Okay. Let's think. I can make up something here, with some science, some sci fi and a whole lotta indomitable spirit.
They DIDN'T vanish instantly.
See, for years, all the habitable planets and stuff were, well, inhabited. Idk how many years in the future Iron Lung is set, but letâs say there was a massive baby boom in the future, and humans have to inhabit other planets. And, like the colonisers we are, we fly off, slaughter the peaceful alien inhabitants (think Mickey 17) and use up the planets resources and leave. Our leaving destroys the planet, due to the powerful jets of these massive spaceships (they would be MASSIVE to fit billions of people in), ultimately slowly destroying any planet we leave from. But this goes unnoticed. The stars, we harness the energy they produce (nuclear fusion is more powerful than nuclear fission) (also we have the tech for it; this is still sci fi) and since use greedy humans use up the starsâ energy completely, the stars die out much faster than they would naturally. Soon, the skies dim, space becomes an endless void.
Itâs a slow process. Gradual. But eventually it happens. The Quiet Rapture.
The leaders of humanity realise this. But, like any good leader, they twist the story. As humans scrounge around for a new place to inhabit, the leaders claim that everything has been destroyed, inexplicably.
We, as humans, have colonised and destroyed space. We, as humans, play the victim card, even though we know itâs our fault, because itâs better to believe the fantasies than accept the truth. And so, the story of the Quiet Rapture spreads. The story mutates, changes, twists. It sounds different out of every mouth you hear; everyone has their own truth, their own meaning, their own explanation for this. Galactus is real and ate everything. A black hole sucked everything up. God decided to bring Judgement Day down, finally, clear his slate, scrape the scum and gunk known as humanity off his creation.
But we all know the truth.
We did this.
Another theory is yeah, a SUPERmassive black hole sucked everything up, lol. Pick whichever one you like.
PROOF, PEOPLE, PROOF! I WAS RIGHT I WAS RIGHT THIS IS BLOODYMARY THIS IS STUCKY THAT IS STEVELAND GROGERS AND SIMUCKY BARNES THE BUTCHER SOLDIER I TELL YOU I TELL YOU
In all seriousness, this is a milestone in life I was not expecting to ever reach. Ever since I was a child, I swore to myself that I wouldn't let myself live over 13. But as a child I failed to remember that life doesn't always stay the same, and that I wasn't going to be stuck as a victim like I used to be. Apart of me wishes that I couldn't age, cause now I feel too old, but it's a miracle Ive let myself live this far nonetheless. I never thought I would become a semi-popular artist, and knowing that my work makes so many people happy; adds onto the list of reasons for me to stay alive.
I genuinely don't think I would've been here without all of your guys support. Thank you to all of my family members, my friends, my boyfriend, and those who follow my accounts for everything you have done to aid me so far! There are no amount of words that could describe my appreciation. THANK YOU!!!
PS; this means ive been posting my art on the internet for you guys for almost over 3 YEARS!!! I wish i could do a special shoutout to those who have seen me come so far since the very start!!! â¤ď¸ thank you all! I can't wait to spend many more years with all of you. HIP HIP HOORAY FOR 16!!!!
When you relate too much to a random teen on the internet, youâve got cheese-related names and you desperately envy their work because itâs beautifulâŚ
Happy belated birthday, Chezpop. Hope 16 is great.
Anyone who can help me with how British schools work? I'm from Spain so I have no clue. The main point of the story is that one of the MC is
Hello. Iâm going to give you a rundown on how British secondary schools work.
In general, for all schools: your character, who is 15, will either be in y10 (born after September 1) or y11 (born before September 1). Secondary school starts at y7 (11-12) and ends at y11 (15-16). Thereâs also 6th form, or college, (for 16-18 year olds) for before uni. There are other options, like apprenticeships and stuff but itâs too complicated to discuss in a tumblr post. There are âkey stagesâ, but theyâre kinda irrelevant tbh. In y10 itâs chill, in y11 you do GCSEs.
School types: 2 main types; private and state. State is paid for by the government. Private (or independent) is its own company, and students pay to go. There are also boarding schools, which usually fall under private. There are ALSO schools called grammar schools, which are state schools for poor people who are smart enough to go to a private school but canât afford it. Well, nowadays grammar schools are more sought to get into than independent schools, because theyâre free but offer the same education as private. Theyâre quite prestigious. But lowkey itâs a scam because you often have to self-teach yourself in grammar schools because the teachers expect you to be smart enough.
11+: the 11+ are sets of exams you do in y6 to get into independent and grammar schools. Itâs tedious to apply, and each school you apply to has its own exam, and own regulations you need to know. Often, boys schools also do a 13+, where boys apply in y8 instead of y6. This is not the same for girl schools.
Uniform: so ugly. Private schools get blazers and ties and stuff, fancy clothing. Sometimes state schools get it too. But some just have jumpers and stuff. Search British uniforms for inspo. In 6th form you wear whatever you want. Usually. In most schools.
School system: usually students are divided into tiers, or âsetsâ, with the âtop setâ being the smartest people. Sets are usually different in each subject; you can be in top set in maths but bottom set in English, I mean. These sets get different education, exams, etc. It is possible to move between sets.
GCSEs (hate them): standardised exams all students have to take in y11. Can be taken earlier as well. Mainly y11. Number of GCSEs you do is varied, but the compulsory GCSEs are Maths, English Literature (books and plays) English Language (creative writing), and at least 2 Sciences (Biology, Chemistry, Physics). Then the rest are optional. You canât do just the compulsory, you have to do optional ones as well. Most schools do between 9-11 GCSEs. Students can do more GCSEs if they wish (in private) or drop GCSEs if they cannot. Papers for GCSEs are divided into 2 tiers; Foundation and Higher. Higher is given to top set (and other sets) and Foundation is given to lower sets. GCSEs used to be graded in the normal ABCD etc system, but now have gone to a 9-1 system, where 9 would be an A* and 1 would be an F. The highest grade someone can get on a Foundation Paper is 6 (I think) and a 9 in the Higher Paper.
A-levels: exams you need to take to get into universities. Not compulsory like GCSEs. People take apprenticeships, and do T-levels (too complicated to explain) instead of A-levels.
Good universities in Britain:
England: University of Birmingham, University of Bristol, University of Cambridge, Durham University, University of Exeter, Imperial College London, King's College London, University of Leeds, University of Liverpool, London School of Economics and Political Science (LSE), University of Manchester, Newcastle University, University of Nottingham, University of Oxford, Queen Mary University of London, University of Sheffield, University of Southampton, University College London (UCL), University of Warwick, University of York.
Scotland: University of Edinburgh, University of Glasgow.
Wales: Cardiff University.
Northern Ireland: Queen's University Belfast.
Note: majority of the information Iâve given, Iâm using from my experience as an English schoolgirl. There are slight variations in the rest of Britain, which I recommend researching.
Life is strangeâ･đŚšÂ°â§â á°ËËË (Wade Wilson x reader one shot)
Whimsical Wade fills me with joy in these trying times.
Tis just a platonic (kinda queerplatonic) shitpot ehehe. Fluffy at the end, idk, Iâm once again word-vomiting.
Warnings: angst, ig, if you squint. Whump? Idk what that means but reader gets injured. Reader also is a killer. Mini breakdown? Idk. Some comfort. Devolves into crack, then fluff. No Y/N. Finally writing the reader as a âyouâ rather than a âtheyâ. Never beta read. Some swearing (lots of f-bomb, Deadpool-style). Gore/injury detail, ig. Slight groping, non-con, (not by Wade), but you deal with it efficiently. Read at your own risk. Wade calls you Racoon, because you have dark circles. He might be slightly ooc? Sorry bout that. Shittily written.
Word count: I never do word counts :D
Youâre a vigilante, like Wade. A baby one, compared to him. Complete newbie, whoâs sworn to never kill. However, when you break that promise, you run away to the only person you can trust.
Here we go!
You fucked up.
God, you fucked up so bad.
You stand over the man on the pavement, your knuckles still smarting. You suck one fist, subconsciously, blood dripping down your face. Some of itâs his, some of itâs yours.
Royally fucked up, you have.
When Wade told you he was a vigilante, you were excited to become one too. Real excited. You hand-stitched your stupid little costume, which tore at the seams repeatedly, leading to some very embarrassing situations on patrol (you got it fixed eventually). When you found out that Wade killed people, you, your naive little dumb shit of a self, swore youâd never do it. Never take someoneâs life. Life was too precious for that. It was beautiful, life, truly, even in the grimy alleyways of New York City, ridden with rats, both literal and figuratively, you always managed to find the beauty in life, beauty in this place. Everyone was good, deep down, you truly believed that.
So why had you forgotten that today?
You remembered what Wade told you when you first became a vigilante, when you swore against murder. âThatâs not gonna work out, Raccoon. Trust me. Not in this life. Not in this city. One day, someoneâs gonna wrong someone in front of you, real damn bad, and you ainât gonna take it well. Take it from me.â You didnât want to believe him. But you had to, you had to admit he was right.
The man in front of you was undeniably dead. There was no beating about the bush with that one; you had pummelled his brains out. Not literally, but he was unrecognisable now.
You remembered how he acted, just moments before you lost it. You werenât even on patrol. You werenât supposed to be. Today you were supposed to be coming home to have a sleepover with Wade, who had already bought the cheesy pizza and soda and was awaiting your arrival. You didnât need to be on patrol because you saw Peter, that goofy kid, patrolling the streets. Followed by the other Avengers. Just patrolling, normal things. As you walked, you realised, you needed to pee. So bad. So, you looked around. Nearby was a bar, pumping with bass music, drunk patrons basically pressed against the windows, falling out of the building. If anyplace had a toilet, it was here. So, you slipped in, finished your business, and went on your merry way.
Except it wasnât so merry. Some guy started following you. You walked faster. He gave chase. You ran, trying to remember the shortcut to the police station. You took a wrong turn, and suddenly youâre stuck between a dead end and a drunk creep. Who has a knife. He inches closer to you. You donât have a weapon. He notices your hesitation and lunges. Pins you against the wall, his hand snaking down you to somewhere it really shouldnât be.
You donât like that. No. And rightfully so. You bodyslam this guy to the floor. Heâs got his hands on your ass now, grabby. Lewd comments pour out of him like a river. You see red. Blood red. Fists connect with face repeatedly. He fights back, slashing you across the cheek with his knife. Itâs not deep, thank god. A scratch, but it bleeds. Alcohol inebriated his movements. But you didnât care. You pummelled his face until he stopped fighting. That was the plan. Go until he stops. But, god, the smell of blood, it fuelled your rage now. And you werenât stopping for no-one.
And, goddammit, a rush came over you. Those screams of pain, music to your ears. Blood splattered all over, onto the pavement, onto you, covering youâ anointing you like Carrie, initiated into the murderers. At least, you think you enjoyed it. It was absolutely disgusting. Why were you doing this? Stopâ come on, stop it. Stop it, please. Stop it, stop it before you lose it! Before you lose yourself, stopâ STOP ITâ
You only stopped when the cries of pain below you subsided, the body producing them motionless, the face unrecognisable, even by God. Your hands shook as they dripped with blood, wiping the red, sticky liquid dripping down from your cheek. You had a sizeable gash on your upper arm, which you just came to notice.
You just took a life. Your first kill. What the fuck?
Sirens sounded, real close. Police sirens. Not for you, donât worry. But close enough to unnerve you. You need to get rid of this body. You need help.
So, you drag this corpse along, and walk through the dingy streets of New York, to Wadeâs apartment.
â･đŚšÂ°â§â á°ËËË
Wadeâs waiting for you by the door as you ring it. You can tell. Your phone had been blowing up, moments before. He had no idea where you were. So, here you are, standing in his doorway, looking like fucking Carrie, dragging your kill behind you, tears already having cleared pathways down your face, little rivulets of saltwater to break through the iron.
ââŚwoah. What happened here?â Wade tries to smile, really, he does, but your distressed expression made him falter. You never cried. Ever. Crying wasnât a thing you did. Maybe over movies, or stuff, but barely. Maybe a few sneaky tears slip out, when nobodyâs watching. But this⌠this wasnât normal. This wasnât you. And suddenly Wade understood what had happened.
He didnât judge. He just pulled you into the apartment, still trailing the corpse behind you, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He was a little taller than you, and always teased you for it, and although usually you would complain about him putting his head on top of yours, you couldnât deny the comfort it gave today. You broke down in his arms, sobbing, processing what you had just done. You killed someone. You broke your no-kill code. You lost control. You sicko.
ââŚpenny for your thoughts?â Woah. Wade was speaking proper English now. Shitâs real serious.
ââŚI lost control.â
âI can see that, Racoon.â
âDonât joke with me right now.â You looked up at him, eyes burning. Then you looked at his clean white shirt which he was wearing. Well, it used to be clean. Now it was covered in blood. Eugh. And now you felt even more terrible because this was his favourite shirt and you had ruined it like the selfish, selfish, selfish monster you are who didnât deserve him, didnât deserve any friends, anythingâ
He caught you spiralling, and smacked you across your face. âStop. I donât know whatâs racing through your head but itâs probably not true. You are a great person. Especially in my eyes. ThisâŚâ he gestured vaguely to the body, âchanges nothing.â
âI-I swore Iâd never killââ
âRacoonââ
âLife is important, Wade, and I just shat on that! Literally just took a big fat dump on life sacredness and importance! I killed a guy! I-I killed him and the worst part is I enjoyed it!â You were crying again. It wasnât fair. You just wanted to have a nice evening with Wade and you fucked it up. Nice going, asshole.
Wade looked at you. Then he smiled. Held in a laugh.
âDonât laugh at me! Iâm a horrible monster and you should hate me! I donât deserve love or anythingâ STOP LAUGHING AT ME!â
Wade was unable to keep it in. ââŚbabes, do you think Iâm a good person?â
âWh- no duh, of course, youâre my best friend!â
âBut Iâm a murderer too. Much worse than you. God, Iâve been the sole reason population levels arenât skyrocketing this side of the city. And I used to be a literal merc.â
âYes, I remember, the Merc with the Mouth, right? And Vanessa, sweet Vanessa.â
Wade became a bit more wistful at that, eyes cast towards the distance.
ââŚyou should call her.â He considered that for a bit.
ââŚnot today, trash rat. Gotta deal with your sorry ass right now.â He patted your head condescendingly, and you chuckled, wiping your nose pathetically on your sleeve like a toddler. You glanced back down at the man on the floor, memories rushing back.
âI gotta turn myself inâ I gotta tell his familyââ without warning, you pushed off Wade, scrounging the body for its phone, your fervour fuelled by guilt and grief. You fished it out of the corpseâs trench coat. It was⌠surprisingly expensive, for a hobo-esque guy like him.
You went through the emergency contacts, and clicked one. Time to come clean.
â･đŚšÂ°â§â á°ËËË
The phone rang. No answer the first two calls, then the third time, it picked up.
âH-hello?â A sweet old lady picked up. Oh, god, this was gonna be even worse.
âH-hello, is this your sonâs phone?â
âOh, yes, it is. Why- why do you have it?â
ââŚYour son, heâŚâ you stared at the man on the floor, watched as his blood pooled around him. ââŚheâs in a better place, maâam.â
The old woman didnât believe you. It took some convincing for her to accept it, but eventually you could hear the sobs from the other side.
âMy son, my son!â The hand holding the phone was shaking now. Yes, this man assaulted you, but he had a family. A family you had just ruined. You felt the tears fall down your face again.
âI-Iâm so sorry for yourââ your voice was shaky, your own sobs coming through. God, you were a sicko. Irredeemable.
âHe just got married, you know? Just a couple months ago.â The woman on the other side was inconsolable, hiccuping, praising her sonâs memory.
Hold up. Married?
Wade looked down at the body, holding up both hands. No ring.
You realised something, and turned back to the old woman. âMaâam, is your son mid-forties, brown hair, glassesââ
âWhat? No. Heâs 20, for oneâlâ
âMaâam, Iâm so sorry, thereâs been a mix-up. Your son is fineâ well, I hope he is. I assume he got his phone stolen recently?â When the woman confirmed, you calmed down. Okay. It was okay. He was alive. You didnât kill a good man.
So who was this John Doe?
â･đŚšÂ°â§â á°ËËË
This man had like, 40 phones on him. All stolen. It was creepy.
You and Wade went through each of them, trying to find the phone of this man, the one he actually owned. But he somehow didnât own any of them.
âThis is useless.â
âShh. Weâll find something.â
ââŚokay. John Doe here is a serial phone stealer. Heâs not even a good person. Relax.â You roll your eyes at Wadeâs comment, glancing down at the body.
ââŚdoes he not look familiar to you?â
Wade paused, then looked at you incredulously. âBabes. Youâve smashed his face in so much I could use it as a bowl for chimichangas. No, he doesnât look fucking familiar.â
âNoâ work with me, jackass. Hereâ Iâll sketch him from memory.â You looked around for a pencil and paper fruitlessly, whining in frustration slightly. Wade handed you a paper and a biro. You began sketching.
God, you canât draw to save your life, can you? But if thereâs anyone more in tune with you, itâs Wade Wilson.
ââŚwoah, that guyâs on the news!â
âYou got that from a stick figure with nonsense features?â
âThe nose, dude.â Ah. Yes. You had added the manâs hooked nose.
Wade went onto his laptop, and typed something, and started scrolling. You perched behind him, curious. âWhatchuââ he shut you up, pressing a hand to your mouth. He was going through all the recent news articles, until you stopped him. âThat guy. That one there.â
He clicked it.
Serial Killer on the loose!
Say what now? Serial killer? You glanced back down at the body. This pathetic man was a serial killer? But the more you read, the more shocked you became. This guy was a killer, a rapist, a kidnapper, all the wrongs in the world rolled into one fella.
Ew. You touched that guy with your hands. He touched you too. Eugh. You shuddered, glancing back at the screen. A smirk played on Wadeâs lips.
âLook, babes, no harm done. He was on death row already. He was gonna die anyway. And rightfully so. The bastard was the scum of the fucking barrel.
ââŚshould we still tell the cops?â You look up, nervous.
ââŚyeah. Might get cash out of it!â
âYou and your damn cashââ you rolled your eyes, grinning weakly⌠god, this guy was the best.
â･đŚšÂ°â§â á°ËËË
âWe should probably ask Pete to ask Tony to improve Americaâs prison systems.â You mumbled, chewing a hotdog you bought from a stand you just visited after dumping the body and phones anonymously at the police station. Anonymous, but with a burner phone number attached. Wade suggested that. Cash prizes, you know?
You still were covered in blood. You needed a shower.
When you got back to Wadeâs place, thatâs what you did. Took a nice, long shower, detangling your hair, coagulated with blood, and wiping that manâs fluids off you. The water still ran red, after you were clean.
Shit. You were still bleeding.
You dried yourself off, pulled on Wadeâs hoodie which you always wore, and came back out. âWadeeeee? Can I get a little help?â
And, it was like a spell. The next moment, you were being bandaged up for being injured. Unlike him, you forgot, you werenât a mutant. So you couldnât heal like him. You were sitting in the bathroom, shirtless, him wiping the cut on your cheek, sighing.
âYour face is gonna be scarred.â You looked up at his own scarred face, smirking.
âMaybe I wanna look like you.â That set him off. He always was a bit different than you. No sexual jokes, not even from the get-go. Treated you with respect, like a best friend, but closer. Platonic soulmates, you always called the two of you, resulting him in shoving you with a pshaw. But really. You were lucky to have this guy. Heâs a great friend.
So, an hour later, you and him are back at your sleepover plans, eating pizza and watching Golden Girls for the umpteenth time. Al, in case youâve been wondering, has been asleep in the bedroom all this time, and the couch was a pull-out, so you were on there, your head on his shoulder, your eyes closed peacefully as Wade yapped on about Bea and Betty. White noise.
You recalled the events of the day. You killed a man. You ran to Wade. You gave an old woman a mini heart attack. You found out the corpse was a serial killer. And now youâre here, hugging your best friend, who was patting your head. And, you thought to yourselfâŚ
Life is strange.
Et voila! Shitty but fun to write. Hope you enjoyed!
