#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  ♡ 

[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!)

[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?...

...

[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...

[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.

[theminecraftbee]

Jimmy and Martyn lie, side-by-side, flat on their backs. They stare at the sky together.

"So," Jimmy says.

"So," Martyn says back.

"I mean, it's not like we didn't see this coming," Jimmy says. "I'm just saying. I'm just saying."

"Oh, yeah, sure. I mean, walking off the world into the void, a bit embarrassing and painful, that, but this has been coming since day one," Martyn agrees.

"And I mean, well, I'm me. Sort of stupid to go fight the dragon, isn't it?"

"I mean, at least you actually fought the dragon."

"Barely."

"Hah, yeah, you're right. Barely."

They remain lying flat on their backs. A star streaks across the sky. Jimmy considers wishing on it, but then figures he'll let Martyn do any wishing. Honestly, he seems to need it more. He's been sort of just sad since day one. On Jimmy's front, if it's going to happen, it'll just... happen. He's learned to live with that, almost.

Still stings, and he hasn't quite learned to live with it, but...

They're silent for a bit.

"You know, actually, this is normally the part of the game where I'm ready to start killing people," Martyn says conversationally. "I bet a lot of people are real scared right now. I'm a tricky bastard, and besides, it's not like we have another void to fall into now."

"Oh, good, because no one's scared of me," Jimmy says. "Also, you know, I don't really feel like killing anyone? I've never been good at that, the whole killing thing, though."

Martyn snorts. "That you aren't."

"Rude."

Another star streaks by. This time, Jimmy goes ahead and makes a wish: if it's going to happen again, he lasts as long as he can, and then everyone goes all at once. It's a silly wish. It won't happen. Not with so many people still green, it won't.

He's just...

"I'm not any good at killing, but I don't even feel a bit of the bloodlust, actually," Jimmy says.

"Yeah, me neither," admits Martyn.

"Just feel tired, mostly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. You know, I've got to say, I'm pretty tired as well."

Jimmy finally turns to look at Martyn instead of the stars. Flecks of void dance across his fingers, but Martyn's still looking skyward.

"Is it weird that we're tired instead of wanting to kill folks, you reckon?"

"Nah," Martyn says. "Think this is just a new way to make us do it."

Jimmy's not sure he really knows what Martyn means by that, but since he's never been much of a killer, he decides he won't say as much. Maybe Martyn understands what's going on better than Jimmy. Jimmy, however, thinks that the exhaustion isn't any kind of trick to get them to kill at all. They don't need a trick; they just need tasks.

Jimmy thinks the exhaustion is just being tired.

Gods know he's been tired for a while now.

Another star streaks by. Quick, and then all of them at once, he thinks. Quick, then all of them at once.

[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.

- Paring: 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.

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter four: This is why you don’t leave your Aeon unsupervised (In which you get kissed, again)

Warnings: References to violence, mentions of castration (not graphic) heavily not edited (RIP first draft, you will not be remembered)

“Ohoho this is neat!”

“It’s not neat man— more like dead meat.”

“Come on don’t be a downer! Look bro, it’s your very first wanted poster!” Boothill roughly grabbed you closer to him in good spirits as he grinned widely at the paper he’s holding with another hand— specifically, your very first wanted poster.

“I’m happy I have one but the problem is— it looks so…” You cringed, seeing your pose with a chair. Well at least they didn’t get their details wrong. “I don’t know, fuckass??”

Boothill snorted. “Nahhh don’t sweat that darling, it’s your first one after all. You should have seen mine, it’s wayyyy uglier than yours.”

“I didn’t expect to be known as some chair using murderer though.” You mumbled, it wasn’t exactly a complaint considering it was and had been technically your weapon ever since you occasionally roped yourself in Boothill’s shenanigans. “I’m just gonna have to pray the other people in the express won’t look at me weird once they see my face on the news.”

The chances of it happening were slim— you didn’t like media attention, whether it be for the purpose of turning you into a subject fit for a National Geographic™️ documentary or have your entire face on the news. Thankfully you weren’t in the level of a stellaron hunter yet, but damn the IPC sure knew spite.

“I don’t know why they even bothered with putting a bounty on my head, it was just some lackeys I helped you with sending out six feet under— wait, was it because I castrated one of them using the back of my shoe?” You blinked, brows furrowed as you continued to stare at your own poster some more as Boothill cringed and hissed through gritted teeth.

“Probably.” He said— although lacking balls himself, he felt a tinge of sympathy for the poor lad whose jewels you’ve severed using a blade you have very creatively embedded in your shoe. “Some of their folks can get reeaal petty.” He drawled. “Friend of theirs that escaped probably put that bounty on your head because they’re scared they’d be next on the clock chopping board.”

In your end you did say “Say goodbye to deez nuts!” and brutalized that poor poor man so much his friend pissed themselves and peaced out.

“Pffft.” You laughed. “Clock chopping board—“.

“Yeah yeah laugh all you want.” He rolled his eyes. “That aside, you’re a pretty thing. If you go around killing them while accompanying me they’re bound to remember your face.” He tapped you on the cheek lightly.

“Thank you?” You said, unsure.

There’s a ring in the air that you identified to have come from Boothill’s phone.

“Welp, time to go.” He said, snatching a shot glass and downing the last of the whiskey and swallowed the bullet that accompanied it.

“Later darlin’, still got some business to do.”

“Good luck!”

—————————

“It’s nice to finally meet you, time hasn’t been very kind.”

What the fuck?

Green eyes, blond hair and good looks, the man that stood before you was none other than Kirschtaria Wodime— wait no, wrong name and fandom, it’s Otto Apocalypse?? No, you internally shook your head, wrong again.

This bitch was Void Archives, and he’s the source of Welt’s old man yaoi PTSD.

And you were probably going to have a rivalry, because unfortunately for everyone in this train including yourself; he didn’t pretend he was pretentious, he was the pretentious prick.

“Well, hello and nice to meet you I suppose?” You blinked, unsure of how to approach him as you awkwardly extended your hand for a shake. Void Archives took it, surprisingly gentle with how he grasped it before giving it a firm shake.

“Void Archives.” He introduced himself but you already know that, he didn’t though.

“[Name].” You replied.

In your opinion, this man smelled suspicious. Very very suspicious, and a bigger red flag than you. (If he had the face of Otto Apocalypse then it was an automatic sus banner plastered on his profile for you, but the bit— Void Archives, doesn’t know that you know.)

You scowled the moment he was out of the room, clear displeasure displayed into your face as you thought of another way to deal with another shitshow— except the Express was involved. You didn’t know much about what happened, but you do know he caused some not so good shit for everyone.

On the bright side, you would meet Dan Heng.

Dinner was served and pleasantries were exchanged, with you remaining uncharacteristically reserved towards Void Archives. If the other two people in the express noticed this, they don’t speak of it.

———————-

You retreated to your quarters for that night and returned to your true body, surprised to find Yaoshi there with you, sitting idly as if waiting.

“I see that you already have a name.” They smiled sweetly. “And a more formed body too.. yes….this one suits you just fine indeed.” One of their many hands rested on the top of your head, taking a lock of hair in between their fingers as they looked at you with the thousands of their eyes adoringly. “You have grown well, I am glad.”

“Welcome back?” You managed to utter, much like your encounter with the Void Archives, Yaoshi too made you at a loss for words.

“You were waiting for me?” They came closer to you with a pleased expression plastered on their disturbingly ethereal face as you heard the stretching of branches and the sound of limbs being torn off again.

“You did promise you would come back to visit.” You told them. “Were you here for a while?”

“No, but I was watching you.” They shook their head gently. “You spread freedom and sow in seeds of kindness, will you liberate more from suffering?”

“I mean, I don’t like having to see shit like people being constrained. So technically, yes.” You replied to them, and they seemed pleased with that response, holding your waist with another pair of arms, caressing you in a way you would have felt as a maddening and yet detached kind of love had you been a human.

Now that you thought about it, it was no wonder Yaoshi’s followers seemed.. a little crazy.

However their hold on you seemed to be personal. You’re not sure how to feel about that.

“How kind,” They said, voice remaining sweet and expression tranquil as they pulled you closer and closer, til you’re caged in the branches and the thousands of arms— they’re ensnaring you in a hug, or at least you thought it’s a hug.

“You liberate people of their suffering, lessening their burden in the cycle of being.” They sighed like a maiden in love. Briefly, you thought of the man whose balls you severed with the back of your shoe and felt the urge to rebut Yaoshi of what they said, but ultimately chose not to speak as they didn’t seem to tire in adoring you.

You found it a little off putting but you couldn’t judge; they were free to feel anything towards you as much as you were free to think of anything towards them. They were a fellow Aeon, although if you were a mortal, you would have found this interest towards you incredibly terrifying, knowing full well how their love always ends.

While losing yourself to mara and growing branches and leaves in your body wasn’t sexy, you weren’t going to restrict Yaoshi in feeling things, so long as they don’t cause trouble to your little train.

“May you be as free as those whom you chose to be free, Kind Freedom.” The branches receded and so did their arms, with only two hands to cup your face gently. “May we meet again.” After they uttered those words, they kissed you just as they did before when you were just new to the world, then left.

If you were a human, you think you would have just gone cathartic from too many things happening at once, because what the hell was their business in kissing you in the mouth before dipping??

You did remember that Yaoshi said that they felt as if they knew you before, and thinking about it now, were the Aeons acutely aware of you watching when you were playing the game behind the screen?

No, they wouldn’t be. But you’d like to think they could feel your presence, just not identify you.

It was in the simulated universe too, so there was no way unless they actually fully interacted with you outside of it as the Trailblazer. You thought of it some more, recalling past conversations, then you remembered Lan stating your presence felt familiar too.

It still didn’t really explain why Yaoshi would be compelled to kiss you as if you were a lover— but on god, you hoped not. As disturbingly beautiful as your fellow Aeon might be, you’re well aware and lucid enough to acknowledge they’re a big fat red flag.

For a moment, you wondered if they’d ask you to marry them next, worse, they could just tell you you’re married to them and call it a day.

Could Aeons even marry?

There’s a lot for you to think about, but you brushed the thought of a marriage when you remembered the other train passenger— Mr. Blonde Prick. You groaned, at that time not noticing the noise you made was heard by the cosmos.

It was a groan for you, but for the humans who heard it certainly did not sound like it.

You told Welt to shut off the broadcast in the next day the moment you heard a very familiar intro, not wanting to hear your voice documented and broadcasted for everyone to hear again.

———————

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V (HERE),Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII….

And there we go for this chapter! This is just pure brain vomit but enjoy :33

[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.

[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.

[chvoswxtch]

Court baby i've waiting for this moment! I have this idea for a fic living rent free in my head. Its Frank x fem!reader. They were in a very cozy and confy moment when the snap happened and reader was blipped! You could write how Frank deald with those five years and with reader coming back. With a lot of angst moments and flufly and maybe spicy after she comes back. I would love if you accept this request! Thank you, I love you ❤️

i'm not gonna lie to you, the blip is my least favorite marvel storyline, but I love you so I put myself and frank through it just for you 🖤

I would say sorry that i'm about to emotionally wreck you but in my defense, you did ask for this so...enjoy or don't

warning: swearing, mentions of blood, violence, guns, & alcohol, heavy angst, very brief allusion to suicide (blink and you miss it) word count: 4.1k

the blip.

A split second. That’s how quickly Frank lost you. He turned his back for a second to refill his mug of coffee, and when he turned back around, you had vanished seemingly into thin air. At first he thought maybe you had gone back into the bedroom to grab a sweater or something. It had been a bit chilly in the kitchen, and you were always cold. But then a few seconds turned into a few minutes, and Frank didn’t hear any shuffling or soft footsteps. He didn’t hear anything at all. The crisp silence had an icy sense of dread trickling down his spine, and when he didn’t hear your sweet voice responding to his cautious calls of your name, he went into a full blown panic.

You were gone.

Year One.

This wasn’t happening again. It couldn’t be. There was no way he had survived losing Maria and the kids just to find you, to let your endless patience and irrevocable empathy fill the gaping void in his chest, only to lose you too. It had to be some kind of cruel joke. Frank didn’t consider himself a good man; he was well aware of and acquainted with his demons. But he didn’t deserve this.

Did he?

It was forty-eight hours before anyone even knew what happened. One giant asshole snapped his fingers, and half the universe’s population ceased to exist. Frank had stopped believing in God a lifetime ago, and he certainly didn’t believe in aliens or otherworldly creatures. He had seen first hand during his time in the Marines that mankind was the real monster. But it didn’t matter that he didn’t believe in it, because it happened, and not even the fucking Avengers could stop it. Hell, half of them were gone too.

Two weeks after the snap, news broke that Thanos had been killed, and that the Infinity Stones were destroyed, but the remaining members of the Avengers were trying to come up with a way to bring everyone back. For months Frank was glued to every news outlet, frantically waiting for even the smallest of updates. Anything was something. He refused to believe that the snap was permanent. The Avengers were going to find a way to bring everyone back. They had to. 

Your pillowcase had stopped smelling like your shampoo, and Frank found himself using it and your body wash just to keep your scent on the sheets. He burned your favorite candles and read your favorite books. He wouldn’t stay gone longer than fifteen minutes in case you finally came home. He wanted to be there when you did. Frank kept himself busy with little projects around the house, things that you had mentioned changing or updating that he had promised he would get around to and never did. Frank swore to himself when you came home, things would be different. 

He would take that trip you wanted to go on. He’d take you to the shelter to pick out a dog like you had been talking about. Maybe you two would finally start a family. Whatever you wanted, he’d give you. He’d find a way to give you the goddamn moon and every single star in the sky if you wanted them. 

As soon as you came home.

But then a year went by, and nothing had changed. The anniversary of the snap came and went, and everyone seemed to give up hope on bringing everyone back, or they just decided to move on and accept that no one was coming back.

But Frank couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He refused to believe you were really gone.

Year Two.

The worst part about the snap was that Frank couldn’t collect his vengeance in blood like he had with his family. The one who took you from him was already dead, and even if he hadn’t been, Frank had no way of reaching him. Thanos was a Titan, someone who was revered as a God to those that followed him, and Frank was just a man. A man poisoned with rage and an insatiable thirst for revenge. So, he did what he was good at. He punished. Even though half the universe’s population was gone, that didn’t mean there weren’t still monsters left on Earth.

Frank killed without mercy or prejudice. There was no sin too harmless for his wrath. His fists collided with skin and bone until there was nothing left but ivory fragments tainted crimson and torn flesh. He didn’t stop, not even when his destructive blows caused his own knuckles to crack. It had gotten to the point where he hardly reached for a gun anymore unless he absolutely had to. He preferred to use his hands or serrated steel. He wanted to inflict every ounce of pain that he felt inside on whoever was stupid enough to get in his way.

It was like he wasn’t even mentally present anymore. His conscience had been shut off somehow, and all that was left was a relentless killing machine. Whenever he ran out of targets in the city, he moved on to hunt in the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He lived primarily out of his van, or whatever dingy motel he came across on the road. He hadn’t stepped foot in your home in almost a year. He couldn’t. It was haunted by your memory, and he couldn’t desecrate the home you two had made together with what he had become.

You would be ashamed of him. You would be disgusted and horrified by the things he had done. That thought echoed in his head as he watched the water continue to run red while he stood under the weak spray of the shower head. He didn’t know what town or even what state he was in. He didn’t know what day of the week it was, or what month it was. He didn’t care. All he knew was that you were gone, and he had nothing left.

Nothing left but the white hot fury that infected his veins and had him seeking out blood like water in the desert.

Year Three.

Frank couldn’t visit you, not like he could Maria and the kids. He couldn’t even have the closure of burying you, because there wasn’t a body. There was no final resting place for you, and he didn’t think that was fucking fair. Today was your birthday, and Frank had been drowning himself in whiskey trying to dilute the painful memories that played in his head like a haunting home movie. 

The angelic sound of your voice as you read him whatever book your nose was buried in that week, your fingers slipping through his dark tresses while he laid his head on your chest and listened in pure content. The feeling of your soft lips on his heated skin and delicate noises of pleasure as your bodies connected like they were made for each other. Your melodic laughter, the silkiness of your skin, slow dancing in the living room with the moon acting as a spotlight. 

All the words he never said. All the promises he didn’t get to keep. All the dreams that wouldn’t come true.

Somehow Frank found himself in a church. He couldn’t remember the last time he stepped foot in one. Maybe it was Sunday school back when his parents still forced him to go. He had stumbled in, his heavy boots thudding along the aisle, the only other sound coming from the amber liquid sloshing around in the half empty bottle in his hand. He stopped when he got to the front, looking up at the stained glass depictions of angels, until his weary eyes landed on the savior that was nailed to the giant cross.

Frank glared at him for several minutes before hurling the half empty bottle right at the head of the statue, causing a firework explosion of shimmering shards of glass to rain over the altar and various candles that had been lit for loved ones that had passed on. His rough voice boomed throughout the empty space.

“You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you take me, huh? Why not me? She ain’t never done a goddamn thing wrong. I’m the one you want. I’m the one that deserves it. I’m the goddamn killer here, huh? I’m the fuckin’ Punisher. So you bring her back, and you take me!”

Frank started grabbing bibles from the pews and hurling them at the statue with all his strength. In his inebriated state, some of them flew right past the statue and knocked over other small figurines and candlesticks. He let out a guttural war cry every time he threw a new one, and by the time he ran out of steam, he was panting heavily, and tears had formed in his eyes.

Dropping to his knees, he looked up at the melancholic face of the statue that matched his own, and he did something he hadn’t done in years. 

He prayed.

“Please. Please, just bring her back. I’ll take her place…I won’t fight…just…just bring her back. I’m beggin’ you…I’ll do whatever it takes, alright? Just…you can’t…you can’t do this to me again. You can’t. I may deserve it, but she don’t…okay so just…just…”

Frank was tired. Three years without you was too long. He hadn’t been able to find the peace that he had found after Maria and the kids. He spent a year waging war on everyone, and it did nothing. He spent the last few months drowning himself in booze, and it didn’t help. Nothing helped, and there was nothing to keep him going. You were gone, and you weren’t coming back, so what the hell was he still getting out of bed every morning for?

Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Frank pulled out a revolver and stared down at it. There was only one bullet in the chamber, and it wasn’t meant for anyone but him. If God wouldn’t bring you back, then he would go to you.

As soon as he cocked the hammer, a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“You don’t wanna do that, Frank.”

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Frank squinted his blurry eyes before turning back around, shaking his head with a dry laugh.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Half the goddamn universe gets wiped out, and I get stuck with the fuckin’ altar boy.”

“Frank-”

“Mind your fuckin’ business, Red. Just cause there’s only one bullet in this chamber don’t mean I won’t handle your ass.”

Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose as he took a few cautious steps towards where Frank was on his knees in front of the altar.

“You’re drunk-”

“And you’re fuckin’ relentless. Go home.”

“Look, whoever you lost-”

“Whoever I lost? I lost everyone, Red!”

Matt didn’t flinch when Frank suddenly rose from his knees and stormed over towards him, his loud voice booming in the silence as they stood barely an inch apart. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly, his lips pursed as he grit his teeth.

“You think you’re the only one that’s lost everyone you’ve ever cared about, Frank?”

“Then what the hell are you waitin’ on, huh? You too much of a fuckin’ pussy to do it yourself, huh? That it? You need me to do it for you?”

Matt carefully reached out to place his hand on Frank’s arm, lowering the gun that was in his hand while he spoke in a calm voice.

“I don’t want to die, Frank. And I don’t think you want to either. You just want the pain to stop. But if you do this, it’s permanent, and you’ll never know if she came back.”

Frank shook his head and blew a puff of hot air out of his lips, his dark brows scrunching up in pure annoyance and frustration.

“She ain’t comin’ back-”

“You don’t know that. She’s not dead, Frank. She’s lost. Maybe she’s with Karen and Foggy. Frank, someone came down from another planet and wiped out half the universe. Is it so crazy to think that could be undone?”

The anger that was simmering inside Frank from Matt’s intrusion seemed to be burning through the alcohol in his system, and Matt’s question was igniting a tiny ember of hope that Frank wasn’t prepared to tend to. His body physically deflated as he dropped his head between his broad shoulders. There was a heavy tide of tears on his bottom lash line threatening to flood at any moment.

“Don’t do that.”

“You have to have faith, Frank-“

“I don’t, Red.”

“I do.”

Frank didn’t know when Matt managed to slip the revolver from his grasp, but he didn’t feel the weight of a permanent decision in his palm anymore. Matt had planted a tiny seed of hope, and what if’s were taking over Frank’s brain like wild ivy. 

What if there was a chance you could come back? Matt had a point, you weren’t dead. Not really. Even if the probability of it happening was one in a million, didn’t Frank owe you the same unwavering patience you had always shown him?

“Look Frank, just…give me a year. One year to show you things can be different. If you still want to make that call in a year, I won’t stop you. I’ll leave you alone. But Frank…you’ve gotten through this once before. You can do this again. If not for yourself, just try for her.”

A year. A year was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Frank had already been without you for three years now. 

What was one more?

Year Four.

Matt’s apartment was fucking obnoxious due to that goddamn billboard across the street, but it was better than the shitty motels Frank had been staying in. He still couldn’t step foot in the home he had shared with you. It had been three years now, and even though he wasn’t fully convinced you could come back, he couldn’t let it go. Everything that was you was there, and if he sold the house, that meant every trace of you and your existence was gone.

Matt had one rule for Frank staying with him; no killing. For a week, Frank lounged on the couch trying to figure out what to do with himself. He would start to read a book, but could never get more than a few pages because he remembered how much you loved to read, and then he would get stuck staring at the pages while memories of you played on loop in his head. There wasn’t a TV because Matt didn’t have use for one, and Frank didn’t care to watch anything anyway. It didn’t take long for Frank to go stir crazy. He had never been good at staying idle.

While Matt was out making the world a better place, Frank had managed to find a construction job. Busting down walls all day long allowed him to get his pent up anger out while not breaking Matt’s golden rule. Most days it felt like Frank was on autopilot. He woke up, went to the job site, smashed a sledgehammer through a wall until his hands bled, came home, tried to sleep, inevitably had a nightmare about losing you, and laid on the couch staring blankly up at the ceiling until the sun rose.

Every single day was a repeat of the last until they started to blur together. Frank didn’t speak to anyone at the job sites. He didn’t speak to anyone at all. Between Matt’s busy court schedule and his nightly patrols, they didn’t see each other often, and even when they were home at the same time, Frank still hardly spoke to him. He wasn’t sleeping, he barely ate, and on the days he had off, he didn’t leave the couch. He felt like a hollow shell of the man he used to be.

Matt knew what he was going through. Hell, he had been there himself after the second time he lost Elektra. He knew what it felt like to lose the person you loved most in this world, and that had happened to Frank twice now. He did his best to be patient, but after four months, he couldn’t take it anymore. Matt was fortunate that he’d had people that helped him combat his depression to find his way back to himself, but Frank didn’t have a soul in his corner.

Except for Matt. 

And even though Frank wasn’t shy about not wanting Matt’s help, Matt didn’t care. Frank could be stubborn, but he didn’t have the energy or the drive to match Matt’s stubbornness, and Matt used that to his advantage. He was relentless in pushing Frank to participate in life again. He purposely antagonized Frank, even if it meant being reduced to a human punching bag, because that meant Frank was still in there somewhere.

Matt started small in getting him out of the apartment, like guilt tripping Frank into joining him on trips to the grocery store.

“You’re not gonna help your blind roommate get groceries? You know, a lot of items don’t come with braille labels. So when I die because I accidentally put bleach in my coffee instead of creamer, you have to say nice things about me at my funeral.”

“You don’t need labels, Red. You got that goddamn bloodhound nose. Would you stop lookin’ at me like that? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, fine. Get your fuckin’ jacket and let’s go.”

After a while, he even managed to get Frank to join him at Fogwell’s from time to time.

“No wonder you became a goddamn lawyer. All you know how to do is fuckin’ argue, makes sense you made a livin’ outta it.”

“I’m not arguing, Frank. If we got in the ring, you would lose. That’s a fact. You don’t know how to box, you just know how to run at people and slam them into things. And you’re too bulky to move as fast as me. None of that is an argument, it’s a simple observation.”

“Why don’t you observe your ass in that ring so I can shut you the fuck up, Red.”

The more time they spent together, and the more Frank put in an effort to move forward one step at a time, the less empty he felt. The nightmares still came every so often, and there were days where the weight of your absence was too much for him to bear, but for the first time in four years, he didn’t feel so hopeless.

He could think about you without breaking down. He could see something that reminded him of you, and it warmed his heart instead of ripping it out. He had finally reached a point where he had slowly crawled out of the deep pit of grief that he had been digging for the past four years.

As much as he hated to admit it, Matt had helped him find a semblance of peace.

Year Five.

The sound of a dog barking caught Frank’s attention. He pulled his head out from under the hood of his truck, looking over at the grey and white pitbull that was standing a few feet away from the front door of the house you and Frank had lived in together that he’d finally moved back into six months ago. He glanced between the front door and the dog with his thick brows furrowed.

“What is it, Daisy?”

The dog turned her head when she heard Frank’s voice, the movement so fast it made her long velvet ears flop. She turned her attention back to the door and continued to bark. Something inside had caught her attention. Eyeing the front door warily, Frank rubbed his grease stained hands off on a small rag and walked over towards where Daisy was, kneeling down beside her to gently scratch that spot between her ears that she loved.

“Hey, shh shh shh. C’mon now, what’s got you so worked up, huh? What do you think is inside, huh? You smellin’ that-”

The sound of the front door opening caught Frank’s attention, and he instantly snapped his head in the direction of it. All of a sudden, his warm brown eyes went wide, and time seemed to freeze in that very moment. 

“Sweetheart?”

His quiet whisper was dripped in disbelief. There you were, looking exactly the same as the day you had vanished, looking between Frank and Daisy with an expression of surprise and perplexment.

“Frank?”

God, your voice. It had been five years since he had last heard it. That was all the confirmation he needed that this was real. You were real. You were really home. 

Without wasting a second, Frank stood and ran over towards you, tears filling up his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your frame and hugged you as tightly as physically possible. His heart was thrashing against his ribcage, and he was terrified this was just a vivid dream, but then he inhaled the scent of your shampoo intermingled with your perfume, felt your hands gently pressing against his back, and heard your soft angelic laughter.

“Frankie…baby…you’re crushing me.”

Frank pulled back only slightly, bringing his large hands up to cup your face to study your features, taking in every single inch of you. He caught the way you frowned softly, looking up at him in pure concern when thick tears streamed down his cheeks. You lifted your hand to delicately brush them away with the featherlight touch of your fingers.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re really here.”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? Baby, why are you so upset?”

As you ran your hands through his long grown out curls, a crease of bewilderment nestled in between your brows when you took in his appearance.

“Wait…what happened to your hair? It was just short five seconds ago…and you didn’t have a beard. How…how did you do that? And when did we get a dog? Frank, what-”

Five seconds ago. 

Is that all it was for you? Frank could see the visible disorientation on your delicate features, and he had a lot of questions of his own, but right now nothing mattered but you. He leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, pouring every emotion he had felt in the past five years into it. He kissed you like the world could end at any moment, because for him it did the day you vanished.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and let out a deep exhale of relief.

“You…you were gone, sweetheart. You were gone a long time…a long goddamn time.”

“Gone? What-”

“I’ll explain everythin’, I promise. Just…just give me a minute, please. Just let me hold you for a minute, can you do that for me, baby? Please?”

Frank had always been able to read you like a book, and he could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t just confused. Hearing you had been gone for a long time infused you with a sense of panic and uncertainty. But you trusted Frank, and you knew whatever hard truth he was going to tell you, he wouldn’t let you go through it alone.

“Okay.”

As Frank embraced you again, you suddenly felt a pair of paws on your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the happy dog wagging its tail while looking between you and Frank. Reaching down, you gently pet the side of her face with a soft smile.

“Hi there, precious.”

“Daisy.”

Glancing up at Frank, your lips parted slightly when Frank told you her name. A soft smile covered his lips, the first smile to do so in five years. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear slowly.

“You always said if we got a dog and it was a girl, you wanted to name her Daisy.”

Tears welled up along your bottom lash line as you looked up at Frank, a gentle smile covering your lips. After a moment, you glanced away from Frank to look at Daisy again, letting out a soft laugh.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Daisy.”

Frank gave your waist a light squeeze, leaning in to press a soft lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And we’ve been waitin’ a long time for you. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

[yuri-is-online]

Here's a short list of things that I think would affect yuu (not from an omegaverse world) being in twisted wonderland (omegaverse au)

The scent thing. In my mind, everyone has a scent, including betas, theirs are just weaker. So how would Yuu, who has no scent, be classified? Would ortho or idia want to study them and see what's different between twst folks and earth folks? Scent is usually just noted in smut scenes, but it does have a larger role in most a/b/o stories. Mainly, it's how people communicate emotions. If you're happy, it shows in your scent. If your distressed, it shows in your scent. If your scared, excited, horny, anxious, it shows in your scent. People probably focus on scent when it comes to emotions before they focus on your face or body language. So figuring out what Yuu is feeling is probably a lot harder. It's even worse if Yuu isn't that expressive in the first place. Although it does make me wonder about how people try to hide their scents when their trying to be aloof or stoic...

Noises. This also ties into emotions, the more extreme ones at least. A/b/o twst people purr when their happy or content and growl when they're feeling territorial. Yuu might be able to growl, not very well but whatever. But purring? Yeah no. Not happening. Bless Jades heart he's trying so hard to give Yuu gifts they like and listening for a purr and it just. Never comes. Also imagine being Yuu and you're just getting growled at on a daily basis that's just gotta suck lmoa

Warnings for menstruation and omega heats 🤩 (also jade thinks his partner got SAed so HUGE TW). I personally think that TWST doesn't have periods. Mostly because I read Period Drama series by twstfanblog and was like "Yeah sure I'll integrate that into my belief system". So Yuus under a lot of stress right? Especially those first few months and overblots, so I think it's safe to say that an AFAB Yuus cycle would probably skip over those few months or even a year until everything calms down. And then boom! Ovulation! Jade thinks it's a preheat or a heat and is trying SO HARD to be respectful because they did not talk about this before hand and he doesn't know if he's aloud to "help" them the way he's wants to. Doesn't exactly help that Yuus throwing themself at him every step of the way and asking shit like "Hey if we have kids what would you name them :D?". Yuu is killing him. All in all though, it's a pretty subdue heat, they're not confined to their nest (a messy pile of pillows, blankets, and cushions that they impulsively made in Ramshackle one day) or anything, they can go to class and move around just fine (he doesn't let them though. He doesn't need any perverts possibly getting off or fantasizing about something only he should be fantasizing about), and unfortunately, they're not keeping him in their nest and letting him breed them until they forget their own name, so it all worked out just fine. And then about a week later, he goes to Sam's first thing in the morning to buy more snacks and comes back to the strong scent of his loves blood, only to find out that blood was coming from "the void" and they're curled up in pain, and crying. Yeah that was the worst moment of Jades life, actually. 0/10. Would not recommend. He almost killed several people that day 👍

Nests. Yuu doesn't know what the hell a "nest" is or why Jade freaked out so hard with joy when they made their shitty little pillow fort but hey! At least he's happy! Look at him! Just vibrating with joy! While he's sitting just outside the fort and is just... staring at them..... Is he not gonna come in? So now their scooching over and awkwardly patting the spot next to them- and Jades eyes just dilated SO HARD ok

Ruts and knots. The Fun Shit. Jade asked (very flusteredly) if Yuu would be willing to help him through his upcoming rut and Yuus like 🧍👍🧎. And it's a lot more intense than they were expecting. Bro is looking a half step away from feral as he carries Yuu over to the "nest" and just let's go fully shortly after they start. And Yuu is throughly enjoying it but also- isn't this a little much?!It's just a week of a bad Coleen Hoover novel where all they do is have sex and sleep! They ain't built for this! Honestly, they're just a doll for him at this point because there is not a THOUGHT behind those eyes expect for Jade and his dick and they ain't even mad about it!

That last section wasn't a question I was just thirsty. Damn this ask got long as hell shit.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH bless you. My lifespan... my strength... it is returning 2 me.

I think a lot of this could be cleared up with some communication, but at the same time poor Yuu wouldn't know what they were supposed to be communicating.

If scents are reflective of emotion and how people communicate, I would think they reflect people's personalities in the same way facial expressions do? So a particularly stoic person (like say Silver) would have a much more muted scent when he's happy than someone who is much more expressive (like Kalim.) Of the people who would be most distressed by Yuu's lack of scent, I think it would actually be Riddle since I could see him thinking it is a medical issue they need to get checked out ASAP. It would certainly isolate them from their peers even more than not being a mage would, making them a real alien as far as most people in Twisted Wonderland would be concerned.

Now. Jade. My beloved. I think after he manages to successfully court Yuu he would be very smug about this because he would be maybe one of the only people in Twisted Wonderland able to pick up on Yuu's unique body language. But that's in the future, now he's struggling because on top of no scent there's no purrs D:< He's fantasized about what it would sound like sosososososo many times and he is worryingly close to realizing that he's not above begging. He just wants some praise from his chosen mate... please...

lmao about the growling I just would not be able to take that seriously and probably make some dumb comment that would get my ass beat. But if it was really loud that would stress me out.

... oh poor Jade. In my head I am thinking of Yuu maybe having been told by a (concerned) adeuce that Jade is attempting to court them so they start trying to reciprocate (which does not help anyone's concerns) but they haven't really talked about what exactly that means yet. So by the time Yuu starts ovulating they're still in what Yuu might consider to be a "talking" phase? Because Jade hasn't asked to make things official? Whereas Jade is simultaneously on cloud nine planning the wedding and in the depths of despair wondering how best to continue his courtship efforts because oh he wants to help you with your heat so badly :c he's in a permanent state of horny grip the entire week and so tense. Yuu wonders if it would be too much to offer to help him relax since they aren't all that close yet so they figure they'll ask him some questions to see how he reacts and all that and he is extremely receptive but he still doesn't make a move, even if he does insist on talking to them around the pillow fort a lot?

Speaking of the pillow fort... I'm just picturing Jade sitting so pretty and heavy breathing while Yuu is sat there very confused because he is buzzing with excitement but they can't tell what kind. Man relationships are real hard so is jade when you add in alien biology and customs to them please let him help you hope you aren't doing something wrong? you could never please please please just one chance Yuu one chaaaaance

The period stuff... I don't think my mind would jump to SA but certainly some sort of attack and Jade being Jade, he would not let that stand. Thankfully no one actually gets hurt since Jade asks Yuu for names and they have a very strange conversation about reproductive biology. Oh so you are bleeding because you aren't pregnant? Well that sounds like such an easy fix~ And is probably when you finally have that talk about how horny he was all last week because he asks, very earnestly asks to help you through your next "heat" so you don't have to endure this pain again.

Since you were being thirsty allow me to share some of my... thoughts (￣▽￣||)

I feel like Jade would want to take Yuu in his merform at some point if not first because he wants them to think about it. He wants to ruin them for anyone who is not very specifically him and he is not shy about it, but alas the omega decides where to build the nest and you chose "poorly." Yuu is getting their guts rearranged while Jade bullies them about their poor nest building skills. It's ok, he just finds you so cute maybe he'll walk you through it next time? Sure he's never had to build a nest, never felt the need but he's sure if you follow his instructions nice and slowly you'll do just fine.

You wind up in Ramshackle's tub more than once. Just don't complain about not being able to remember most of it because he'll just take that as you wanting a redo. Say less, he's been good for too long anyway *smack*

[boltwrites]

@welcometochilis585 asked: I’m not sure if you write fluff but maybe something where Logan and the reader had been together, but because the team died in his universe he assumed reader died as well. They get reunited and reader runs up to him and gives him a hug. Wade is just standing there like what? Then he says something snarky/sarcastic, Logan threatens him, but it’s just fluff. Maybe before all of that we could have a look into their past, reader is a mutant too, maybe a human ouija board🤷🏻

A/N: i'm sorry bro but no, you didn't submit this right, lmao. it's ok i got you.

Also, I changed the mutant power to be a little bit more connected to the storyline - makes more sense that reader survived.

You thought you had died, when you woke up in the void. That's what Professor Xavier always said would happen, if you tried to use too much of your power. You always had some sort of connected with... another plane. You didn't know what it was, but you could pull things from it, send things in.

When you were younger, you thought it was the afterlife. So you sent in little trinkets, offerings. Food, drink - costume jewelry. Coins, when you wanted to make a wish. And sometimes, when you needed it most, you could reach in and find something you needed, too. A pencil, when you forgot one for your standardized test. Brass knuckles, when some punk tried to get handsy in the back alley of a club when you snuck out. Stuff like that.

But Charles - when you finally found him, when he gave you a job and promised to help you hone your power - he warned you of your gift. He told you that what you were connected to wasn't an afterlife, but some alternate dimension, outside of space and time. And that while you could exchange goods with it, trinkets and things - that you should never send a human there. That it would probably kill them.

Well, you were alive. At what cost, though?

At least you weren't dead, back at the school. Oh god, the school. You tried not to think about it. About what happened.

You had fond memories of that place. You'd think about those, instead.

The kids that opened up to you about unsafe homes. the ones that asked what it was like, to have a dangerous mutation. If it scared you, that you could hurt people with it. You loved them, those kids - the kids you helped to gently guide in the right direction.

You were careful, and kind. Somewhat shy. You stuck to your work.

Until you met Logan.

He was everything you weren't. Your peers - the others adults that worked with you - they had been raised by Xavier. They all had kind of a sameness about them. A similar work ethic, maybe, or set of morals. You always felt like an outsider around them, since he'd only recruited you as an adult.

Maybe that's why you clicked with Logan. Yes, he was reckless and wild and maybe a little selfish, but there was a freedom of thought he possessed that the others didn't. He didn't think the mansion was the pinnacle of mutantkind. He questioned things openly, he wasn't careful.

And most of all, he was good with the kids. The ones that came in late, the ones that came in angry. The ones that you tried to get through to, that you struggled with. He took them out to train or play catch or even just to talk, and then came back calm.

You tried not to fall for him. Knew it was stupid, knew he probably wouldn't be the kind of stable partner you wanted. But you couldn't really help it.

And, luckily for you - he liked you too.

You remembered your first kiss. It was stupid, silly - he'd come to talk to you about a kid - a kid that you tutored, mostly - who had been bothering a kid that had taken to him as a mentor. You knew exactly what was going on with the two of them - your child had bright red skin due to her mutation. She thought the boy that was trying to date her had to be playing a horrible prank on her. That he was mean and rude. So, she'd started lashing out at him.

Logan had confronted you, snapped at you about the situation. And, as you talked about it - the conversation shifted from a hypothetical about two mutant kids, to the very real fact that the two of you were inches apart, your fingers fluttering near his collar.

So, he'd kissed you. Deep, sweet, passionate -

He hadn't been there. When it happened. You couldn't save anyone else. Just yourself.

And now you were here trying to survive with a weird little band of mutants and heroes. And your heart ached whenever you saw Laura fight. It hurt.

It hurt. And it still hurts. It still hurts, when you see him. Because when he sees you, his eyes blow wide in disbelief. He's halfway down a bottle and you know he's yours. You know that's the man who used to laugh and twirl you around the kitchen when all the kids had gone to sleep. You knew he'd broken himself after it all.

And you didn't care.

"Logan!-" you cried it out - tried to quell the tears in your eyes as you sprinted to him, threw yourself into those arms. You knew he would catch you - the crash of the liquor and Gambit's exasperated shout were barely audible as you threw your arms around his shoulders. And when he wrapped his around you - softly, tentatively - you knew. You knew it was him. Not just any Wolverine - your Logan.

"Hello? Did I miss some important exposition somewhere? If I did, it's definitely your fault-" the Deadpool Logan was with gestured towards Gambit, who looked like he might fling at card at the man just for being in the periphery of his liquor explosion.

You didn't care. You pulled back, smiling up at him. He looked shocked - brow knitted in the cutest little bit of wonder. "How-?"

"OK, no exposition! Fine, whatever! I'll just improv, I fucking guess!" The Deadpool threw his hands up. "How's this - if claws over here didn't have whiskey dick of the penis-"

Logan fucking growls at him, with a single, firm "don't."

The Deadpool ignores him, of course, and continues on with a "-you could take your plot-relevant princess here back to your royal carriage - that's the Honda Odyssey - and make little void babies!"

You can feel Logan's bicep tense - like he's going to pull the claws on this guy - and you press your hand to his cheek, shaking your head.

"He's a Deadpool, babe. He's not worth it."

"Fuck, I've missed you."