#void just happens to be the one that is least likely to kill you

[cits-kirby-brainrot]

[napping-sapphic]

Love is so freaky and messed up to the point that sometimes i do wish and hope SO badly that no one ever has to suffer being in love with me specifically because it honestly sounds absolutely unbearable

[iwonderwh0]

What's a little comforting is that people with terminal insomnia don't live as long as I have been already living with mine. At least that's what I've been told

[not-neverland06]

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

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid, don’t do this-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what do you do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s going to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

General Taglist: @evasmlp

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

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[vanillasweetpie]

spudsy’s shifts and dumbass rabbits (jax x reader)

i watched episode 4 and couldn’t resist writing this lil silly fic because i hate jax <3

you swear you’re gonna kill him.  

you don’t even care what happens after that, Caine can throw you in the void or force you into a therapy session with him, or whatever horrifying punishment his ai brain comes up with. it’d be worth it. it’d be so worth it if it meant shutting Jax up for five goddamn minutes. 

he’s been sitting at the counter, feet kicked up onto the register looking like he’s on fucking vacation, while you scramble around Spudsy’s kitchen. the fryer’s spitting oil, the soda machine’s doing that weird gurgling thing again

and Jax does nothing all shift except make snide comments about your “technique”, pretending to be Gordon Ramsay trapped in a rabbit’s body.  

“you’re gonna burn them,” he drawls, spinning one of the ketchup bottles like it’s a fidget toy, watching you flipping the fries.

you slam the fryer basket down harder than necessary and whirl around to glare at him. “maybe if you got off your lazy ass and helped, they’d come out looking better.”  

Jax snickers, tilting his head back to look at you upside-down. his ears flop over the back of the chair, and he grins widely. “nah, why would I do that when you’re doing such a great job on your own?”  

“Jax, I swear to #@?!—”  

“language, language!” he interrupts, wagging a finger at you. “what would Caine think if he heard you talking like that?”  

you grab the nearest ketchup bottle and launch it at him. and honestly, it’s more satisfying than it should be when it hits him square in the chest, splattering his black uniform with bright red.  

“oh, wow.” he looks down at the mess and then up at you, opening his eyes wide in fake surprise. “was that supposed to hurt my feelings? because it’s just pathetic, sweetie, really.”  

“pathetic?!” you’re halfway across the counter before you even realise what you’re doing, hands grabbing at his stupid clothes to yank him closer, practically face to face, however this damn bastard is taller than you, but you don’t back down.

Jax doesn’t fight it. in fact, he leans into it, daring you to say something else.

his stupid sharp smile only growing wider. “aww, isn’t it romantic. you’re starting to sound so obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

“obsessed with killing you, maybe.” your grip tightens on his shirt. Jax’s smile fades for a moment and his ears twitch what makes you think he might actually shut up.  

but no. of course not.  

“if i knew getting you riled up was this easy, I’d’ve started weeks ago,” his tone is so insufferably casual that you’re losing your temper.

you shove him back, harder than you meant to and he stumbles, nearly tripping over the chair he’s been lounging in all shift. you expect him to snap at you or at least throw some sarcastic quip your way, but instead—  

he laughs.

it throws you off just long enough for him to close the distance between you, his hands catching yours before you can storm off.  

“hey, you’ve got a little ketchup—” Jax swipes a gloved finger across your cheek, smudging red sauce where there definitely wasn’t any before “—right there.”  

you glare at him, opening your mouth to yell, but before you can say anything, he leans down and—  

oh.

it’s quick. as if he’s testing the waters, but the kiss leaves you frozen in place. his grin is back in full force when he pulls away, his eyes half-lidded. you stand there, dumbfounded, looking at his infuriatingly pleased face. the fryer beeps in the background and the soda machine gurgles again.

“there. now we’re even,” he says, stepping back and slipping out of your reach before you can punch him in the face.  

“you’re such a—”  

“Jax! y/n! get back to work!” Gangle's voice sounds.

you fucking hate him. probably.

[pastabaguette]

sorry for all the posts today, but this one is very important: alternian video game edits.

i actually have reasonings for all of their blood types, and a few classpects, so i'll dive into them here:

monika: i'm thinking that early in the game, during acts 1 and 2, she maybe masqueraded as a jadeblood or higher. only during act 3 does she reveal herself as a fuchsia to the protagonist.

gordon and alyx: gordon is probably a tealblood, or somewhere around there. fairly high, but not too high, i think. alyx is an olive, and eli is an indigo. azian was probably a gold. (or lime?) i did have to keep gordon’s orange HEV suit, though. surely you understand. okay, troll half life lore: i think on alternia, all the main characters in the half life franchise are like, olive or above. the rebels in follow freeman and the guards are all lowbloods, so that the player doesn't feel too bad about sacrificing them, or something like that. i think this would be something that would happen in an alternian video game, at least.

agent 47: 47 is actually a mutant, due to being manufactured in a lab. he's a weird ice-blue color. he's still got that piercing stare. i felt a little sad changing his iconic red tie, but i do have some thoughts on that as well. obviously, red in human culture tends to symbolize passion, among other things, and in this case, violence and aggression, because it's the color of blood. however, because trolls all have different blood colors, i think they might have different meanings attached to colors than humans typically do. i think that typically, the colors that would most commonly represent aggression in alternian culture would be blue (cobalt and indigo) and purple. now, i know that the sea dwellers exist, but since the vast majority of trolls are lowbloods, they would have a lot more contact with the land-dwelling highbloods, rather than the fish. so, 47’s tie is blue. (i also just think it looks cool matching his eyes)

chell: I made chell a bronzeblood. she’s a test subject, but not one of the special ones (astronauts, olympians, etc). she’s just another lab rat. (also, a lot of her outfit is orange…)

now for classpects! i only have two i’m sure of as of now:

gordon freeman is an heir of hope. this one is fairly obvious to me. a common belief is that heirs have the ability to become their aspect, in a way. in half life 2, gordon quickly becomes the main symbol of the resistance on earth. for the rebels, he himself IS hope.

agent 47 is a prince of life. again, it’s a common interpretation that princes are themselves void of their aspect, and they destroy that aspect in others. this is really literal, obviously, but as a hitman, 47 kills people. literally destroying life. as for his own lack of life in himself, it’s pretty simple as well. 47 is almost always described as entirely void of emotion and empathy. others often remark on his soulless stare, a lack of life behind his eyes. so, as a prince, he fulfills both criteria there.

holy hell, that was a lot of words. i didn’t intend to talk this much. feel free to add your own thoughts; i’d like to hear what others think. these descriptions were a bit rushed, and i don’t really consider myself to be very good at communicating my thoughts, so a lot of things may have been lost in translation. i’d be happy to try and elaborate on my reasonings for any of them.

(oh, also, please no alyx spoilers. i haven’t played it yet!)

[rosenclaws]

Would you Fall in Love with Me Again (Alternate) || Worst!Logan x Reader

I will fall in love with you over and over again I don't care how, where, or when No matter how long it's been, you're mine

warnings: angst to fluff, description of violence, Wade being wade, he calls you princess

wc: 2.5k

a/n: This is the alternate plot to the other fic I wrote of the same name. You can find that here! I just really liked both plots and I think this turned out pretty good :) This is also 1k words more than the other one idk what happened there lol

Logan was having a really shitty day. All he wanted was to get drunk but some asshole in red spandex decided to come and ruin his day. Now he's sitting in someone's fucking hideout with no hope of getting out of this hell hole. At least there's booze here.

"You always take shit that doesn't belong to you?" He growls as he takes another chug.

"Fuck off." He turns to berate the unknown voice but stops dead in his tracks.

He sobers up real fucking quick as he takes in the figure before him. Without thinking your name slips from his lips. It feels so foreign coming from him. He hasn't said your name in years.

"Logan?" You take a step forward, could this really be him? No...I can't.

Your Logan would never be caught dead in that uniform. He refused to wear it, no matter how much you begged him to wear it. But this man, he just felt so familiar.

“Thor!” Your attention snaps to the other man in red.

As the commotion begins you slip back into the shadows. You don’t bother to listen to whatever nonsense is coming from the guy in red. Laura brought them here.

You knew she had a Logan, just like you. Except her Logan died. You didn’t know he could. It made you think about your Logan. They sounded pretty similar. Mean, angry, drunk. But had that softer side almost no one else saw but a select few. Your eyes land on the Wolverine standing by Red.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. Maybe this was him. You want it to be him, but that little glimmer of hope refuses to shine. What if its not. You can’t lose him again. You think back to that night. That awful night.

He was going off to the bars again and you all asked him to stay. You begged him for one night to stay home with the team, with you. But he walked away. It was the dead of night when you heard them. You had been waiting for Logan to come home when you heard the footsteps and the shouting.

In a blink of an eye everything was gone. Friends dead. Mansion destroyed. You had fought back as best you could but they killed everyone. Everyone except you. You don’t know how or why you survived but apart of you wished you hadn’t. Then your thoughts drifted to Logan. What would happen when he came home? What if they had gotten to him too?

Before you could even think of finding him. Some assholes in these weird suits showed up. Zapping you with some thing and sending you here. Its been a long time since then. The void was your home now and these people were your family. Every day you wished you could go back to your world, find your Logan. But it seems he might have been brought back to you.

“I know this movie is R rated but if you two could keep the eye fucking to a minimum that would be great.” Red pipes up.

“Shut the fuck up.” Both you and Logan say. Glaring at the loudmouth man.

“Aww how cute, twining!.” He coos at Logan who raises his fist, ready to stick three claws right into his face. Red lets out a shriek and runs to hide behind you.

“What the fuck?” You ask as he peeks over your shoulder.

“Sorry honey bunches but I’m not ready to go another round with peanut over there so you’re my human shield.” You raise your eyebrow at Logan who puts away his claws.

“Fucking coward.” He stares at you before shaking his head and leaving.

“How rude, you think he’s be happy to see you and we’d get one of those notebook pride and prejudice style romance scenes.” He says before leaving you alone.

Seemingly unaware of the bomb he had dropped on you. A plan forms but you don’t pay any mind. So this is him. That is your Logan. He’s so different. Sure he was never the nicest man but he just seemed, broken now. Like all hope and love had been drained from his mind. Leaving only rage in its wake.

As night falls you see him outside, drinking by the fire. Laura sits with him. You wonder what it’s like for her to see him. If it was as jarring for her as it feels for you. Slowly you walk outside, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. Catching only a few words here and there. When Laura leaves he calls out.

“Whoever you think I am, you got the wrong guy.” She turns, catching your gaze for a moment before looking back at him.

"You were always the wrong guy." As she walks away you slowly walk towards him.

This isn't the reunion you expected. When you imagined seeing him again it was a lot nicer. You would find your way out of here and go home, find him and tell him how much you missed him.

"You just gonna stand there?" Logan's voice feels so much colder.

Though you see the instant regret in his eyes as he looks at you. He darts around before staring back down at the fire. You make your way over and sit on the log next to him. His sleeves are ripped and his suit bloodied. This was the suit you never thought you'd see on him.

"Logan, is it really you." You reach out to touch his cheek but he ducks his head away from you.

"Please, I've been dreaming of this day ever since I landed in his hell hole. Tell me that this is real." He can barely meet your eyes as he swirls the brown liquid in the bottle around.

He nods his head. A small part of him says to lie. Look you in the eyes and tell you he's not from the same universe. That he isn't the Logan who abandoned you, walked away from you. But fuck has he missed you.

"You look different, tired. Can it really be you?" You say softly as you turn your body towards him, moving closer. The grip on his bottle tightens as he builds up the courage to look at you. You're just as beautiful as he remembered.

"I...I'm not the man you remember." He says lowly. His face feels heavy in your hands. Like he's letting you bare the weight he's been holding.

"You're still my husband." You hum as you bring your other hand to scratch behind his ear.

"No, I've changed. I'm not the husband you remember." He closes his eyes, relishing in your touch. You used to do this to calm him down.

"Princess..." He takes your hands away from his face.

"I've done things. Horrible things. I...I'm no hero. I wanted to be one, for you but..." He stops.

"I was weak. But I've missed you. Every fucking day I think about you." The angry quips and drunken growls were gone. This was the Logan only you got to see. The tired, broken, vulnerable Logan.

"Would you still love me? Would you fall for me again? If you knew." He whispers. He's terrified of the answer. He became a monster. He didn't have the team or Charles or you to ground him anymore.

"What did you do my love?" You ask. His eyes darken, head hanging in shame.

"I came home and you were all dead. Every single one of you. I-" He stops, the memories pouring into his head.

"I looked for your body, through the smell of blood and death I could still smell your perfume. But I couldn't find you." He remembers staining his clothes with blood. Hands soaked as he searched the mansion for you.

"When I couldn't find you, I thought they had taken you. To experiment or something. So I tracked them down. I found them and I killed them." His eyes lit with a fiery rage. Tears were pooling in your eyes as you listened to what your husband had to go through.

"I killed every last one of them. Hunted them down until I was sure they were all dead for what they did. But I couldn't find you. You were gone and I didn't even have a body to bury." He spits.

He takes his hands away from you, closing himself off again as he chugs the rest of the bottle. Old habits die hard.

"After they were all dead, I couldn't rest. I was so angry. So I kept killing. Didn't matter who. I left a trail of blood and turned the whole world against mutants." He laughs bitterly as he tosses the bottle over his shoulder.

It shatters and a piece digs itself into his shoulder. He barely even notices. Like the pain is something he's used to at this point. Gently you take the piece and tug it out.

"So much for being a hero huh?" He looks at you, expecting the worst as he builds back the walls he had just taken down.

"Logan..." To his shock you weren't angry or disgusted. You were crying. Tears are falling down your face, a look of utter heartbreak as you see the ghost of the man you once knew.

"I'm so sorry." You cry as you wrap your arms around him. He's stiffens at your touch. Your sobs break his damn heart.

"Please don't cry princess," He begs.

"I lived. That night I survived and I tried to find you but they sent me here." Logan tenses. Those bastards sent you here. Alone and afraid. A part of him wants to tear those fuckers limb from limb, but the other part knows that if you hadn't been sent here. You'd be dead. He takes your face and wipes away the tears.

"I'm not worth crying over. Shedding tears for a monster..."

"My husband is not a monster!" You say angrily.

"I told you before I'm not your fucking husband anymore!" Logan snaps back.

You wipe your eyes and stuff your hand into your pocket. Logan's breath hitches as he sees your wedding ring. It wasn't much, he couldn't afford the diamond he thought you deserved. Instead he made it, carved the band from a piece of wood and found the prettiest gem he could.

"Are you not the man who gave this to me?!" You shout.

"Till death do us part Logan. I'm not dead, I'm right here. I've been waiting to see you again for years." You take the ring and shove it against his chest.

His hand curls around yours. You were sick of this, you love this man more than life itself. When will he get that? You never wanted the hero, you want Logan.

"If you're not my husband anymore than take it back." His hand grabs your wrist, refusing to let you go. He reaches into his suit, around his neck is a chain and sitting between his dog tags was his ring.

The one that matched yours. He says your name again. This time much quieter, much sadder. There's no doubt in his mind that he isn't good enough for you. He's never been enough for you. The day you said your vows chased away those fears but they always lingered.

Then he lost you and he had just been repeating it in his head over and over again since then. But now you're here, alive and somehow you're looking past it all. Somehow, you still love him.

"Don't you get it Logan. I love you. I love you so much it hurts." You sink to the ground and Logan follows.

Sweeping you up in his arms, protecting you from the dirt and leaves. You're in his lap, hands caressing his face as he holds onto you, arms wrapped around your waist.

"I'd pick you over and over, I don't care how long its been or who you think you are now. You will always be my husband and I will always love you." You lean your forehead against his. Closing your eyes you just take it in. This is real. You’ve found each other again and you won’t let go ever again.

“I’ve fucking missed you.” He growls as he smashes his lips onto you. His hands travel anywhere he can touch.

It’s been so long since he’s felt so desperate. His hand cups the back of your head as he leans you back onto the ground. Crawling over you as he uses his elbows to prop himself up. Your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens the kiss. Breathless you pull away, ready to kiss him again. Footsteps grab both of your attention. Logan covers you as best as he can as he unsheathes his claws.

“Woah there, let us get the intimacy coordinator here before the two of you start the devils dance.”

“Shut the fuck up Wade.” Logan growls as he sits back up. You try and avoid Wade’s gaze as you sit up.

“I didn’t know they made Viagra for 200 year old men.” He says while unashamedly staring at Logan’s crotch.

“Get the fuck out Red.” You hiss.

“Sorry angel, big fan by the way, just came out here to check on peanut.” Logan makes a move to get up and Wade jumps back.

“Fine jesus sorry for being a concerned friend!” He huffs before marching back to the hideout.

“Does he ever shut up?” You ask and Logan grunts.

“No.”

The fire has been slowly dying and the light is fading fast.

“We’re leaving at sunrise for Cassandras. We’re getting out of here.” Logan looks at you with unease. He just got you back and now you’re going to risk your life again.

“We could stay here. This place ain’t so bad.” Not when you’re here. He could make this place a home if you’re with him.

“They need you Logan, they don’t stand a chance without you.” You hum as you pick a leaf out of his hair.

“What if I lose you again? I just got you back.” He can’t let you slip through his fingers.

“You won’t lose me my love. I swear. Laura believes in you and so do I.” He thinks about Laura. The girl who lost her own version of him. Whoever that man was, he was a hero. If he could be a fraction of him, then maybe he could prove he’s more than what he’s become. You love him but he could be the man he always wanted to be for you. He could be proud of the suit , of his title. He can make you proud.

“Okay. But you’re staying by my side the whole time.” You smile and kiss him once again. Sighing as you get to relish being in the arms of your lover again.

“Deal. Now, let’s get some rest.” You guide him to your bed, he curls up next to you.

Burying his face in your chest as you try and sleep. Logan's hold on you is iron clad, he's afraid that when he wakes tomorrow you won't be here, that this was all some strange dream. You place your hand over his, cooing soft words in his ear until he relaxes.

"I love you Logan." You whisper as you close your eyes. Ready to face whatever comes tomorrow with your husband by your side.

[imjustdelusionalok]

yandere!dc: goddess! darling

ⁱⁿᶠᵒ ᵃᵇᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵈᵃʳˡⁱⁿᵍ۫ ꣑ৎ

darling is a god from another world who just so happens to immigrate into the dc universe after a very long time of probably embodying... well, everything.

firstly having to live for love as a human, and then ending it all to fight for the beauty of life as god.

she is the reason for existence, from the big to the miniscule.

(so basically op goddess reader who has wayyyy too much power in their hands-- ex: nothing can kill them, nothing can put an end to them, etc--)

the least you could do is seal away her powers, but even that would truly not be enough because your only sealing away 0.000000000000001%. (i mean that 💀)

*cough* anyway... aside from goddess reader backstory, lets go to the inspiration <33

she's a mix of Madokami from Puella Magi, HoF Kiana Kaslana from Honkai Impact, and mostly of Ishtar Ashtart/Space Ishtar from Fate Grand Order <3

originally kind and lighthearted after becoming 'God', but as time passes and stars dimmed, she has become... well... neutral. not good, but DEFINITELY not bad. like this!

"let me help you :)" to "...From the dawn of creation. Man has come from the ground not by his hand but mine. go back to the land and return to dust."

summary: lawful, void, alien... yet beautiful, destructive, human.

sooooo. yup.

:p

ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ۫ ꣑ৎ

...she has met the justice league before. because, who in their right minds would ignore the giant falling 'star' that came out of a very visible tear in the sky caused by said celestial body???

dramatically crashing down the surface like a meteorite, you lowkey may have destroyed a 'few' buildings... whoopsies :p

they are surprised. this... girl, no- alien, exudes endless quantity of power, leaking from every blurred pore. it also seems like they might be power themselves...

batman goes bazingas at the amount of destruction caused by your fall leading to an airheaded you getting towed to the JL headquarters and any sort of refusal or fighting back is unallowed. (even tho your more than capable of destroying anything AND everything you still oblige)

though cool as ice, you are so confused deep down. head tilted, vacant expression, the usual from the emotionally detached goddess albeit with a little change. 'what are these humans talking about?' you think, 'what threat?' you think again, unaware that you are the threat being spoken of.

the white slits of the vigilante's mask narrows at your disposition. everything about you seems... off. from your oppressing aura, to the... heavenly allure your blankness brings.

"more alien than the actual alien," a familiar scarlet speedster jokes, in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood. (he failed horribly btw) said alien rolls their eyes and sighs. though he has to admit, you lowkey look kind of cute... but he stops, remembering lois.

once you say your side of the story, they go all shocked pikachu faces again. your a god from another seperate world??? i mean dont get them wrong though, they had their fair share of situations like these, as some dc villains and heroes they know arent even from here originally. but they cant help but feel a bit different about you, something about you makes their soul writhe... and its not in a bad way.

so once B confirms your not a threat despite your extreme potential to act like one, everybody is relieved. you just need a littleeeeeee supervision, thats all :3

and oh look at that, your actually not that bad. your cold demeanor fades once they got to know you, and that void in your eyes is filled with a light comparable to the twilight star's soothing glow— pure, tranquil, and ever so mystifying.

every step you take, life seems to exist and flourish all around you. life heals around you. not only that, but also... them. the dead part of them actually, that died from complications now too complicated to be retold and remembered.

you fill the void they never knew they had, and all their aching scars were no longer painful but tolerable. bearable even, and its all because of you.

at this point, everybody knows how this all plays out. this ordinary tune, twisted into a fanatic's song.

their once innocent admiration has now spoiled into something darker, the more you stay in this world. holy eyes peeked at it, not at them but at the abyss that is their 'love.'

...you were starting to get aware. and a rarity occurred, you were... 'saddened'. for eternities you lived alone, and in an attempt to reconnect with that sliver of humanity you hid and kept, you went here to feel something again. and you did, and you were so successful.

too successful, in fact.

they loved you; so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, sooooo much. without you, they would die! :(

and that, in your eyes, is what makes you 'sad'. if your presence drives your beloved mortals to insanity's grip, then you must fly.

fly away from this despair, fly away from this madness.

your 'love' is your undoing, and ultimately also theirs.

their eyes widen as the sky is torn once again, and a familiar star flies back into it, meaning that you--- left. left? left. left? left... left.

something inside them breaks. both hearts any sense of rationality and morality left.

there is no reason to exist without you it seems, and they will do everything just to see you once more, even a second's glimpse.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

...you can't help but feel something you havent felt for a very long time. what was it again, sadness? anxiety? fear? you dont know. the endless rows of your ivory silks flutter even in the slightest movement. something tugs at you, your mind and heart. something tugs at you, telling... that it is far from over.

they call for you, their cries drowned in obsession masquerading as love.

you never answer, as your supposed concern and care for them lessens and your patience dwindles. reality is cruel, but never crueler than you. and that's when you realized it.

...they make your skin crawl. they make you want to vomit. they make you want to scream and cry. they make your ichor run cold. and if they touch you again, you'll--

...huh. who would have thought that was how you truly felt, goddess.

[corviiids]

"i suck at summaries": a dubiously helpful list of tips for how to do a summaries

by no means am i an expert. but in the hopes that this is helpful.

fic summaries have two main purposes:

tell a reader what the premise of your fic is in one glance, and

provide a 'hook' that convinces them to click on it.

based on those two purposes, here's what you should aim to do:

pack the key information into something that can be read while scrolling, and

make your fic stand out.

how do you do that. there are many different ways. ymmv. here are some starting points which may help if you are really, truly stuck.

details under the cut. in summary:

know your premise

keep it short and sharp

demonstrate your style

1: can you describe your premise in maximum three lines?

fewer is better. im not saying your summary has to BE fewer than three lines, you just need to be able to describe the premise as concisely as possible. not the whole fic. not everything that happens. just your premise.

being able to condense your ideas this way will improve your understanding of the work and make it easier to summarise.

sometimes it's a bit hard to isolate what exactly your premise is, especially if you were just writing into the void. so here are some questions you can ask yourself to figure it out:

what was the idea that spurred you to write the fic?

what is the climactic action in the fic?

if the fic is an au, canon divergence, what if, etc - what is the point of difference between this and canon?

if the fic is based around a trope, a genre, a particular device - how did you apply it, what makes the work familiar, and what makes it different?

this is important, because:

2: brevity is the soul of wit

now that you know your premise, it's time to jazz it up. turn it into a one-liner or similarly catchy pitch. give it a makeover.

it doesn't have to be literally one line. however, do not make your summary super long. do not make either your summary or your tags a massive block of text. the reader is scrolling. they have not yet decided to invest time in your fic.

the ideal summary is stylish and concise. your reader should be able to take it in without pausing for too long. it gives them a good impression of you: you know how to be economical with your sentences, which means your writing is probably easy and enjoyable to read.

and on that note:

3: including an excerpt is always an option

an optional option. but if you're stuck, it's a free card to play.

readers want to know that your writing style matches what they like to read. showing off your style can help you stand out to an interested reader.

try and find a few lines which are representative of the premise, representative of your style, and sufficiently intriguing. an excerpt is a try before you buy. you just wrote a whole fic. you want people to read the whole fic and enjoy your work. so show them what you have to offer.

what is an example, postmaker

look im not more qualified to give this advice than anyone else, but here's what i do if it helps. i typically pick out a short excerpt and include a short pitch underneath it. that way the reader knows what i sound like and what the fic is about.

here is a baldur's gate 3 fic summary

shadowheart says, “kill l–” “not lae’zel, darling, it’s too obvious. in fact, both of you are banned from killing each other.” astarion thinks for a moment. “in the game, at least.” -- the gang plays fuck, marry, kill.

this fic has a basic premise and hinges on dialogue, so i picked some sample dialogue to demonstrate what my grasp on the character dynamics looks like and then added one line to explain what the fic is about.

here is a death note fic summary (death note spoilers) (i guess)

The night Ryuzaki dies, L appears in Light's bed. -- (every night when light goes to sleep, his dreams place him in a romantic relationship with his newly-dead rival. it makes him sick.)

this fic has a more abstract premise, so i picked a short excerpt to demonstrate what the tone of the fic is (a bit mysterious). then i added two lines: just enough information to explain what the catalyst of the fic is, but no more than that, so that the reader will be intrigued.

here is a persona 5 fic summary

Ren grins. “You want me to date Goro?” “Pretend-date Goro,” Ann corrects. “And make his crush jealous.” “This is not going to work,” Goro says. “Sure, I’ll do it,” says Ren, still grinning. He does his own rendition of Ann’s eyelash bat. “Go out with me, Goro-kun?” “I’m older than you, so show me a little respect,” Goro says crossly. “Our relationship is off to a bad start, Ren-kun.” -- (or: what not to do when you're fake-dating your real crush.)

this fic is based on a premise everyone knows well (fake-dating trope), so i picked dialogue that samples the tone of the fic and of the key relationship so that readers can decide if i write the dynamic in a way they personally vibe with. then i added a line to tell them what the trope is, so that fake-dating trope enjoyers know that's what it is.

anyway. hope that helps

[keksalot404]

Uh oh! Some BOZO decided to play UNDERTALE and UNDERTALE YELLOW at the same time (Both games FUN value was 66) and now the timeline is F*CKED (By about one year; It wasn't that long till Frisk came along)

This is the Guide to UNDERTALE ROM LEAK, mostly a frame of reference for me and you regarding this AU born from a doodle and a dream. Those who just want to see the art with no context, feel free to click the top pic and swipe down or something.

A Tale of 2.5 Souls

Seems like whatever the reason Frisk went to the mountain, they ended up tailing Clover, where the game begins. Control between the 2 fallen children is split, meaning that both Frisk and Clover are free to express their quirks and personalities more.

Adding to that, NarraChara is also here, being visible to Frisk, Clover, AND the player due to more determination in the area. Frisk still has higher DT than Clover, so they're in charge of LOADing and SAVEing as well as playing leader.

Prepare For Trouble, Make It Double!

Now obviously the timeline can't really be UT or UTY if all major events need to be dealt with. The universe's solution? Now every Major Character (and perhaps minor ones) are paired up with their cross game counterparts. While encounters for each monster can be seperate, eventually they will cross paths with eachother and the fallen humans.

With each section of the Underground now longer with even paired area newly connected (More on how that works later), it'd feel like even 2 player characters can't make it easy. Fortunately for a certain route, you may get some help...

Kanako

To fill a void for a Certain Short Scientist, seems fate pulled a few strings, and brought a new friend back from near-death! If you don't kill any monsters during RUINS, Kanako will sense your pure hearts and join the party, acting as the Ralsei to this Diet Fun Gang.

With healing and shield magic, she'll make your journey a lot more manageble, at the cost of not being able to kill any monsters all the way until Asgore (She will still allow you to spare monsters by lowering health but if she senses a chance to kill she will block the attack and scold you for it.)

Being a much more attentive protector than the Skeleton, she'll accompany Frisk and Clover through the emotional highs and lows of their journey, and perhaps maybe...

You'll find out the true reason she's helping you.

Stronger Monsters

For the characters of the 2 timelines being destined to meet, it is also true that destiny will point into blocking your path. For the Major Battles at least, you'll have to fight both of them at the end of each paired areas. An example being meeting North Star in Wild East only for Starlo's betrayal being calling Undyne to hunt you during Waterfall.

Expect combo attacks, fused soul modes, and complex strategies when facing the duel bosses. Some might even compromise Kanako from assisting. No fight has the same solution as the UT and UTY fights (except maybe Papyrus and Martlet), so be prepared and stay determined!

So have fun while you can, won't you? It's not likely you will get these games together again. You wouldn't waste this once-in-a-while experience just to do something you'll regret.

You wouldn't waste it just to see what happens...

...right?...

...

[luvluu]

I Love You, I’m Sorry… Shuntaro Chishiya

————

A/N: heyyyy! English is not my first language so I’m sorry if you find any mistake😭 this is also like mi first post everrr… idk if someone is going to read tho.

Thank you for reading if you do!😭🩷

————

Shuntaro Chishiya x reader

Angst💔

TW: killing, violence, betraying.

WORDS: 961

————

You were part of the military. Aguni brought you in and since then, you were his right hand along with Niragi. Even if Niragi and you were both partners and spent almost half the day together, you never liked him, his desperate attempts to get you into bed were obvious and disgusted you just thinking about it.

Just because you were part of the military didn't mean you were like them. It was true that you were pretty much like the type of people in the group, but you also had your soft side, that side was the side that Chishiya knew, or at least it was the one you thought he knew.

You and Chishiya never got along, your personalities were too different. Your unabashed, outgoing and direct attitude clashed with Chishiya's, who was introverted, independent and above all analytical. You were like oil and water. You liked to tease Chishiya, to throw compliments at him until he got on his nerves and got angry with you, but one day it changed. You were sitting in the moonlight, hugging yourself and trying to get that incident where Niragi almost murdered you in cold blood out of your head.

Chishiya was walking by when he saw you sitting there. He stared at you and finally came closer. You tried to put on your side that never seemed to care about anything, but he already knew something was wrong.

"I knew from the first moment you weren't like them. Not to throw flowers at me, but I'm smart, you know? You can't fool me." It all sounds very cliché, I know, but from that moment on you and Chishiya developed a friendship (although he wouldn't call it that).

Time passed; days, weeks, months maybe, you weren't quite sure, but something else grew between you. Every time you talked to Chishiya you let your guard down, you felt protected with him and deep down, you began to seem important to him.

Eventually, the inevitable happened; first it was hand rubbing, then cuddling after games and it ended with a kiss, a kiss that meant too much to both of you, a kiss that turned into two and then three until you practically moved into Chishiya's room, and even though you weren't a couple it was only a matter of time before it happened.

You were never in favor of Chishiya's plan to steal the cards and even less so when Aguni became leader, but you knew there was nothing you could do to stop him from doing so, but the very day Chishiya got his hands on the cards, everything changed,

A game was set up on The Beach, “The Witch Hunt”. You were not in favor of killing people, you never were, but you knew that being part of the military, it was kill or be killed.

You cursed internally when Niragi, who was supposed to be shooting from the rooftop stopped shooting and you climbed up to the top floor thinking what an idiot the guy was. Chishiya didn't worry you, you knew he was fine, that he could defend himself.

“Niragi what the-?” you stood still as you watched Niragi's flaming body fall into the void and saw Chishiya with his back to you, holding a homemade gun and a riffle. You knew it was him: his hair, his white jacket, his smell, everything... “Chishi?” you asked, watching as he turned around to look at you. You approached him, but when you barely took a step, he raised his gun towards you. You frowned. “Chishi what?” You muttered, not being able to talk even, your head couldn’t think, you just looked at his eyes.

“We both knew” he spoke, you looked at him confused. “I think you are naive if you thought this would go anywhere.”

His gun raised to the level of your chest, he took a couple of steps closer.

"You're taking down The Beach. Don't get me wrong, not that I care, but you guys fucked up my plan. Big time."

Your eyes were already teary, because the person you loved was standing in front of you, pointing a gun at you and suggesting that nothing that happened between you was real.

“No...” you whispered with a broken voice, a tear falling down your cheek. “I'm not like them, remember?” You remembered him desperately, but you knew Chishiya. You lived with him and had shared moments filled with sincerity, and you knew him well enough to know that he was going to shoot, that now that he had come this far he wasn't going to put the gun down. “Please” You cried. Your gun was still in your hand, but you knew you couldn't shoot him, that you wouldn't be able to, because you'd rather die than live without him. “I love you”

“I love you” “I'm sorry” you didn't even notice any pain in his voice, you just felt the impact of a bullet in your stomach and you fell from the rooftop.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. You saw Chishiya lean out to see you fall and then you felt the impact.

Chishiya turned around, unable to see you land against the ground. His gun fell from his hands almost instantly, but he didn't react. He simply raised his head and walked toward the rooftop door. He wasn't going to confess that he regretted it because he was a coward, he knew it from the moment he shot you just because he refused to love someone. He knew it from the moment he decided to kill you because he couldn't risk wanting to die for someone.

Shuntaro Chishiya was a coward, and you were someone stupid enough to fall in love with him.

[reds-skull]

The frames of the video from the comic in the previous post. I experimented a lot with this, it was really fun to work with this chunky brush I found. Also the first time I draw the Reaper of Destruction as it was before Lumity!

More comments under the cut+a frame I ended up scrapping!

I'll go by order of appearance, because it's basically a chronological retelling of the events of part 1.

So the first frame is the least fancy because it was the first and I didn't nail down a style for this yet lol. It shows Ghost and Soap's first true meeting, in chapter 1, where Ghost helps Soap when he gets impaled by a rebar.

The second frame jumps to chapter 8, when Ghost first put Soap in Limbo. The triangle around them was a later addition, taken from the next frame. I love this scene, it's so fun to see it drawn out now :)

The third frame was the most important one to nail the style. I painted a whole frame, only to come back to it the next day and restart from almost 0.

This is the original third frame

They both show the same event - chapter 21, the second time Soap is thrown into Limbo. The difference is, one shows a more literal image of what happened, and the other is more symbolic.

And by now I think you know how much I love symbolism lol

What also bothered me with the scraped painting is that the composition isn't central, and the entire pose, while more dynamic, isn't fitting the mural feel the rest has.

There's an even earlier version of the scrapped painting, with Soap's face, but nowhere else there are faces in these series, so I went wild with it and covered it with flames. He had them behind him already, as the description of this scene in the fic says Soap had a helo of fire behind him.

(also hated how Limbo's victims looked in the scrapped version like... ew lol)

There wasn't a real reason to add the circles around Soap. I just wanted to lean more heavily into the mural style. But I took that circle motif to the end, after that, and added it to Ghost as well, hence the triangle.

Soap has one skeletal hand, and one palm. That one is on purpose, to show he's hanging in between life and death.

The fourth frame is pretty self-explanatory, it shows the part in chapter 21 where Soap gets the dark marks on his forearm. If the colors look weird in that one, it's because I messed with them so much I couldn't tell if they look good anymore on not

The fifth frame shows another favorite moment of mine, the moment Ghost gets his marks, the white tear tracks, when he finally notices Soap fighting in the void.

The sixth frame is my favorite of the bunch. Soap and Ghost, the triangle and circle combined. The moment they killed Graves, Ghost in full control of his subjects, Soap with his sword of white fire and army of burning moths. They look so scary in this one I love them

The seventh frame shows Void and Destruction. Void was straight forward, I've drawn it a few times before, but I had to make a more detailed design for Destruction, and I only had the very first sketches I made for Revenant AU to go off of, as well as Lumity's design. Idk why I designed Lumity before Destruction, but that's how it is. I wanted Destruction melting, like it can't handle its own heat.

The eighth frame is of Void and Destruction combining. In the fic they had in-between states, it didn't look like this, but for the sake of the video I thought it'd be nicer to have a clear frame of them combining.

The ninth and last frame is of our beloved Lumity. Their design is a little more detailed than the drawing I made a while back. This frame is also the only one that interacts with the foreground, aka Makarov. I think he was jump-scared, don't know how much that comes across.

Damn I had a lot to write. Well, when given the opportunity to ramble...

[tobiasdrake]

Got Buffy on the brain.

Spike is an example of the magic of long-running series, which has more or less died out in the streaming era. Specifically, what happens when plans go awry. Because Spike? Spike is a plan that went very, very awry.

Spike was supposed to be a setup arc villain. That's it. That's all he was ever meant for. He's introduced in season two as the new scary Big Bad Evil Vampire. He's got a lot of charm and wit and some interesting characteristics but also he's killed two Slayers and is looking to add a third to his list.

Plan was that we have the Spike arc, then Buffy kills him in the midseason finale. Drusilla takes over as Big Bad Evil Vampire until surprise twist Angelus turns up as the true season villain. And that's it. Buffy fights Angel's entire little vampire sect and overcomes them and that's the season.

But Spike was spared his fate when he was just too likable to dispose of so quickly. He became a loose thread, kicked into the void for later seasons to figure out what to do with. Because this was back in the day when "We'll have another season to figure this out, we don't have to solve it now," was a thing you could reasonably rely on.

And then Angel got a spinoff, and they had to write him out of the show. That means we now have a void in the series. We need a new sexy vampire boy that the protagonists can have a fraught and snarky but generally positive relationship with when it really counts. And. Like. We have this loose thread over here....

And, as luck would have it, Spike had been written from the beginning to be a hopeless romantic. A vampire entirely capable of human affection, loyalty, and even selflessness for the people he loved. So it was really easy to slide him into a protagonist role and have him just pack-bond onto the protags now. All he needed was a restraining bolt to keep him from vamping it up. And hey, we're doing this arc about government labs and demon research soooooooo....

Spike is one of the show's most popular characters, and one of the things that makes him so interesting is the simple fact that he was an accident. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't planned from the start, like Angel and Buffy were. Creative circumstances contrived to make Spike the path of least resistance.

And in-universe, he is a cosmic accident. His capacity for affection and loyalty defies conventional wisdom about vampires, which says they are just soulless husks incapable of true emotion. But the way it manifests as the series progresses is possible only because of the restraining bolt placed on him, which no other vampire has ever experienced, behaving in a way that it was not intended to function.

Spike is, both in and out of universe, an anomaly for multiple reasons. This was never the plan, and nothing about him as a character or plot point works the way it feels like it's supposed to. He is a walking contradiction of the roles he occupies and the rules of the setting. He's not supposed to be here, and moreover, he's not supposed to be.

And that is precisely what makes him so interesting, and captivates so much of the fandom. It's something that more tightly written series, with a limited number of episodes planned from the beginning, can never truly experience.

With other characters, with Angel or Buffy or Giles or Willow, there are surprises to be had. But they often fit very comfortably into their particular roles. But with Spike, you never really know what you're gonna get. Even his creators don't.

[theeoriginals]

“It was- not love at first sight, but familiarity. Like, oh, it’s you.” With Klaus or Elijah please! Something to make me feel better while I do this awful assignment 🥲

deep breaths | elijah mikaelson

pairing: elijah mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

warnings: noneeee this is just sweet

author’s note: i wrote this at work on my phone just now so sorry if it’s not the best <3

The thing is, Elijah Mikaelson has lived many, many lives. He has had so many names, faces, stories, and voices he can hardly remember them all at this point. That, he supposes, is just part of the curse of immortality. Esther likely didn’t think that far ahead out of her grief when she turned them all into monsters. She didn’t think to consider that she wasn’t saving herself anymore loss, she was cursing her children, leading them to damnation and then blaming them for what she did.

Elijah would likely live another thousand years before he was able to fully comprehend all of the tangled, contradictory emotions that came with vampirism. A gift and a curse, like most things.

What he could for certain say was that he’s loved just as much as he’s hated. He would even argue that you can’t possibly know what it means to hate someone unless you loved them before, unless you still loved them. And although he believed that, he was not someone to give second chances often. At least not to anyone besides his siblings— though that was a different beast altogether.

Elijah knew that even if he hated someone, someone else could love that person just as much. He’d seen it often enough, felt betrayal in his gut like a stake to the heart.

Love, in all of its glory, was not often kind to Elijah.

So whenever his siblings found it necessary to tease him for being so uptight and closed off, he did nothing more than roll his eyes, because it was much easier than telling them that he was scared. Truly, deeply, in his ancient bones, he was scared. Not of love itself, but of the continuously growing sense that he would never truly find real love. And perhaps it was entirely too human of him to think that way, and perhaps it made him weak to some, but Elijah knows that his brothers and sisters more than anyone crave love just as much as he does. He knows they feel it just as deeply as he does, that want in their bones that rushed through their blood, the want for someone to just come in and never leave.

It’s hard to find that when you outlive most people. Harder than one might think, even if you fall in love with an immortal being. It’s not just that he’ll outlive most everyone he could fall in love with, either. It’s that every time it seems he’s done it, he’s fallen in love even knowing it won’t last but letting it happen anyway, it doesn’t— it doesn’t fill that void inside of him.

It doesn’t flood his mind and his body, it doesn’t fill him with life, it doesn’t make him want to breathe.

Elijah doesn’t have to breathe, but he wants someone to make him feel like he has to.

For the past thousand years he’s fought and won and lost, and he’s done his best to keep his family alive despite everything they do to drive him insane, despite the fact that they try to kill each other more than anyone else. He has been holding his breath for a thousand years, fighting and fighting and fighting. He wants to exhale.

He can’t explain this to his siblings. They would understand, he knows, but it’s something he’s never said out loud to himself let alone anyone else. Saying it out loud makes it real, and he can’t— he can’t admit it. When you are drowning, when you are holding your breath, you don’t realize you’re drowning for a long time. And the moment that you do, you realize that you can’t breathe and suddenly you’re gasping for air and you’ve all but killed yourself.

Elijah can’t admit that he’s drowning.

He sighs loudly, and it’s not an exhale and it doesn’t lift that weight off of his shoulders. It’s an expression of his annoyance with his siblings, because this far into their collective immortality, all they live for is getting on each other’s nerves.

And here at Rousseau’s is the last place he wants to entertain their petulance. You never know who could be listening, and Elijah really doesn’t want anyone less than favorable to hear about his love life, or lack thereof.

“I wish you’d just bring someone home to meet us at least once!”

“I wish I could go out and have a drink without being harassed by you people,” Elijah says moodily.

Rebekah pushes her bottom lip out in a pout and widens her eyes in a way that has always gotten her anything she wants from anyone ever. Elijah is, in fact, very aware that he and his brothers have worked overtime in making her as ridiculously spoiled and entitled as she is and yet he still manages to be surprised when she behaves like this.

“We aren’t harassing you, Elijah, we want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

He sighs again and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again and fixing them on Rebekah and Klaus. “It’s not wrong. But I don’t know what you expect me to do about my lack of prospects, it’s not like the perfect person can be conjured at whim.”

Klaus lifts a finger and Elijah knows that he’s going to say something ridiculous before he even speaks. The gleam in his eye never bodes well for anyone. “I bet we could find a witch to do just that. We could compile all of your wants and desires in a partner and get a witch to mix it all together for you. Problem solved, Elijah has a soulmate!”

Elijah gives his brother a deadpan look. “Is this witch Victor Frankenstein?”

Rebekah snorts in amusement, and Elijah dutifully ignores it.

“Be creative, Elijah! Open your mind,” Klaus swipes an arm out dramatically, sloshing his drink over the side of his glass, splashing a few drops of bourbon onto Elijah’s suit jacket.

Elijah’s lip curls in distaste and he gives his brother a look of disdain that goes ignored.

“I have an open mind, what I don’t have is an open schedule,”

“You are not as busy as you like to believe,” Rebekah drawls out, finishing off her own drink. “Your life will never change if you don’t go out and do something different! You’ll be stagnant forever, and I do mean forever, brother,”

“I will never be stagnant with your dramatics, Rebekah,”

She rolls her eyes at his avoidant response. “Your love life is stagnant. I don’t even think stagnant is the proper word, it is downright nonexistent. It is extinct.”

“Thank you, Rebekah,”

“Even if you have a sleazy, completely forgettable one night stand, you need to do something. You’re constantly dealing with us, you need to focus on yourself!”

Elijah pours the rest of his bourbon down his throat, barely tasting it as he swallows. “Maybe if you did less idiotic things that I have to deal with I’d have a more active love life. And truly, I’m not sure why I’m being lectured when you two are the furthest thing from romantically successful.”

“I have a child, I’m plenty romantically successful!”

“She was conceived during a drunken one night stand with a werewolf who is now married to someone else.”

“The details don’t matter, I have a child to show for it. I have a father’s wisdom now, you should listen to me!”

Elijah raises an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I am not part dog and therefore am actually incapable of reproducing much like you thought you were. And considering the trials and tribulations we went through with Hope, I can’t imagine I’d have any better luck in my own venture to fatherhood.”

“You’re being purposefully obtuse,”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Elijah simpers, gesturing to the bartender for another round for them.

“I have a challenge,” Rebekah cuts in before Klaus can continue their bickering, and Elijah narrows his eyes at the determined gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t like this,”

Rebekah dismisses him with a flutter of her fingers. “The next person to walk through that door, I want you to go and talk to them. You don’t have to have a one night stand, you absolute prude, but you need to speak to someone that you’re not related to, and that isn’t trying to kill you.”

“Rebekah—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Just do this one thing for me, for your darling little sister,”

“My darling little sister—”

“Shut up, look! Someone’s walking inside, get ready to go be your charming self,”

Elijah groans and turns to look at the door as it opens and someone walks through. He sighs again, weighted, empty, scared.

When he lifts his gaze, though, he finds a woman. He takes her in— eyes, nose, lips, hair— and thinks beautiful.

The bar is as crowded as ever, no breaks in sight for the bartenders and waiters, and he’s tucked away at a table with Klaus and Rebekah in the back corner because they are particularly antisocial and Klaus really just wanted to use this outing as a way to remind everyone that they are still here, and that New Orleans is still theirs. The exit is across the room, Elijah has not paid much attention to the distance at all, and yet now.

Now, the crowd of people in between him and the door is frozen and endless. Elijah’s standing before he realizes, and it feels like he’s stepping around the people frozen mid-laugh, mid-drink, mid-bite, because the world has stopped just long enough for him to cross the room.

He parts the crowd and stops before her, eyes roaming over her face. Committing it to memory and vowing to keep it there for the rest of his eternal years.

She looks at him with a smile, blinking at him slowly like she’s got all the time in the world. There’s a necklace sitting on her chest that has a familiar blue stone hanging off of it and he inhales sharply.

He thinks vampire, perhaps a coincidence but things rarely are for him and it’s something new to think that she is immortal, too, of course more fragile than an Original but if she’s smart, and he knows that she is, he can feel it, then she’ll last just as long.

“Hi,” She speaks first, and the world starts up again, the noise comes back and people unfreeze. Now that he’s stood here before her, the world can keep spinning, but it had to wait— it just had to wait for him to catch up.

“Hello,” He responds quietly, too quiet for the bar, but she hears it anyway. “I’m Elijah.”

Her smile widens and she says, “I think I knew that already,” and then she tells him her name and Elijah repeats it for himself, and then for her, and then he turns it over in his head a hundred times over so it never gets lost.

She tilts her head slightly, looking up at him. “Were you trying to leave? Am I in your way?”

“No,” He responds quickly, almost rushed. “Not unless you’re leaving, too.”

She seems pleased at his response and the longer he looks in her eyes, he thinks he’s found a new favorite color.

“I’m not leaving,”

Elijah exhales, and the weight is gone, and the void is no more. And he thinks— oh.

There you are.

[novaursa]

we know that Aemond can be very obsessive.

What if the hand of his little sister was given to a lord in exchange of an army but that happens when he killed Luke. When he came back to King’s Landing he heard the new from Aegon and goes into an furious anger

He threatened her future husband and maybe even end up killing him.

Blood and Vows

- Summary: While Aemond was at Strom's End, your family gave you away to Tyrell Lord in exchange for support of the Highgarden. But you were Aemond's, and only his.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 18+

- Word count: 2 900+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've changed the thing with future husband slaying a little. I think this fits better. I hope you don't mind.

The torches flicker along the narrow halls of the Red Keep as Aemond strides with purpose, his cloak billowing behind him, the faint scent of salt and sea clinging to his skin. The echo of his boots against the stone floors is the only sound accompanying him as he makes his way toward the council chambers, where his mother and grandsire await. The weight of what he has done hangs heavily upon him, yet he feels no regret, only a dark satisfaction that lingers in his chest. Luke is dead. But in the cold aftermath, another gnawing thought takes root—you. The one person whose absence has left a void he cannot ignore.

When he finally reaches the doors of the council chamber, the guards open them, revealing Alicent and Otto, both already seated and deep in conversation. Their eyes snap to him as he enters, their expressions shifting from curiosity to alarm as they take in his appearance—the dampness of his clothing, the exhaustion that lines his face, and the unmistakable tension in his jaw.

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice is laced with concern as she stands, her hands trembling slightly. “What has happened?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead pacing to the center of the room, gathering his thoughts. How to tell them? How to make them understand that what he has done was necessary, that it was just? He looks at his mother, her eyes searching his, then to his grandsire, whose gaze is sharp and calculating, always weighing the advantages, the risks.

“It’s done,” Aemond finally says, his voice steady but cold. “Lucerys Velaryon is dead.”

Alicent gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as she stumbles back a step. Otto, though shocked, is quicker to recover, his mind already racing with the implications.

“By your hand?” Otto asks, though the answer is clear.

Aemond meets his grandsire’s gaze, unflinching. “Yes.”

The silence that follows is thick with tension, Alicent’s horror palpable in the air. She closes the distance between them, grasping Aemond’s arm as if to steady herself, as if to make sure he’s still there and not some ghost conjured by her fears.

“What have you done?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “You’ve started a war, Aemond.”

“There was already a war,” Aemond replies, his tone devoid of remorse. “I’ve only struck the first blow.”

Otto, ever the strategist, cuts in before Alicent can respond. “The boy was heir to Driftmark, and his death will provoke a retaliation we are not prepared for. We need allies—more than ever.”

Aemond barely hears him. His mind is already drifting elsewhere, to you, to the knowledge that you are far from him, being promised to another. The thought is like a blade twisting in his gut.

“I’ve ensured that the Greens will not be seen as weak,” Aemond continues, his voice darkening as he pushes past his mother, toward Otto. “But we must be prepared. Daemon will not let this go unanswered.”

“Indeed,” Otto mutters, his hand rubbing his chin in thought. “The timing could not be worse. At least your sister has already been promised to Lord Tyrell. The Reach’s support will be crucial when the storm inevitably comes.”

The mention of your name pulls Aemond’s attention sharply. His gaze snaps to Otto, and his heart pounds in his chest, the rage simmering beneath his calm exterior flaring dangerously.

“No.” The word is spoken softly, but it carries an unmistakable weight. 

Otto’s eyes narrow slightly, the hint of a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Aemond, you understand the importance of this alliance. Your sister’s marriage to Lord Tyrell will secure—”

“She will not marry him,” Aemond interrupts, his voice low and filled with menace. “I will not allow it.”

“Aemond!” Alicent’s voice is frantic, pleading. “You cannot speak this way. It is already arranged—”

“Arrangements can be broken,” Aemond growls, his one eye blazing with a dangerous light. “She belongs here, with us. With me.”

The intensity of his words sends a chill through the room, and for a moment, even Otto is at a loss for words. Alicent’s hand trembles as she reaches out to her son, her voice a whisper now. “Aemond… she is your sister.”

“She is mine,” he hisses, his voice low and possessive. “Not some pawn to be traded for power. I will bring her back. I will make sure of it.”

Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, and she looks to Otto for support, but Otto remains silent, calculating, weighing the balance of power that is ever shifting. He knows Aemond, knows the fire that burns in him, and realizes that to challenge him now would be to ignite that fire into something uncontrollable.

“Aemond,” Otto finally says, carefully choosing his words. “You must be careful. The decisions you make now could determine the future of this realm.”

“The future is already determined,” Aemond replies coldly, turning on his heel to leave. “I will bring her back. And woe to anyone who stands in my way.”

As he exits the room, his heart is set. There is no power in this world that can keep you from him. You are his blood, his fire, and he will see to it that you are where you belong—by his side, bound to him as tightly as dragon and rider.

Aemond mounts Vhagar that night, the storm in his heart mirroring the one that brews on the horizon. Highgarden may be far, but for Aemond Targaryen, no distance is too great, no obstacle too daunting. He will have you back, and not even the gods themselves will stand in his way.

The night air is sharp as Vhagar soars above the clouds, her massive wings beating rhythmically as she slices through the sky. The stars are scattered like silver dust across the dark expanse, and below, the world is nothing but a distant shadow. The wind rushes past you, cold and biting, but you feel none of it. Your focus is entirely on your destination—Highgarden, where you are waiting, unaware of the storm that is about to descend upon you.

Aemond’s grip tightens on Vhagar’s reins as he leans forward, urging the ancient dragon to go faster. Every beat of her wings carries him closer to you, and every moment that passes without you by his side is a moment too long. The image of you haunts his mind, more vivid than any memory. He sees you as you were the last time he laid eyes upon you, your features softened by the firelight, your eyes shining with a warmth that you never quite showed to anyone else, not even to him.

But he saw it—felt it. That warmth was meant for him, only him. The thought of you being offered to another, of you standing before some lord of the Reach, promising yourself to a man who is not him, fills him with a fury that threatens to consume him. You are his sister, yes, but more than that, you are his. The very idea that you could be taken from him, that you could be used as a pawn in this game of thrones, is unbearable.

The wind howls louder as Vhagar dips lower, closer to the earth. The landscape below becomes clearer—the rivers, the hills, the forests that stretch on for miles. Aemond’s thoughts drift to the conversations he had overheard, the whispers in the corridors of the Red Keep, the plans that had been laid out without his knowledge. They had decided your fate as if you were nothing more than a chess piece to be moved at their whim. His mother, his grandsire—they thought they were securing an alliance, strengthening the Greens’ position in the war that loomed on the horizon.

But they were wrong. They had miscalculated. You were not a piece to be played with. You were a Targaryen, born of fire and blood, and you belonged to him. Aemond’s heart pounds in his chest as he thinks of how it must have felt for you, to be sent away to Highgarden, to be kept away from the family, from him. Did you feel abandoned? Did you think he had forgotten you, that he had let them send you off without a second thought?

The thought gnaws at him, a festering wound. He had always been there for you, had always protected you, even when others sought to control your fate. And now, when you needed him most, he had been miles away, lost in the chaos of war and duty. But no longer. He would not let anyone—his grandsire, his mother, not even the King himself—decide what was to become of you. That was his right alone.

As the dark silhouette of Highgarden comes into view on the horizon, Aemond’s heart races with a wild intensity. Vhagar lets out a deep, resonant growl, sensing the anticipation in her rider. The sprawling fortress, with its high walls and lush gardens, is a beacon in the night, but to Aemond, it is nothing more than a cage that holds you captive.

He thinks of you again, wondering if you’re awake, if you feel his approach, if your thoughts are with him as his are with you. The bond between you has always been strong, stronger than anyone could understand. Even when you were children, you had always been drawn to each other, a connection that went beyond mere blood. It was as if you were two halves of the same soul, destined to be together, to complete each other.

The idea of you marrying another, of giving yourself to another man, fills him with a possessiveness that borders on madness. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you, holding you, claiming you. You are his, and he will make sure the world knows it.

As Vhagar circles Highgarden, Aemond’s thoughts become clearer, sharper. He will take you back, and he will do whatever it takes to ensure that you are never taken from him again. The Reach may offer its armies, its loyalty, but it will do so on his terms, not because they have taken you from him.

With a final command, Vhagar descends, her massive form casting a shadow over the land below. Aemond’s pulse quickens as he imagines your face when you see him, when you realize that he has come for you. He pictures the relief, the joy that will light up your eyes when you understand that he will never let you go.

As he prepares to land, his mind is filled with only one thought, one burning desire—to have you by his side, where you belong. And this time, no one will stand between you and him. You are his, and soon, the world will know it.

The ground trembles as Vhagar lands just outside the walls of Highgarden, her massive wings folding against her sides with a rush of air. The sound reverberates through the night, startling the guards and servants of the Tyrell household who have never seen a dragon so close. They scatter like leaves in the wind, their fear palpable as Aemond dismounts, his dark cloak swirling around him like a storm. His mind is set, his purpose clear. You will leave this place with him, and nothing—not even the Lord of Highgarden—will stand in his way.

He strides toward the castle, his steps purposeful, each one echoing with the cold determination that grips him. The great doors to Highgarden open before him, revealing a grand hall bathed in candlelight. The Tyrell banners hang from the walls, their golden roses a stark contrast to the fire and blood that courses through Aemond’s veins.

At the far end of the hall stands Lord Tyrell, a man of considerable girth and wealth, though neither his stature nor his riches can save him now. He watches Aemond’s approach with a mixture of unease and defiance, his gaze flicking nervously to the massive shadow of Vhagar that looms just beyond the doors.

“You’ve come a long way, Prince Aemond,” Lord Tyrell says, his voice trying—and failing—to sound cordial. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Aemond’s eye narrows, his gaze cutting through the lord like a blade. “Where is she?”

Lord Tyrell’s composure falters for a brief moment, but he quickly recovers, straightening his shoulders. “Your sister is under my protection, as per the arrangements made by the Crown. She is to marry my son in due course, as we agreed. The union will—”

“Where is she?” Aemond’s voice is sharp, filled with a dangerous edge that silences the room. The air grows thick with tension as the threat in his words becomes clear. 

Lord Tyrell’s face pales slightly, and he hesitates before nodding to a servant, who quickly rushes out of the hall to fetch you. Aemond waits, his gaze never leaving the lord who dares to think he can keep you from him.

“You must understand, Prince Aemond,” Lord Tyrell begins, his tone now laced with a hint of desperation, “this marriage was arranged for the good of the realm. It will bring the Reach’s strength to your cause, solidify—”

Aemond takes a step forward, his presence menacing, his eye blazing with a fury that makes the lord take an involuntary step back. “The only thing this marriage will bring is your death if you do not return her to me now.”

The words hang in the air, the weight of them suffocating. Lord Tyrell’s face blanches completely as he realizes that Aemond is not here to negotiate or to parley. He is here to take what is his.

Before the lord can respond, you are brought into the hall, flanked by two servants. Your eyes widen as you see Aemond standing there, his expression one of fierce determination. Relief washes over you, mixed with fear for what might happen next. 

“Aemond,” you breathe, taking a hesitant step toward him.

In two strides, he closes the distance between you, his hand reaching out to take yours, pulling you to him as if to assure himself that you are real, that you are safe. His grip is firm, possessive, and the moment his fingers entwine with yours, you feel the undeniable truth of his words—he is here to take you away, to claim you as his own.

“This is madness,” Lord Tyrell stammers, his voice shaking now. “She is betrothed to my son. You cannot simply take her—”

“She was never yours to give,” Aemond snaps, his voice low and dangerous. “She is mine.”

With those words, the last vestiges of Lord Tyrell’s composure crumble. “This is treason! You cannot—”

But Aemond has heard enough. His free hand moves with the swiftness of a serpent, and before anyone can react, his sword is drawn and buried deep in Lord Tyrell’s chest. The lord gasps, his eyes wide with shock and pain as he collapses to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. The hall is silent, save for the dying man’s gurgling breaths, and the eyes of every witness are fixed on Aemond, none daring to move, to speak, to challenge the dragon prince who stands before them.

You stare at the fallen lord, your heart pounding in your chest, but when you look up at Aemond, his expression is unreadable, his focus entirely on you. 

He sheathes his sword, and with a voice that is as cold as ice, he speaks to the room. “Anyone who wishes to dispute my claim on my sister, speak now.”

No one moves. No one speaks. Fear grips them all as they realize that to oppose Aemond Targaryen is to invite death upon themselves. And with Vhagar just outside, there is no doubt that the prince’s wrath would be swift and unforgiving.

Aemond turns to you, his eye softening just slightly, though the intensity of his gaze remains. “We’re leaving,” he says, his voice gentler now, meant only for you. “You’re coming with me.”

You nod, unable to find the words, but knowing that there is no other choice. You’ve always known that Aemond would come for you, that he would never let anyone take you away from him. And now, as you stand beside him, the reality of his promise is clearer than ever.

He leads you out of the hall, his hand still gripping yours, guiding you back to where Vhagar waits. The great dragon lowers her head as you approach, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. Aemond helps you mount, his hands firm but gentle as they guide you into the saddle before he takes his place behind you.

As Vhagar rises into the sky, Aemond’s arms wrap around you, holding you close. You can feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, the warmth of his body shielding you from the cold night air. His voice, when he speaks, is low and filled with a fierce determination.

“We will be married,” he vows, his breath warm against your ear. “No one will take you from me again.”

You close your eyes, letting the wind whip through your hair as Vhagar carries you both far from Highgarden, far from the reach of anyone who might try to come between you. And in that moment, you know that Aemond’s promise is one that will never be broken.

He is your brother, your protector, your everything—and he will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side.

[seventiesweetheart]

hiii~ how do you feel about writing something about ghostface x reader (either billy or danny) inspired by "sweet serial killer" or "queen of disaster" or thag line from cinnamon girl "if he's a serial killer then what's the worst that can happen to a girl who is already hurt?" IDK I JUST WANT LANA DEL REY FT GHOSTFACE 😭

𓆩♱𓆪 sweet serial killer.

ghostface! billy loomis x fem! reader

INSPO. happiness is a butterfly by lana del rey | “if he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt?”

WARNING. mentions of gore and violence. yandere billy. ghostface breaking into her house. manipulative behavior. fluff! no smut in this one :>

A/N. so sorry anon, this came in so late >< but i hope you like it !!

for a whole week, y/n has done nothing but cry and mourn the loss of her best friend, casey becker. she’s avoided coming to school cause the poor girl couldn’t stand not being able to see her in the hallways. no, she couldn’t bear it, even after her friends have insisted on her being there.

billy and stu were so determined to keep her company, always showing up with new movie rentals and her favorite comfort foods. they hated seeing the poor girl so broken, even if one of them do believe casey deserve what she got for constantly stealing y/n's attention away from him.

but no matter what billy and stu did, it was never enough to fill the void. the horrific image of her best friend's intestines strung around the tree outside her house haunted y/n. who would honestly do such a sick and cruel thing?

y/n sobbed uncontrollably at the thought, her body trembling as she wrapped herself tighter in her (fav color) fleece blanket. she curled up on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest, feeling small and utterly alone. the dim glow of the tv cast flickering shadows on the walls, reflecting off the tear tracks on her cheeks, her eyes swollen and her nose red and runny.

it was already 1:00 a.m. on a saturday, and she remained wide awake in the dimly lit living room, staring blankly at the romcom billy had picked out for her. the lighthearted scenes on the screen felt like a mockery of her current state. but at least it kept her company.

her parents were out of town, too busy sailing away in some vacation beach while their daughter was drowning herself in her own misery. she would never admit it to her friends but it does get lonely isolating herself in her house. and it’s even more frightening to think that whoever killed her best friend still hasnt been caught. besides, who knows? she might be next—

suddenly, a loud ring pierced the quiet, making y/n jump slightly from her position.

who the hell would be calling at such an ungodly hour? the muffled noise from the tv only added to the eerie silence that she was now acutely aware of as the phone continued to ring incessantly.

with a slight pout, she realized the phone wasn’t going to answer itself. and so she mustered all her courage and stood from the couch. it was most likely just her parents checking in; they must be worried sick after hearing the news about the masked killer.

her soft knee-high socks touched the cold hardwood floor as she carefully padded toward the sound. realizing it was coming from the kitchen, she drew closer, the ringing growing louder with each step.

the kitchen was quieter and darker, the only light coming from the moon casting a glow through the window. with trembling hands, she reached out and picked up the phone situated on top of the counter, her pulse quickening at the unknown caller's silence on the other end.

"…hello?" her soft, timid voice asked as she waited for a response.

“hello, y/n.” the voice was low and gravelly, y/n fought hard not to end the call right then and there.

“w-who is this?”

“i’ll answer your question only if you answer mine first.”

y/n face twisted with confusion but she didn’t think too much about it. this is probably just a silly prank call, nothing serious.

“okay… what’s your question?”

the stranger paused a few seconds before finally asking, “what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“i-i’m not really a fan of scary movies.” was the only reply y/n could come with cause it’s true. she despised them. plus, if anything, the recent events had only intensified her aversion to them.

“that’s ashame, never even seen a single one?” the voice prodded.

“nuh uh,” the girl shook her head even if she knew that the stranger obviously couldn’t see her right now.

the voice chuckled softly, “cute.”

“i already answered your question, so answer mine.” she doesn’t know where the courage to say that came from but she immediately bit down on her lip in fear of sounding too confrontational.

“that’s right! and here’s your answer, sweetheart,” the call ends abruptly and all she’s left with is the beeping noise of the telephone.

furrowing her brows, she slowly puts the device back down onto the charging station, unsure of what to make of the conversation. but she decides to push it out of her mind as she backs slowly from the where the phone was.

but suddenly, a hand clamped tightly over her mouth, cutting off her gasp. her eyes widened in shock as she felt a sharp metal press threateningly against her throat.

“make a sound and i’ll gut you up just like your poor best friend.” the voice behind whispered menacingly.

y/n couldn’t stop the flood of tears from pouring as she felt the arm around her and the solid chest behind her guide her out of the kitchen. a warm breath brushed against the back of her ear and down the side of her exposed neck as she weakly tried to clutch onto the hand that was still holding the knife.

of course, billy wasn’t actually going to cut her up. he wouldn’t even place a single scar on the poor girl’s skin. he just needed to threaten her enough to make sure she complied with whatever he wanted. and right now what he wanted was to guide her back to where she was and keep her wrapped possessively in his arms.

“i’m going to let go of your mouth now, sweetheart. but you better not scream, understood?” he warned carefully.

he unwrapped his hand from her mouth, revealing her flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. billy couldn’t help but pause to admire her vulnerable appearance as she weakly leaned against his chest, her angelic eyes brimming with tears and wetting her fluttery lashes.

her pouty, petal-soft lips looked so dangerously tempting. in that moment, billy felt a primal urge to claim them, to stain them with his blood soaked violence, a violence so diametrically opposed to her sweet innocence.

but he couldn’t bring himself to taint her with his darkness—not when she looked so fragile and dainty in his arms.

© 2024 seventiesweetheart | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.