonderful things.

And Balance.

Well Balance was the very scales that kept both sides in check. They were neutral grounds. The ones that normally oversaw the meetings as well. And despite their low numbers they held powerful entities that more than made up for it.

Balance did their best to keep things in check, sure they do have their own preference sometimes and allowed the scales to tip a tiny bit but always corrected it later if it tips to much.

It was at this meeting, a meeting even Klarion knew better than to do anything too chaotic, pranks were fine but nothing too much, and had been chatting with a newcomer to the side of Chaos (Danielle, call me Ellie, Phantom. She did some heroing on the side but liked causing chaos in her wake to do so, he liked her so far though.) When the bells for the side of Balance to appear announced them.

Ellie had smiled brightly and said her brother was coming with his mentor, turns out her brother was apart of the Balance group which meant that he was strong, strong enough to need a mentor.

He watched as the members of Balance walked, teleported, flew, and other means into the meeting halls. And then froze when his eyes caught sight of him.

Floating next to a blue skined being that was switching ages was a beautiful otherworldly person.

Snow white hair that wisped upwards oh so softly. Glowing green eyes that were cat-like with their piercing glance. A galaxy cloak hanged around his shoulders and seemed to shift with each movement. Star like freckles decorated his face and seemed to glow a soft bluish white. A crown made of ice and aurora lights floated above his head as well.

All in all Klarion couldn't keep his eyes off of the being at all. He nearly spat his water out when Ellie commented that was her brother Danny, or rather.

High King of the Infinite Realms, Daniel 'Danny' Phantom. The Great One. Defeater of the Tyrant King. The Halfa. The Peaceful End. The Balance of the Undead. (And his mentor was the Ghost of Time itself. THE very Keeper of Time, Kronos original form himself.)

Klarion honestly didn't know what to think or rather what emotions he was feeling when he spotted Danny, nor why his face felt so hot and red when the young man looked over at them and smiled. (He was smiling at Ellie but Klarion for some reason hoped it was for him as well)

It wasn't until halfway in the meeting when a rather ingenious prank that Klarion, Ellie, and a few others had set up went off... thing was it strong enough that it had hit Danny's side of the meeting and had hit him.

Now, again pranks were okay but only after the meetings. It was one of the few rules many, even those in Chaos, took seriously because once it was done and over they could go do their things. So for it to happen in the middle of a meeting means someone set their time on the prank wrong and add the fact it hit a person on the Balance side...

Yeah not good.

Only...

Only instead of getting angry, even Clockwork who was seated next to Danny was chuckling, Danny threw his head back and laughed about it. And his laugh... was very cute.

And before he knew it, Klarion had already fallen.

-x-x-

"So yeah.... Since you have a boyfriend and know how to date in this modern age, I need your advice."

".... Klarion just because I'm dating Bernard doesn't mean I know how I did it..."

"Bernard? I thought you were dating that one Supes?"

[viveela]

A style comic I just had to get out of my system

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

hehe more SAGAU Melsuine Creator featuring Foul Legacy plushie

you've been acclimating to your new life as a Melusine very nicely, the outside world falling away and as you forget and close off the memories of everything they did to you, only thinking about it when you happen to glance at the shimmering markings lining your body. swimming and spending time with Foul Legacy- those are your two favorite things, with your siblings coming in at a close third, and your little house made of shells becomes a popular spot for Melusine to visit, dropping by to say hello to both you and Legacy... although, you'll admit that you don't provide the same climbable experience that he does. you and Mamere even painted together, collaborating to make a painting of Legacy himself, all dotted with swirling colors and little stars and shapes only your Melusine eyes could see, proudly presenting it to him with paint splattered all over your colorful skin. he can't do anything but chitter and trill with delight, giving Mamere a friendly pat on the head and comfortably curling around you in satisfaction.

he should make something for you, he thinks. something small and soft and comforting, for when he inevitably needs to leave for Ajax's Harbinger duties. you always reassure him that you'll be fine... but oh, you look so sad when he has to go for a few days, or a week. he always gives you plenty of headbumps and purrs beforehand, silently stealing away from Merusea Village and shifting back into Ajax, so the foolish humans are none the wiser of your location. it's during one of these trips that he spends hours awake at night, carefully stitching fabric and cotton stuffing together until he returns and presents his gift- a tiny plush version of himself, cradled in his claws. your eyes light up, antennae wiggling happily as you gently pick up the plushie Legacy and twirl around, hugging it tightly. you're gently scooped into Legacy's arms so he can hug you as well, rumbling contently as both of your wings flutter in sync with each other.

you show Neuvillette the plushie next time he visits, and he merely gives you a smile of relief upon seeing you happy and safe.

[pim-p1mling]

[technically-human]

can you draw Edwin doodling embarrassing shit like ‘Edwin Rowland’ or a little doodle of Charles’s face with hearts around it then Charles comes up behind him like what are you doing?

He had some very specific embarrassing doodles in mind

ko-fi

[adriennefrombrooklyn]

for if I ever saw you I didn't catch your name but it never really mattered I will always feel the same love you forever and ever

Woolton Fete [July 6th, 1957]