#linnylooo

[thefendertelee]

@strangenewworldsanthology

The bar wasn’t anything special—dim lights, a jukebox in the corner rattling out half-broken blues, the air thick with the scent of cheap whiskey and old cigarettes. But Lucile Xavier had never cared much for “special.” What mattered was that it wasn’t the mansion. It wasn’t the sterile quiet of endless hallways and watchful eyes. It wasn’t her grandfather’s endless lectures or Logan’s constant, gruff shadow at her side. Here, in this nowhere-place, she could breathe. Or at least, she could pretend.

Her red-painted lips curved into a sly smile as she leaned across the counter, one elbow resting against the sticky wood, the neckline of her black silk top catching the glow of the neon beer sign overhead. The man beside her—broad-shouldered, tanned skin, laughter lines crinkling around dark eyes—wasn’t particularly interesting. But he was interested, and sometimes that was all that mattered. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, voice warm, words slurred faintly with whiskey.

Lucile tilted her head, letting a loose strand of raven hair fall across her cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she teased, lifting her glass to her lips. Bourbon burned its way down her throat, steadying the faint hum of energy that always crackled beneath her skin. A dangerous reminder of what she was—what had been forced into her veins, what Logan was tasked with keeping under control.

But here, she wasn’t the granddaughter of Charles Xavier. She wasn’t the lab experiment, the fractured girl with a target on her back. Here, she was just another pretty face in the dark. And if Logan ever found her here, pressed close to a stranger, laughing like the world wasn’t ending—well. That was his problem.

Her hand brushed against the man’s as she reached for her drink, her smile widening when his gaze flickered briefly down her frame. “Tell me,” she murmured, voice low enough to curl like smoke, “are you always this charming, or am I just lucky tonight?”

[ash-muses]

(OOC) Just a few reminders! You're not obligated to match my length or anything like that, so please don't feel pressured to do so. I also don't mind waiting on replies (I can be slow myself, so take your time). If my fonts/colors bother you at all, please let me know; I'd rather you be comfortable and I know I have a few RP partners that I try not to use the small font with because they can't read it well. Have fun with it and let me know if you need me to change anything! :D ♡ Starter for @linnylooo

It had been a long day for the Winchesters — hell, their whole life had been one long day. Sam and Dean were seated across from one another at the long table in the bunker, preparing for the next case that had been sent their way. The older Winchester shoved the last bite of a pizza slice into his mouth, closing the lid and sliding it down the smooth surface out of his way. He met Sam's gaze, crossing his arms and leaning forward on his elbows.

"You want a beer, Sammy?" he offered after a minute, gaze flickering toward the kitchen area and then back to his younger brother. Spotting the hesitance in Sam's features, Dean prodded a little further, "C'mon, take a load off, huh? You've been neck deep in lore for days now. It's not going to kill you to take one night off."

The recent hunts held Sam's focus more than usual, trying to track down anything that might help them deal with the sudden influx of people that had returned to life. They didn't have any leads yet, and neither Jody nor Donna had been able to find anything either. For the time being, there was nothing else they were able to do — and while he didn't want to admit it, Dean had a point. Pausing briefly, Sam observed him and then replied with a ghost of a smile. "Uh, yeah, all right," he began, voice low and soft, "I guess you're right. Thanks, Dean."

It wasn't long until Dean had returned with a case of beer from the fridge, twisting the tab off with ease before he tossed it aside and passed the frosty bottle to Sam. Meanwhile, the younger Winchester had closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair with a sigh, giving his brother a small nod as he took the offered drink. The familiar taste slightly eased the edge he felt, yet something in his core still didn't feel right. Minutes ticked by before something had caught Dean's attention.

His head whipped around toward the stairs that led to the exit of the bunker, his senses heightening at the subtle disruption. Some sort of banging. In a practiced motion, his hand smoothly slipped a gun out from behind his back; his vision sharpened, pulse increasing as he held the weapon pointed downward and headed toward the door to the bunker. On the other hand, Sam was right behind him, opened beer sat forgotten upon the table and a secondary pistol clutched tightly in his grip. Unlike his brother, he was much calmer, yet his concentration mirrored Dean's.

They each quietly took separate sides of the door frame and with a silent signal, Sam swiftly opened the door and Dean stepped out, gun cocked and pointed at the entrance. He felt his chest tighten at the sight, his eyes widening imperceptibly in disbelief. What the hell was she doing here? Dean's heart simultaneously soared and broke, his momentary hesitation evident.

"Jo?"

[deadpoolmerchandise]

Neverending Love Story | Vanessa and Wade

Some call it destiny, some fate, some call it a twisted cosmic love anomaly. Like anchor beings, anchor love stories like these stretch through dimensions. Basically, what this part of the story arch so far is gonna answer is, what if the love story happened after Wade's Weapon X experience?

Featuring: @deadpoolmerchandise, @linnylooo

[thefendertelee]

@edward-darius

⸻An angel without its wings is only human…

It had been four months. Four months since she was freed from that hellish torture facility. Four months since she had slept on a real mattress for the first time in six years. And four months since she had first laid eyes on the most beautiful man she had ever seen. One hundred and twenty days of keeping her distance as best she could, staying away from him—even when every time he looked at her, the hardened cement barriers of her resolve crumbled further and further, the mortar chipping and cracking, edging its way toward the center of her heart. Every waking thought was filled with him, and she would do anything to drive him out of her head… to keep him at arm’s length, in the desperate hope of protecting him from being tainted and corrupted by her.

The air was crisp, the heady, earthen scent of wet autumn leaves filling the fog-laced gardens of the X-Mansion. Lucien sat beneath the great tree at the center, her head resting against its damp bark as she drew in the cool night air. She loved nights like this—it was only natural after six years spent locked away without the chance to breathe in anything fresh. The damp fall evenings of upstate New York calmed her, soothed the destructive fire within her—powers she had long come to view as lethal and unpredictable. That was why she was at the mansion. Class Five mutants were rare, and one who couldn’t control her abilities when her emotions flared? A dangerous rarity at that.