#there will be a second part for other OCs!!

[dekusdante]

Things that annoys me in the Jujutsu Kaisen Fandom

Sorry but this is going to be all over the place.

Am I the only one tired of the same trope being used when it comes to Gojo from JJK? In other words the enemies to lovers trope where the oc or reader is basically Utahime with out the name.

Like we all remember the episode where he gave out what type of person he was into which was a nice girl or something along those lines. I that as writers you have to take creative liberties but why are all the readers in these stories are exactly the same.

They either hate Gojo or is super easily annoyed at him. Jerks but its okay cause for some reason he loves them unconditionally. This is so annoying cause there is no push back from Gojo in these stories. Just him taking back the reader or waiting for them to return his feelings when in actuality he shouldn't.

Another thing that annoys me is why is it always the guy that's simping why can't it ever be the woman being madly in love and trying to win him over?

This enemies to lover trope has completely taken over the Reader x Gojo fandom and its so overused. Now I will admit there are some gems out there, but I just don't even bother reading anything that is enemies to lovers anymore. I'm just tired of reading the same thing over and over again with the same copy and paste formula/reader.

Also why is smut so strong on here. Like don't get me wrong those writers are killing it with the plot aspect but man does all the smut kill me. Like I want more plot these are really good and creative ideas but man the smut kills me lol. Still reading the plot but stop at the smut parts which is usually the end so we gucci.

Hmm, another trope I refuse to read in these are arranged marriage were we are supposed to be upset with the guy who is forced to marry someone they don't want too. Why? Well for starters it always start with the reader being mistreated by the guy for some reason and the reader putting up with it until something happens and the guy falls in love with them and has to gain both their trust and love again.

I can get behind this but they always make the guy so unredeemable in these that it would be crazy if she takes him back. [She always does] Another thing is we are supposed to hate the guy because he wants to remain faithful to the person he was with before the arrange marriage. Like why are we bashing a faithful man?

Another trope I hate is when the guy is always in the wrong. A while ago I read a Gojo x reader fic were reader was mad that Gojo couldn't spend a lot of time with her so she broke up. Okay valid even though I am sure this would have been addressed before or earlier in the relationship but okay. What annoyed me with this story is that she then goes on to get in a relationship with Nanami who then calls Gojo an idiot for losing a woman like her.

I could not believe what I read. Like what the hell did Gojo do? At this point Gege posted about Gojo's life and how the man is booked to the max and I couldn't help but think how distasteful it was to first make it appear as if Nanami would do something like that to Gojo and secondly pretend that they don't have more free time compared to him. Like Nanami even understood why Geto did what he did.

Anyway that's all I got for now. I am not here to argue but I would love to hear about what you think on this. A second opinion is always welcomed and if you have a trope you don't like then I would love to hear it.

Also if you have a story that you would like to promo then please do so in the comments. It is a okay if you want too. No pressure,

[mi-i-zori]

A Tiny World

CoD - 141 x Snail (OC/Fem!Reader)

SYNOPSIS : Snail really likes to play Animal Crossing to relax. Turns out, Ghost does too.

WARNINGS : None. But please read the Author’s Note below.

Author’s Note : Snail is an OC that can be read as a Fem!Reader - I do my best no to describe her too much, but may sometimes say that she’s small (height) and has long hair.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Playing Animal Crossing is Snail’s way to escape the world whenever she can’t do or focus on anything else.

At the beginning, her first goal is to fill the museum to the brim - which she does pretty quickly, allowing her character to sit on a bench in front of the exhibits and enjoy the music playing in her ears. The aquarium is her go-to place to fully relax. Sometimes, she even falls asleep, leaving her little persona to bob her head left and right while watching the fishes.

When she really wants to empty her mind, she focuses on building her own little world. She’s quite indecisive about the theme she wants to follow to decorate her island, which leads her to divide it in multiple « regions ». Each one has an aesthetic that progressively gives way to another one, like a natural border that allows her to create a smaller theme in-between.

To go with these regions, she’s made different characters. They, too, live in a house and are dressed to fit a specific theme, and she enjoys crafting stories for each one of them. Her favourite house is like her own little museum, filled to the brim with curiosities of all kinds. Insects, fishes, plants, skeletons… The main room looks like an old apothecary shop, and a part of her longs to be able to make her own apartment a real version of this virtual house.

Ever since he stumbled upon her playing quietly in the common room, Ghost has been sharing this moment of peace with her, watching her play, learning about the game and the little world and characters she’s bringing to life. He rejected her offer to create his own character in there, but it doesn’t stop him from sitting next to her and throwing a few glances at the screen while reading or watching TV, or fully focusing on it while sipping on a cuppa.

« You sure you don’t even want to try playing a little bit, LT ? » Is what Snail keeps asking every single time - and, at some point, Simon gives in.

He finds that he really enjoys fishing the most, hunting bugs being a close second. Snail excitedly explains every single mechanic of the game to him, and the roles end up being reversed. She’s now the one watching him play as he keeps catching the most expensive things for her to sell as if he’s been doing this for his entire life, and he quietly listens as she blurts out random trivia about whatever fish or bug the little character is showing off.

There’s a moment when a neighbour actually manages to steal the expert’s target, immediately digging their own grave. Simon now sees a mortal enemy in them, and is ready to unleash hell on their life whenever he can. Snail taught him how to use the net as a weapon, causing him to whack the poor fellow on sight, despite her asking him to not be too mean. She likes this neighbour - it’s a frog, after all, and they’re nice to her. She does her best to keep them on her island, making it up to them after Simon’s spent at least an hour bullying them.

To try and salvage what’s left of her friendship with that neighbour, Snail introduces him to the islanders she actually wants to move away.

« LT, this one said the custom mushroom dress I made for myself wasn’t fashionable. Can you please help me unleash Hell on them until they leave ? »

« This guy put his house on the beautiful patch of rare flowers I’d made for my new zone. It took me weeks to get them all and now I have to remake everything ! »

« I don’t vibe with this islander. They’re mean to everyone, and made my best friend sad. »

« Equip your net, » is what he always says in return, settling comfortably on the couch before grabbing the controller.

Simon never realised how satisfying it could be to whack the characters of a cute video game on the head in-between a few sessions of fishing. So much that it’s become a little ritual now.

Though he still adamantly refuses to create his own character.

[bluu3berry]

update!

(Pause to read! + Has music )

I plan to make other content, on this blog. Main blog, I love undertale, big part of my childhood AND life. But I have other interests, not leaving just posting different topics!

Mainly furry topics... (cough)

Transcript undercut!

{ Hey everyone! I just wanted to say, I might start to gear my content more to other fixations and not just undertale }

{ I've been fixating on other topics and working just on Undertale all the time kills me? }

{ So it's either post things I want, or I quit Tumblr. I can already tell what we both want here }

{ The fandoms / communities I'll be posting about!

1. Roblox 2. Furry 3. Furquest 4. Undertale 5. Minecraft 6. OCS 7. And more! }

{ This is my fursona! Quilt! the design was by doggvtz_ on toyhouse }

{ If you have any questions ask! by reblogging or commenting }

{ anyways!that's it! thank you for reading!I might change my blog to be more quilt themed! haven't decided }

@anon-coke @scramble-eg @skeletonsboring

@thelunarsystemwrites @the-second-reason

[ohtobemare]

UNTIL WE FALL ▹ Somewhere in the Past, North Dakota (in Other Words, the Prologue)

summary: DP&W AU. It's been God knows how many years after Logan's death in North Dakota—or maybe not? And really, this wouldn't be much of a story without a shiny new villain with a hot new plan, or someone to save the world. Well, maybe two someones. Ok, you win, three. But first, you have track down that said someone—the Wolverine. And who better to do that than the girl who found him the first time? Logan/OC.

pairings: Logan/worst!Wolverine x fem!OC

warnings: age gap, very, very alternative universe; pre-existing relationship that hasn't been written yet (based on the upcoming series, Mare & the Wolverine), fluff and angst, language, PG-13 spicy stuff, religion, violence (lots and lots of violence, this is Deadpool we're talking about), no experience writing DP or Wolvie but oh well, a bunch of other stuff we won't get into, plus size OC, a different way of approaching mutants, yes this is a self-insert leave me ALONE.

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"Laura—Laura, no!"

They say that life altering moments most often happen in slow motion, in slow heartbeats and throbbing blood.

And recollection of those seismic moments for the rest of eternity—they come in slow, mirror images of what's already buried in time. Forgetting how to breathe is almost a stipulation. Paralysis, a qualification. Anatomy all but ceases to function as reality kicks down the door of absolution, racing in like a battering ram. Splintering the few seconds of time before the cataclysm.

She couldn't have reached Laura in time, even if she'd seen it coming.

Survival laced with the intoxicating cocktail of adrenaline had already etched this moment into stone, set things in motion that couldn't be undone from twenty five feet left—couldn't be resolved with her fingers buried knuckle deep in some yahoo's gut structure. By the time she saw the telltale, unmistakable swing of the pistol's arch coming around the little girl's body, she knew.

Laura, in her short life, had probably never even held a pistol, accustomed instead to sheathed adamantium blades and rage. Even from here she could see her aim was high. Shaky, unpracticed. Terrified and enraged, like an inferno dancing around a whirlwind. A ticking time bomb waiting to seal fate—to change the world among the North Dakota evergreens and crisp, deep woods air.

Low on her legs, the pistol shook ravenously in the girl's hands. Even from across the forest leaves and rocks and dirt, she could see the girl's brow pull into a wrinkled line. Bloodstained and adrenaline galloping through her small frame, she may as well have been set on fire—even her finger kissed the trigger in slow motion.

Frame by frame, she couldn't have pulled her fist from her attacker's abdomen fast enough.

Even if Laura had heard her, there was no undoing. The shot cracked the air with a resolution that could rattle worlds. Even the air didn't move, the trees seemed to stand all-soldier. Like sentinels, they canopied the scene, looking down as the creature christened X-24 hit paydirt, unforgivingly hard. Ragdoll and slack. Blood rivered from his head like an emptied canoe. Staining the earth, timestamping these seconds in history.

She watched Logan jar backward on impact, considering his goliath form for only seconds before reality struck her upside her own head. His enraged roar, the sudden all-stop of steps permanently halted by the jarring collision of a bullet. Staggering, he didn't even have time to glance her way—reality hit her like sunlight cresting the new morning.

Her heart stopped beating, bones unable to support her as she staggered forward, tripping over air and a shriek that may as well have ripped open her meatshirt.

Logan's frame hit the earth almost automatically. Without so much as a full breath arching his chest. Clawing through the dirt, harsh forest floor piked up her nailbeds. Ripped at her blood-stained skin. Blood from the man she had dismembered still warm and tacky between her fingers mingled with dirt and pine needles, felt like sin staining her soul.

Sin and survival, who could tell the difference when her heart was clawing out of her chest?

Somewhere behind her, she heard the pistol hit the earth with a polite thud—-heard Laura's weight buckle in shock.

"Logan!"

Barely breathing, she hauled herself to her feet and would've flown had God designed it that way. In two shallow, burning heaves of air she skidded to a stop beside him, his limp form splayed onto the earth in a gruesome display. Hands skimming over his wounds, over the scarlet pools of blood around his chest—she didn't know where his blood started and stopped, where it had been contaminated with that of their enemies. It didn't matter.

Eyes moving to his face, her breath hitched heavily in her chest like the snap of a pistol's slide. Gnawing at her ribs like a rabid wolf, her gut rose to the back of her throat and she heaved—turning from him, she leaned away and vomited across the forest floor. Wicked ice rose up beneath her skin, violently rattling her limbs. Uncontrollably feverish, her teeth began to chatter, the sour sting of vomit lingering on her back teeth as she choked on the sob rewriting her soul.

"Logan!" Guttural, her shriek was animalistic. White hot rage. Pain, loss, disbelief consumed her like a rip current, carrying her out and back again. Pulling her under, drowning her in reality.

This can't be happening, no nono—Jesus, please…..not now, not Logan, please anyone else—isn't….this isn't fair….

Every stage of grief hit at once.

A long black train, pistoning her soul to hell and back. Whiplashing between reality and nightmare. For a moment she wondered if she had died, unable to note the difference between the living and dead—what was tangible and ill. She choked on air. Fought the ache in her lungs for it. Drowned in her own sticky saliva and vomit that wouldn't stop coming. Charred by the hot acid splashing the back of her throat again and again.

Turned inside out, she counted every organ in her body all at once, function and purpose—their miserable failure, only to painfully jumpstart her back to life.

She screamed. Again and again and again and again until they cracked like broken hourglasses, spilling the sands of time loved, now lost. Her bones trembled with fury, white-hot lava that boiled over in a wellspring unidentified in her low parts.

Animalistic pain gripped her like a master puppeteer, flinging her spine forward into a low, all-fours posture not far removed from that of an animal—ripping dirt from the earth, she flung handfuls of it in every direction. The toes of her boots ground into the dirt, leaving small ravines as she about-faced, vicious like a predator. Forecasting the forest floor, the next heartbeats.

Nothing but innocent eyes, aghast and horrified, stared back at her. Most dead, many still living. Still hoping.

But it was over. Cuts like a white-hot katana to the gut. "Get away from us, all of you!" Rage. Angry, otherworldy, mountainous rage. "Logan," she turned back to him, eyes surveying his splayed form, "enough of this!"

Of course nothing but postmortem weight hung in the air, life seeping into the forest floor with every ounce of blood dripping from his veins.

Whatever strength the outburst had called for evaporated, the air out of her sails and asystole in her chest. Sinking to her knees, she clawed at her own skin, numb to anything but the earthquake of loss shaking her frame. Able to feel him slipping away, she could've watched his soul slip away if God had allowed it.

Farther and farther, nothing else— the familiar sting of splitting skin between her knuckles, intimate agony of bone finding the air from beneath her living flesh. It was nothing, borderline unreal.

She may well have been all paralyzed, white noise.

Screaming, sobbing, shaking violently. Fighting the urge to keep vomiting out the very contents of her guts and failing, only to fight again. She shrieked until her throat closed, until words came in painful, unintelligent garbles only identified as sticky saliva, spit-stained utterances.

Violent cold gnawed at her flesh, reminding her that it was spring in whatever God forsaken wood this was, and that she'd lost her coat somewhere in the fray—it kept her grounded, for all of a few heartbeats.

Slowly she came back to reality, to the borders beyond the immediate whiplash. Sentinel, all-shielding forest. Still, quiet air crisp and clean, reminding her she was alive with every pull into her chest. Youth and innocence pounding with every heartbeat that watched, waiting.

He would be furious at her for letting go, for losing control. People like them couldn't break, one finger on the pulse of the moment—people like them kept it together. In her mind's eye, she could feel him grab her by the back of her neck. Whirl her around, fight for her attention. Nose-to-nose, chest-to-chest, he'd get in her face and tell her to simmer the fuck down and get it together. People like us, we can't lose control, sweetheart—focus. Survive. Not for us, for them.

But what about you, Logan?

Wiping at the tears trying to cut away the guts and blood and gore on her face, she sank low on her knees. Strawman, unable to feel or think past the sting of cold air and pain in her limbs. Swallowing a breath, gagging on her own spit. His void expression, closed and quiet, face upturned. She followed—blue sky, crystalline blue sky and a gorgeous canopy of undying evergreen. Cumulus clouds, rolling by, shadowing them from the heavens. Maybe even God.

He didn't move. Already terrifyingly cold as she rested her hand against his arm. Nails biting into his flesh as she curled her fingers around once-living muscle, now little more than dead weight on the ground.

Sputtering on a shallow whimper, she slipped her arms under him. Hauled his head to rest in her lap. He was astronomically heavy, it was painfully obvious. Eyes still far away and closed, her fingers carefully carded through his hair, still damp with sweat.

"Logan," her voice cracked, this time almost to a decibel she couldn't believe, "my Wolverine—please," Chin bowing to her chest, her shoulders earthquaking with another sob. Tears dripped from her face into his hair, her fingers combing them through in vain effort to wash him.

Mary of Magdala had washed the feet of Christ with tears, redeeming her soul—perhaps this would redeem him, his life. Restore what had been so gutteraly ripped away.

He'd always said to be ready, she'd always tried to be. She wasn't. A thief in the night, this happened all too quickly. Too much left unsaid, untouched, unfelt.

"Don't leave me," fingers gently brushing over the hair on his face, hair that had made her chuckle just hours before as children had taken to him as their own little plaything. The look on his face at his own reflection had been priceless, rousted a giggle from her that tipped a smile on her lips.

Now little more than pinpricks of what would be touch to numb hands, "I— how do I live without you, Logan," the truth, larger than life and snapping like the jaws of a frothing animal at her psyche, "Baby, baby please. I love you. I love you, I've always loved you, I love you—come back to me! Come back to the living—" every ounce of religion flooded to the surface like rising water to the delta, every seed of faith. All prayer; every bone. He could do this, she believed it—

"—to go. We have to leave, Miss Mare—he called for more men, we have to leave."

Foreign, the voice was plagued with naiveté. Leave? There was nowhere to go, nothing to live for. Her entire world was bleeding into the earth here on the forest floor. She wouldn't have felt an assault anyway, better to die paralyzed and numb than be ripped apart in a fight to live. Logan had died.

Logan had—

"—Mare, Miss Mare. Please," Logan.

She could hear him, even now, dead on the ground. His voice rapid fire in her ears, telling her to get up. Fight. Don't look back, push harder, survive. Get the fuck up, princess, and do what needs doing. Gaping like a fish out of water, her mouth opens and closes on words that aren't there. How does she do what needs doing without him? It doesn't feel possible, an anomaly.

A mutated form of living with no benefits, no hope.

My Wolverine," she doesn't realize she's actually said it until it suffocates under a gut wrenching wail. "LOGAN!"

His features, marred and dismantled, blur behind a veil of tears. Probably for the best—she couldn't look at it yet. Couldn't stomach the void in the center of his skull, taking from her everything that had mattered.

One bullet. One adamantium bullet and her entire world had eviscerated, gutted of purpose. Everything that mattered. Would matter. The rest of her living days of joy. Gone, slipping between her fingers.

Helpless little hands grab at her arm. "Mrs. Howlett," it's pleading. Innocence, terrified purity. On the bleeding edge of desperation. Like a prayer, seeking redemption and revelation—revelation no longer beating in the chest of the dead, cold and still on the forest floor beneath her hands.

Her gaze casts to X-23, across the floor. Laura. Grief stricken, milkwhite with the phantom of shock etched across her much too young face. Guilt assailed her like a veil, a guilt she'd carry for the rest of her life—answers. X-23 would need answers, answers she didn't know if she'd ever have to give.

Logan's last fight, his last purpose had been this young girl, getting her, getting them all to a new life. To Eden. His last valiancy, wrapped up in a little girl that wasn't even theirs.

How do I live without you, Logan?

She lowers to brush her nose against his. Moving slowly, ever so slowly to gently kiss his lips, like he's glass and might break. Because he has, has before. His lips are cold already, waxy. Chapped like they always are. He's dead, but he feels and smells so much like the living. Any second now, kissing him upside down, his fingers would dig into her ribs and make her scream with life, with laughter. He'd tease her and tell her to act her age, not really realizing that to them, age means nothing.

Instead all she tastes is blood and sweat and dirt, cocktailed with her own tears that nearly choke the life out of her lungs. Her fingers curl into the flesh of his face, as if it'll pull him back. Snap him out of this charade of forensic, anatomical ceasefire that's ripped him away. It doesn't. It isn't the answer, doesn't put two and two together and never would. Touching him like this never would.

Logan had been her answer. To prayer, to life, to happiness, to love, absolution. The object of her life's purpose. He'd been the light of her life, a gift of heaven. Loved her viciously, the only one to do so—the only one to lend part of himself to.

Set aside for her, from the very foundations of the earth. Wholly perceived, divinely goliathed. He'd taught her everything—about him, about life, about mutation and life's purposes within the uncertain. Taken her hand and shown her the most reckless, passionate, whole way to live and let life—how to breathe again. How to love. How to feel and be and move. He'd given her everything, would give her anything.

Fierce, loyal. Tortured, stitched back together with resolve and determination, hope. Magnificent, undivided, indestructible. Power personified—

—I'm sorry, Logan—

—a Wolverine.

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tags: @just-a-silly-howlett-lover

[nokk0]

Alright, it's finally done!

Here some propaganda! (Part 1)

Dotty (@cauli-flawa )!!! One of the OCs i got more attached with. Congratulations for winning your first round!!!

Aijo (@starstruck358 )(this time i wrote it correctly :D) i simply love him, it's a little bug love :3

Astro (@kirbart90 )! She and Fal have details alike, but they are really different though...

Mapobas...! Long name... (@sacrificecage )! One of the more important figures You're gonna see on this event!!

And Starry Dee (@staring-at-a-blank-pagee )! This one with Astro and Mapobas were the most complicated for me... I hope you guys like the result!

@kirbyoctournament

[butterflyscribbles]

Some Donnie angst ? Pretty please? *Does the puppy eyes*

While I’m not necessarily taking requests at the moment, I went back through my old sketches to see if there was anything I hadn’t posted yet that would suffice.

Had an idea a while ago about Donnie getting injured pretty bad on a solo mission and having to stop off at Jeremy’s place for help. Brooke steps in too, wanting to help as the resident reptile expert…..but gets scared to let him jump back into other potentially dangerous missions long after he’s healed. Try explaining to a little third grader why you risk your life everyday to save the world❤️‍🩹

[silbeni]

Comic commission for @mitsubinyuri of beloved Sudo !!

[bumblingbabooshka]

Vengv'la is a Vulcan Engineer! [Patreon | Commissions]

[aibouart]

compilation of my other fav palette challenges from the years past... i should do them again sometime......

chara #9 belongs to @askbookwormflareon

[mi-i-zori]

Bad Puns

CoD - 141 x Snail (OC/Fem!Reader)

SYNOPSIS : Like Simon, Snail is a sucker for bad jokes, puns being her favourite - wich is something Johnny never fails to notice.

WARNINGS : None. But please read the Author’s Note below.

Author’s Note : Snail is an OC that can be read as a Fem!Reader - I do my best no to describe her too much, but may sometimes say that she’s small (height) and has long hair.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Johnny always has a hard time staying still. So whenever he feels like he’s got too much free time in-between missions, he likes to go on runs or, if the environment around the base he’s currently staying at allows it, hikes.

On rainy days, Snail likes to accompagny him. They both walk along each other, enjoying the smell of petrichor floating in the air and the quiet melody of raindrops on the surrounding greenery. His teammate is almost constantly stopping to gawk at anything and everything, going from insects or worms to rocks and leaves with funny shapes. Soap doesn’t mind - it’s part of her charm, and also a good source of entertainment to distract him from the chaos in his mind.

He stops for a moment to admire the view. From here, he can see the full expanse of the city below, surprisingly colorful against the cold, grey sky. He no longer hears the usual buzzing of the streets, nor can he see any soul rushing to escape the rain. He always forget how much he misses this quiet, peaceful kind of life. Closing his eyes, Johnny takes a deep breath, savouring the sharp coldness spreading through his lungs.

« Soap, look what I found ! »

Snail suddenly comes up from behind him with an excited grin on her lips. In her outstretched hand, a simple pebble sit, so tiny, grey and wet.

« It looks like a guitar pick ! » She says.

« Aye, it does. »

For a few seconds, they both stand silent, eyes fixated on his teammate’s discovery. Then she looks back up at him, and he can both feel and see the mischief that’s about to come.

« It’s for rock music ! »

Johnny lets out what is probably the heaviest and most amused sigh of his life. It only takes a second for it to become a chuckle as he resumes his hike. Snail laughs before catching up to him.

« Get it ? Rock music ? »

« Yeah, hen, ah get it. Good one. »

From the corner of his eye, he can see her beam at the praise, and he indulges in the urge to playfully ruffle her hair. Giggling, she darts off in the hopes of protecting her precious bun.

It doesn’t take long for her to be distracted by something again. This time, she noted the peculiar shape of a mountain ahead ; and Johnny joins her, triggering a long exchange of theories about how it came to be, and the reason of its current appearance.

With how many times they both get distracted from it, the conversation lasts the whole hike.

[moeblob]

Amazing, take some of the side character demons from Evil Bound.

Vincie is a menace to Chuck and Chuck alone so in Hell, Chuck hexes his hand behind his back so that he isn't grabbed as much (and it's harder to pet him). Chuck is like the most irresponsible older sibling ever to demons though so Kelvin recruits him (as an older sibling vibe) to go help him get his ACTUAL older sibling from Earth. Chuck agrees. And then drags Vincie from Hell with them because no one else wants to babysit him and he refuses to unbind the hex just to re-hex when he returns to Hell.

In Hell, Kelvin actually doesn't appear much different than his human form! Like Kronos, the lines under his eyes are red in Hell but black on earth. Chuck however? In Hell he has wolf-ish ears and has a fur lining his neck (note the neck scars in human form). In addition to that he has four eyes in Hell (note the scars under his eyes in human form). Vincie just has horns in Hell. And! In Hell the hex doesn't have a silly looking "tied up" look, it's invisible unless Vincie strains it with movement and then its red text. But it shifts on earth to be visible.

Vincie's biggest agony for the entirety on earth is "dude it's colder here than in Hell I want a jacket to slip my arms into BUT I CANT BECAUSE IM BOUND".

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Have some animal blorbo fanart of @bloodlessheirbyjacques's Petra! I had so much fun making this piece. I hope you enjoy! 😁😁😁

[ohtobemare]

UNTIL WE FALL

summary: DP&W AU. It's been God knows how many years after Logan's death in North Dakota—or maybe not? And really, this wouldn't be much of a story without a shiny new villain with a hot new plan, or someone to save the world. Well, maybe two someones. Ok, you win, three. But first, you have track down that said someone—the Wolverine. And who better to do that than the girl who found him the first time? Logan/OC.

pairings: Logan/worst!Wolverine x fem!OC

warnings: age gap, very, very alternative universe; pre-existing relationship that hasn't been written yet (based on the upcoming series, Mare & the Wolverine), fluff and angst, language, PG-13 spicy stuff, religion, violence (lots and lots of violence, this is Deadpool we're talking about), no experience writing DP or Wolvie but oh well, a bunch of other stuff we won't get into, plus size OC, a different way of approaching mutants, yes this is a self-insert leave me ALONE.

next |

It's Called an Intro, Mothereffers

Hi, welcome to the fuc–I mean freak, show. Don't want to blow the whole damn budget on the first 2.5 seconds of page time, right? Critics, good God–they're the worst. One sentence in and they'll judge the whole effin' book, hook line and sinker without even getting to the plot. Frickin' internet has made everyone a literary genius. Not.

ANYWAY—you're probably wondering what the eff I'm doing in the middle of this shitshow, huh? A story that isn't mine, hell—a story that isn't even technically written yet. That's a Fox thing. Or an MCU thing. Or a….thing, I guess? Dunno, this habit of timelines and then redoing and undoing them like a nun unbuckling a priests robes in a spittin' hurry after church is getting old—nobody really knows what the heck is going on. But, that's showbiz, right?

Rabbit trail, sorry. Frickin' brain. Anyway, yes–here. Ahem.

Well, really, we've got ourselves a Code Redpool (see what I did there?) with this one—someone trying to take over the world, rattle some cages, all that jazz. And if you didn't already know, such sticky little cumsucking messes requires a little bit more than a mercenary with a mouth. We already know I can't—don't—save the world. Despite what the box office may lend. It's above my paygrade, my hero tier. This rated R mothereffer hasn't gotten there yet, not on his own. Maybe another million or fifty.

Could be different this go around, though. Who effin' knows. All I know is that to save a world, to make a story, you need a couple of things—a smashin' budget, a whole helluva lot of copyright law, and a hero. An "anchor being," because Marvel has to be frickin' special. Sometimes two when the situation is Redpool, like it is. Maybe three, because I'll be EFFED if I'm not part of this one. Earnin' my stripes, going all Tony the Tiger and shit. You know the drill.

To help me out, I need the big guy. Yeah. Not talking about Jesus, though it could be argued He's a factor, here. Very non denominational, very off script, very demure. Think more…yellow. Feral, as it were. Canadian. Yeah, dumbass—we need the Wolverine. The guy with the forks, the mutton chops from the 70s that were definitely a…choice. Logan. Yeah, him. Mr. Feral Forest Weasel himself.

And we'll probably need someone who can help us get to Logan, since he wouldn't know me from fresh effin' ADAM. If you saw Logan, you'll understand. Though it didn't happen exactly that way, because this is an AU—that fanfiction shit, you know. Sigh. We need someone who's tamed the beast, has clawed under all that adamantium and seen the hero where a trainwreck of a multiple-movies-gone-bad guy has stood.

A girl, genius. We need a girl. And lucky for you, delightful little fourth-wallians, I've got just the one.

Buckle up, mothereffer's—shit's about to get Wolverine-d.

▹ Somewhere in the Past, North Dakota (in other words the prologue)

tags: @just-a-silly-howlett-lover

[lagginguniverse]

Millia's true form revealed:

Big Fluffy Gryphon

(custom design comm/arttrade/sorta courtesy of @/jotthedragon)

[hurrl]

✨💞Forever young; I want to be forever young💞✨

What I happy couple, I sure hope they're able to grow old together 😌

Theo belongs to @weirdo-canniboy

[t4tsurge]

After over a week, I finally have a Surgaze fan kid. They're not canon to my regular fan kid au (Endless Possibilities) so I don't have much of a story for them. What I'm currently working with is that she's 16, she controls energy plasmoids (which are basically like little fireworks or explosions, kinda like Jubilee from X-Men if you know anything about her), and rather than being a royal like Blaze, Sparx decided to become an adventurer. They're still technically the princess, but they treat it mostly as a title rather than a proper role. She's not the royal type.