#now I have my own tag adjacent to rips | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nabtime · 1 year

Text

Our Empty Graves XII

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 12: with my eyes wide open im dreaming (darling do I deserve such a break?)

Chapter Summary: Recovery, cooking lessons, and an odd dream.

Chapter Notes: title from With My Eyes Wide Open I'm Dreaming by Patti Page Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 11 // Chapter 13 // Spotify

They got back from Doctor Leslie’s clinic after she’d kicked them out in the early hours of the morning. Danny couldn’t really tell you which day or how long they’d been in her clinic, but he could tell you it was early. Too damn early for anything, let alone traversing the back-streets of Gotham and hoping no one tried to jump them while Red’s hands were tied. He carefully directed Danny down the streets and made sure he didn’t get lost as they made their way to one of Red’s safe-houses. From what he was able to tell it looked like the same one he’d first been brought to, the one he was most familiar with. The one that looked the most lived in.

They both collapsed on the couch and didn’t move for a long while, neither of them dropping off to sleep like they should have- just trying to process everything.

Danny chose to stare at the ceiling, the colors of everything around him seemed so bright- no matter how often he’d had his tinted visor off lately, it was still something he wasn’t used to. He’d... existed, for so long, with everything in shadows and bathed in a sheen of darkness. His face felt naked and vulnerable to the world.

He didn’t want to put it back on, though. Which was a new and terrifying feeling.

He chose to ignore it and bask in the silence of the apartment, the only sounds being the hum of the appliances and the distant hustle of the city. There was a surprising lack of screaming and sirens that usually plagued Gotham, probably from the ungodly early hour. Even the terror of Gotham had to sleep sometimes- the rogues and the bats all tucked away all nice in bed while the normies went about their day.

What a wild place he’d landed in.

He hoped that explosion hadn’t hurt anyone else. He’d been far too distracted by making sure Red made it out okay that he didn’t even think to look for any other casualties. Although, he was pretty certain no one else liked to hang around the carnival themed area of the docks so the likelihood of any others getting caught in the blast was low. But not zero. Whatever the case, it was too late now- the cleanup and aftermath having long since passed. Whatever bodies there may or may not have been weren’t something he could help with now. It wasn’t something he particularly want to think about either. (There seemed to be quite a few things that he didn’t want to think about.)

He thought, instead, about what to do with Red’s hands. As a ghost, Danny had some semblance of accelerated healing. So, theoretically, since Hood was also ghost-adjacent, he could have accelerated healing too. Maybe Danny could jump-start the process? Figure out a way to blast his hands with enough regenerative ectoplasm that it fixed them all shiny and new instead of making them radioactive? He also needed to take care of that poison pooling in the other’s chest. He didn’t like it. He’d never encountered ectoplasm that was so rancid before. Usually you could tell the intent of the stuff by the smell or the taste- some instinctual sense ghosts had to tell one type of goo from another. The stuff Hood had felt like nothing but pure malice. It had no other purpose but to hurt.

It was close enough to ectoplasm to bring the other back to life (if that’s even what did it in the first place) and give Red some ghostly attributes (like purring!) so it stood to reason that pure or at least regenerative ecto would fix it. But would flushing his system with it work? Would it eradicate the poisoned ecto or would that have to be removed first for it all to work? Would anything even happen at all? Would any of it help or would trying to do any of that just kill him all the way? Red had been alive with the bad-goo for this long without much consequence, who’s to say it even needed to be removed at all?

Danny didn’t know. Danny didn’t even have the slightest clue. He wasn’t a doctor. He wasn’t an expert. All he had were questions and shoddy speculations. Nothing he could test. Nothing he would dare mention to Red in case it went horribly, horribly wrong.

It would be fine as it was for now. Probably. Hood would just have to deal with his hands healing at a normal human rate, no matter how long and terrible that was.

They sat for a good while longer. Danny in a slowly growing panic and Red nearly dropping off to sleep right there on the couch a few times.

Then the awkwardness began. The first hurdle they’d have to jump while Danny cared for the other during recovery.

Red pulled himself from the couch with a prolonged groan- movement slow and likely agonizing. He didn’t move further, just shuffled from foot to foot in discomfort and looked into the distance with the most despondent look he’d ever seen on the other man’s face. Danny sat up and studied him, waiting for a cue to guess where he could help.

“I have to go,” Red whispered, voice wrecked from his sore throat and the pure helplessness in his tone.

They had a silent stand off. Hood glared at his hands, then Danny, then the bathroom door just down the hall before he circled back to his hands. He didn’t appreciate Danny’s silent huff of laughter at the action.

Danny rolled his eyes and held up a hand, holding up one finger and then two and tilting his head in question.

Red sighed. “One,” he said tersely.

Danny shrugged a bit, hauling himself up from the couch. Then he stepped closer, looking up into Red’s widening baby-blues with a smirk. Gently, he undid the tie to Red’s sweatpants and loosened them, then stepped back. He waved toward the bathroom and then mimed shimmying pants down using his elbows and then sitting, trusting Hood would get the message without him having to spell it out.

Red squinted at him before the light-bulb seemed to go off. “Fucking genius,” he muttered before speed-walking for the bathroom- happy he could do that by himself at least.

(How he got his pants back on without Danny’s help was a bit of a mystery, but none of the bandages had been disturbed so he let it go.)

Red Hood was a stubborn man. Danny already knew this, but trying to take care of him and make sure he didn’t use his hands only made it clearer. Hood was a stubborn bastard dead set on self-sabotaging his recovery.

He refused help wherever he thought he could get away with it and tried to sneak in doing tasks that he knew he couldn’t do on his own anyway. Danny had caught him multiple times trying to do things he shouldn’t- like attempting to get plastic over the wrappings on his hands in order to do dishes when Danny wasn’t looking. Kudos to him for thinking to protect the wrappings from getting wet, but he was still in trouble because he was putting undue pressure on his broken hands. Danny had also caught the man trying to put on his Hood Helmet™ and crawl out the window! He’d had a very stern “talk” with him after that- Danny threatened to take Red’s hands off himself if he tried that again.

It was all incredibly awkward at first. There were quite a few things you couldn’t do on your own if you didn’t have hands- not if you weren’t used to it- not without tools. And Danny had to be there to help him with all of it. He didn’t mind it- not really. It was a little odd with how intimate it felt, but he liked taking care of Red. That protective part of his core hummed with satisfaction at being able to keep Red healthy and safe. He was also perfectly happy to let Red have as much independence he could manage without using his hands- if he could use his elbows or feet or whatever other appendage or makeshift tool for the task then Danny would let him. He was surprisingly resourceful so long as Danny made sure he wasn’t trying to push himself past his limits.

Their second big hurdle came with dinner.

Danny caught him trying to fumble with cooking utensils in the kitchen. He knew his cooking wasn’t that great, but come on! It wasn’t that bad! None of his food reanimated and he took that as a win.

“Ghoul boy,” Hood said after Danny had thrown a tantrum and pushed him into one of the rickety kitchen chairs and glared at him with his hands on his hips on accusation, “I’m tired of take-out. It’s been two weeks. And I don’t trust you to cook on your own after what happened with the bagels last Wednesday.”

Danny silently scoffed and threw a careless hand to the side. So I’d burned a few bagels. So, what?

Red glared. “You destroyed my toaster and nearly set the apartment on fire. The toaster isn’t even supposed to get that hot, let alone burst into flames that can’t be put out by a regular fire extinguisher. We had to toss it out the window and hope for the best! I don’t even know how you did that!”

Okay, so, maybe it was a bit worse than burning the bagels. But still! He could do something simpler! He huffed and threw his hands in the air. I could pour cereal without setting it on fire! Probably!

“You absolutely would find a way to set cereal on fire and you know it, Spooks,” Red retorted, irritated but also vaguely amused.

Danny deflated a bit before flopping into the other rickety old kitchen chair, scratching dejectedly at the sleek dark wood of the itty-bitty table the chairs surrounded. It sat in a small corner of the kitchen and was what counted for a dining room in the small apartment.

The apartment itself was small and cozy- it felt a little lived in- even if it was still pretty barren. The kitchen was well stocked with utensils and appliances (fancy ones that Danny definitely never wanted to touch for fear of either breaking them or them breaking him), if not always stocked well with ingredients. There were extra blankets and pillows for the second-hand couch- all in bland colors and made of cheap material. It screamed of a temporary place, something put together with minimal thought and expense- always meant to be a safe-house instead of a home. Not to mention the cache of weapons and tools that took up the entirety of the guest room. And the industrial strength first-aid kit supplies stocked in with them. He’d only glimpsed the room once, Hood showing him briefly when he’d apologized about not having any extra space. Danny’d shrugged- he slept in a tree most times, he could stand the couch.

Red interrupted his wandering thoughts with a question he didn’t particularly want to think about. “How’d you manage to be so bad at cooking in the first place? You eat, even as a ghost, so have you just been foraging around the forest all this time, like some undead squirrel?”

Danny huffed some semblance of a laugh before sighing. The question had an answer, there was absolutely a reason he was so bad in the kitchen, but did he want to share it? Show such a sad piece of himself to Red Hood? He stared down at the table as he tapped a slow rhythm on the wood. He couldn’t feel it under his fingertips, even without his gloves on. He debated for a bit before pulling the marker and whiteboard from his chest. He hesitated, fiddling with the cap and making no move to write.

There was a soft hum from Red and he looked up to see the other staring at the ceiling with a frown on his face.

“I’ve always liked cooking,” he said, voice soft and distant. “Even when I was bad at it, even when I didn’t know what I was doing, and even when I was only doing it because if I didn’t then I wouldn’t be fed.”

Danny felt his core let loose a small mourning croon before he could stop himself, the sound not unlike a dove’s churr. He quickly slapped his hands over his mouth (like that was even where the sound had come from) and tried hard to fight off a blush.

Red let out a short laugh at him, his eyes focused on Danny now instead of some long-away point in his past. Red’s grin slipped, though, as he continued.

“Growing up in Crime Alley is tough. Even tougher with a shitty dad and a mom that couldn’t control her drug use. She tried her best, but her good moments- where she was coherent and cared- were few and far between,” he said before smiling a bit. “The neighbors would step in, sometimes, if I bugged them enough. If they were friendly enough. Learned a lot of different recipes that way, too. All kinds of folk can end up down here, on the ground floor of Gotham.”

He sighed. “Really had to learn to fend for myself when I was inevitably orphaned.”

Danny didn’t like the way he said that. Like it had only been a matter of time before he was left to the mercy of the streets. Like it was the expected outcome. Like it was an everyday occurrence. Or- like he had deserved it. Like the circumstances had been his fault. He crooned again, lifting up from his chair and reaching out.

He placed a hand over Red’s forearm, wanting desperately to hold his hand instead, but trying to give comfort where he could anyway. Hood laughed softly at his efforts and smiled at him.

“I wasn’t orphaned for long, Spooks,” he said, using his wrist to pat at Danny’s hand to let him know it was okay. “I got picked up eventually.” And then his face twisted into a grimace, a complicated series of emotions flashing across his face before he shook his head to clear it. “B wasn’t ever allowed in the kitchen, but Alfred taught me all kinds of tricks and tips and dishes to make. I miss it sometimes, honestly.”

Danny floated closer, lifting fully out of his chair to lean against Hood’s side, offering silent support. He didn’t ask, not wanting to bring up bad memories and knowing full well how painful it could be to think back on the good times before you died. Most times it was worse than thinking about the bad times; because you knew it would never be the same. That you could never, ever, go back to those times. Death, even temporary as it had been for both of them, was a force of finality. A curtain closing around your life as you knew it. Dying changed you.

Red smiled and leaned down to press his forehead to the top of Danny’s head where the foggy wisps of his hair licked at Hood’s shoulder. Danny just nuzzled him further before pulling back and picking up the board again. He wouldn’t share everything, but he could share a little. Just like Red had. He tapped the board for a bit before deciding on what to write, appreciating the quiet patience of the other beside him as he waited.

My dad was really bad at cooking- unless it was fudge. And my mom wasn’t too bad at it, but she’d get distracted a lot and end up burning things. And then she and dad would hole up in the lab most days anyway. It didn’t help that they would store specimen samples in the fridge next to the food either. My older sister tried her best, but she was too young for most of the big appliances at first and no one was around to teach either of us most of the time.

He decided to leave it at that. He didn’t want to go into the times the food came back to life. Didn’t want to think about how many thanksgivings and holidays had been ruined from the turkey reanimating and besieging the house or the cookies going up in flames and almost burning everything to the ground. Didn’t want to think about all the times Jazz had burned herself trying to keep them fed with something decent or how often she’d had to beat the blender into submission with the Fenton Creep Stick. He couldn’t look at a toaster without shuddering- probably why Red’s had combusted like that, actually- not after one had tried to eat him alive when he was five.

Red nudged Danny’s arm with his elbow, offering a silent comfort just like Danny had done for him. He also didn’t ask further, letting the knowledge sit between the both of them. Red hadn’t had a good childhood and Danny hadn’t had a particularly stellar one either. It’d taken time and perspective for him to come to that conclusion- about how his parents hadn’t been as good as they probably should have been. And that wasn’t even to mention what happened after the accident.

He caught Red looking thoughtfully down at the main jumpsuit of the hazmat he still wore, and heard the soft murmur of, “A lab, huh?” before Red sighed and slumped over the back of his chair. His huge muscley bulk made it creak ominously.

“Alright,” Hood declared, pushing himself up from the table and attempting to put his hands on his hips before thinking better of it. “Cooking lessons it is, then.”

What? Danny stood fully and moved to stand in front of Red while drawing a frantic question mark in the air. How the hell did he expect to do this without hands?!

Red shrugged. “I’m going to tell you what to do and you’re going to do it. Carefully and with strict supervision. And you might want to go ahead and grab the fire-extinguisher.”

Danny stared. This was not going to end well.

Oh well, it wasn’t his kitchen at risk here. He did grab the extinguisher, though.

“Open up the fridge and the cabinets, Jellyfish. I gotta see what we’re working with here.”

Danny did so, floating a little bit in order to reach the top shelves and ignoring Hood’s soft snicker at the action. Damn tall people. He stood back and watched as Hood went around, muttering to himself as he compared different ingredients- what little they had- and only occasionally asking Danny to pick something up and check its expiration date.

“The andouille’s still good, we have rice, and the spices are all in date- even if they’re not fresh,” he heard Red murmur as he paced around the small space in the kitchen, Danny now floating over the table to keep out of his way. “No aromatics, though. Didn’t have a reason to keep fresh produce. Miracle at all that I even had sausage and broth.”

He paced back towards one of the cabinets, lifting a hand before pulling it back when Danny made a move to lunge and stop him. He grumbled before using an elbow to shift the cans around himself.

“Tomatoes,” he said, nudging a can to the front and picking it up between his elbows to place on the counter, “so creole style.”

Danny would forever be impressed with how much Red had learned to improvise in the two weeks without his hands so far. The man had been put out at first but he was quickly learning everything he could and couldn’t do and what he could manage in more- creative ways.

The table was already littered with several ingredients, ready to be put to use once Red was finally done obsessing over having everything they needed. Oil, sausage, a bag of long grain rice, a box of chicken broth, a bottle of hot sauce and another of worcestershire, and several different spices and seasonings. One was labeled Cajun, so he assumed they were cooking something spicy.

“Fetch!” Hood barked, causing Danny to startle out of his floating and almost fall- barely catching himself before he hit the table. He looked up to see Red grinning at him and stuck his tongue out in retaliation.

“Grab my phone for me, would ya?” Hood asked before turning back around and assessing the bare cabinets yet again.

It had become a pretty common thing between them, Hood trusting Danny with his phone to text and help make calls. It was the only way Hood was allowed to still run his criminal empire- from a distance, and in turn Danny was trusted with the passcode and access to everything. Red had a surprising amount of numbers saved in there- always a person for something or another. Just as many numbers for Grannies around the Alley as there were for the gang members in his crew. Danny knew Hood was trying to build a community- trying to make things better in every way, but it was still astounding to see.

He’d called Nadi early on that way too. Yes, Hood had had to do the talking and Nadi had chewed him out real good before busting down the door to the apartment to make sure Danny was okay, but he hadn’t wanted to let her worry. She’d taken Red by the ear and chewed him out some more after fussing over Danny- telling Hood that the only reason she wasn’t tearing him a new asshole was because he’d already done that himself. He’d been surprised that Red had been willing to let her see him without his helmet- he’d still slapped a mask on but still. And even more surprised that he’d let her know the address to the apartment. It spoke a lot of the trust he had in both Danny and Nadi. He was in a particularly vulnerable spot with his injuries- yet he’d let them in.

He grabbed the phone from corner of the living room that had a tiny little table next to an open outlet with a charger plugged in. Hood had multiple phones- most of them burners- but this one was the main one so it got it’s own special little place. He popped it off the charger and skipped back into the kitchen, unlocking it and holding it up for Red to see.

He nodded and said distractedly, “Call Mama Pourciau for me, please? I’m hoping she has some of the ingredients we’re missing.”

Danny did as told, scrolling through the frankly huge list of contacts until he got to Mama Pourciau and clicked the call icon. He put it on speaker and held it close to Hood so he could talk comfortably. He wondered idly what they’d be making.

Well, he wasn’t about to find out through the phone call because Red was not speaking English while talking with Mama Pourciau. If he had to guess, he’d say French- but it also sounded different to any French he’d heard before. He’d have to ask later what language it was.

He zoned out while watching Red talk, his voice nice as it wrapped around words he’d never heard before- the accent of them pleasing in a way Danny never thought he’d have a thing for. And then the call ended on Mama P’s end and Hood was smirking at him over the dial tone.

He shook his head and gave Hood a sheepish look, floating back over to the living room to put the phone away in order to avoid the teasing light in his eyes.

“She’s going to be bringing a few ingredients by, so keep an ear out for the door. She didn’t have everything but it’ll do in a pinch,” he said and then paused and hummed thoughtfully. “Go find those blankets that Mrs. Almeida dropped off the other day, too. Mama Pourciau’s daughter had a baby a few months ago and those should do as payment.”

Danny grinned and gave a jaunty salute before hopping away to hunt down the downy-soft blankets Mrs. Almeida had knitted and brought over for them in thanks for paying her son’s bail last week. Joao had done nothing wrong and Mrs. Almeida had been beside herself when the GCPD had tackled him and taken him in. Danny himself had gone down to the precinct and haunted the shit out of them in retribution.

Most people in the Alley seemed to work within a complex network of barter and trade, working with each other to cover each other’s needs. At least, now that Hood was making sure there weren’t any trouble-makers to disrupt it they were. And he kept the cops away from things that weren’t their business. Before the Alley had seemed to be a free-for-all. An every-man-for-himself type of place full of cruelty and despair. Now, slowly, it was building into a community. Something beautiful.

When Mama Pourciau knocked on the door, Danny answered with a grin and an armful of brightly-colored blankets. The older woman-stout and dark skin lined with age- had cooed and kissed his cheeks and traded burdens with ease. She hadn’t flinched at all at the sight of his fangs when he smiled. Hadn’t even hesitated to hug his colder body, her warm one smelling like coco butter and spices. She just patted him on the cheek and told him he was a sweet boy with her pretty accent and then told him to tell Red Hood that she’d be happy to send him recipes any time.

He nodded, awed at her response to his monstrous nature and waved with his hands full of groceries as she left. He felt dazed as he made his way back into the kitchen.

Red laughed at the look on his face when he came back. “Komik,” he said softly, shaking his head before gesturing for Danny to put the bags on the table to join the other ingredients.

“Cooking one oh one,” he started. “Fancy cooking, at least, starts by making your mise en place.”

Danny stared blankly and waited for Hood to explain what that was. He didn’t know any French, thanks. He’d barely learned any Spanish in high school before he’d had to drop out. Thankfully, Red knew full well he was an idiot already.

“You gather everything you need, measure it all out, and have it handy for when you’re ready to put it all together,” he continued without any judgment in his tone. “So lets see what Mama P was able to scrounge up and put it all together.”

Danny pulled everything out one by one, Hood naming each ingredient as he did so. Onions, green and red bell peppers, celery, garlic, dried oregano and thyme, okra, and even a small amount of shrimp.

“Ooh,” he said when Danny’d pulled out the shrimp. “I’m gonna have to get that woman something more than blankets for that. Didn’t ask her for any shrimp, sneaky minx.”

Danny had spluttered at the phrase, almost dropping the shrimp in the process. Who the hell called a sweet old lady like Mama Pourciau a minx?

Red laughed at Danny’s fumbling but then mumbled, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Danny rolled his eyes before miming closing a zipper over his mouth.

“Alright,” Hood said, stepping over to the cabinets and drawers and pulling one open with his elbow. “Time to slice, dice, and measure.”

Danny pulled all the tools they would need per Hood’s instructions, making sure to follow along and pay attention. He was determined not to set anything on fire this time. Right now, thankfully, they weren’t working with heat yet, just chopping and putting everything together. Pulling out things like a Dutch oven and setting it aside. Measuring cups of rice and broth and using little spoons for the spices that were then put in little cups. It was fascinating. It was… nice.

Danny didn’t know cooking could be like this. Slow and methodical and soothing. There was no yelling here- no shouting about sentient hot dogs or being careful with the stove that he was too small to use. There was no uncertainty here- no guessing and guessing wrong about the basics and ending up with inedible accidents or stinging burns. Just him, Hood’s low, patient voice, and the food slowly coming together under his hands.

Partway through, Red had them stop and look for the small radio he kept in one of the upper cabinets, wanting to listen to something while they cooked. He had Danny flip though several different stations before landing on one that played music you might be more likely to hear play from a gramophone- soft and brassy and old. He’d wanted to question it, but watching Red’s eyes close in contentment and his hips gently sway made him pause. Maybe another time. He almost nicked himself with the knife watching those hips.

“We’re going to use the stove now, jellyfish,” Hood said softly as he nudged Danny with one of those distracting hips. “You ready for that?”

He shrugged. Maybe another time he’d be nervous, certain something would catch fire, but with Red showing him what to do and how, he felt pretty confident he wouldn’t mess up so badly this time. He bumped his own hip against Red’s and moved all the things they’d be sauteing next to the stove as the other told him to.

He browned the andouille, no problem, and then spooned it out for later. He poured in the onion, bell pepper, and celery, smiling as he stirred and relished in the delicious smell. Cooking had never smelled so good before- not when he was the one at the helm like this. It was something he could get used to if it went this well each time. It felt far more relaxing than he’d ever thought it could. He was used to the kitchen being a war-zone, full of screaming and fighting and chaos. This was nothing like that here now; just the soft sizzle of the food, gentle strains of old slow jazz, and the low murmur of Red’s instructions.

Hood hummed, pressing close behind him- chest to back, and hooked his chin on Danny’s shoulder. He was surprised at just how comfortable it all was. He leaned back into the embrace, just a bit, and felt his core rumble with a contented purr. Hood huffed a small laugh, but Danny could feel the echoing purr from the other’s chest against his back. Red had them both slowly swaying to the music and Danny had never felt so- warm was the only way to describe it- in his life.

“Garlic now,” Red said into his ear, “just for a little bit. Half a minute about. Till you can smell it good.”

Danny shivered and dutifully poured it in. The aroma in the kitchen was already heavenly, but it just continued to get better and better the longer they cooked. He could see why Hood liked this so much now. Eventually all the ingredients aside from the shrimp were added into the pot- Dutch oven- and all that was left was to wait while it simmered for awhile before adding them in.

It was peaceful and beautiful and if he could bottle the moment up he would. Just the smell of spices cooking on the stove and the rocking dance with Red to soft strings and trumpets. He didn’t deserve such a good moment. Something so painfully human and full of life. He didn’t deserve something so dreadfully gentle. But he wouldn’t tear himself away for the world. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he couldn’t bare to let it any of it go.

And in the end, well, they’d managed to make a pretty damn good jambalaya. Even Red said so.

═════ ◈ ═════

It wasn’t often that Danny dreamed. It wasn’t often that he slept in the first place, his ghostly nature allowing him to go for days without rest, and to dream within those handful of moments was rare. Nightmares, yes, they plagued him almost every time he couldn’t avoid dropping off to sleep any longer.

Dreams were different, though. Softer.

It should have been a nightmare, with what he was witnessing, but everything was distant and fuzzy around the edges. Like he was completely detached from the scene (the memory) he’d found himself watching from a completely different point of view. This wasn’t his memory, but it was of him, of something that often came back to haunt him.

He watched, in remote fascination, as his own clawed hand plunged into Pariah Dark’s prone chest and ripped out his core.

He’d been told by the other ghosts right before the battle, and in no uncertain terms, that taking the Tyrant King’s core was the only way to stop him. That without the original Council of Ancients to seal him away, putting him back in the Sarcophagus would do nothing. The only way for him to be defeated was to End him. And they’d all been fairly confident that Danny was the only one capable of doing it.

And hadn’t that been something? Every ghost that had ever kicked his ass had told him that he was the only one. The only one strong enough to defeat an Ancient King that had ruled over the Realms for thousands of years, that had previously only been defeated by being locked away by a group of powerful Ancients.

And he, an eighteen year old half-breed that they’d previously fought to hell and back, was their only hope.

He ran, at first. Scared out of his mind and fully believing that all his enemies were simply trying to get him to fully kill himself and act as canon fodder against Pariah to buy them all more time. Yes, he’d gotten stronger. Exponentially, every year. Especially after he abandoned the last shreds of his humanity and dedicated his full focus to developing his powers and fighting skills. He had no allies. Only four years of getting the snot beat out of him and a worryingly long list of powers that grew by the week. That wasn’t enough to kill a King. Not alone. Not by himself.

They’d found him and pulled him back, telling him his only choices were to either face the menace or be Ended himself. He hadn’t seen much choice there. They’d reluctantly laid out a plan to help him. They knew all their afterlives were at stake should he fail, but yet no one else stepped forward to do the job themselves.

The weight on his shoulders- his duty as a protector- had always been heavy. Especially when he’d just started out, when all he’d been was a scrappy fourteen year old just trying to survive. Just trying to protect the family that continually left him cold. Trying to protect the town that grew to hate him more and more. And when the GIW had invaded, it grew to protect other ghosts as well. It hadn’t been very hard, with the GIW being as incompetent as they were, but he still hadn’t wanted to see what would happen if they caught anyone. And it wasn’t like protecting the ghosts that hurt him had changed the status quo- he was far too used to saving those that would rather kill him than accept his help. But he gave it anyway.

And now they were forcing him. Telling him that despite all the animosity they’d treated him with, he was their only hope for survival. That he had to put what was left of his life at stake for them.

And he’d been so angry at first. Wanting to rage and scream and not being able to emit a single sound from within his suit. Because how dare they? How dare they pin this all on his shoulders? How dare they demand he save them after everything they’d put him through? After every fight, every taunt, every stab in the back.

And then Vlad, the idiot fruitloop that had started it all, had pulled the Fright Knight’s sword from the ground and transported the entirety of Amity Park into the Infinite Realms.

The people at the edges of his parent’s ghost shield had died. Humans couldn’t survive the Realms for long, and they could survive even less without protective measures like the shield. Not to mention however many casualties had happened when the ground itself had been rent apart with the transition.

And then the bastard had had the gall to tell Danny it was all his fault. That it was Danny’s cowardice that had killed them. Danny’s childishness that had caused everything to fall apart. He’d stood there, all smug and demeaning, pointing the sword at Danny’s chest as he placed the blame on someone else- completely disregarding how his own antics of tracking down the Ring of Rage for his own gain had been the reason Pariah was set loose in the first place. The Ring he still boasted on his finger.

It had never been more satisfying than that moment to punch the ass in his fanged blue face- the safety-goggles Vlad’d died in crunching under his fist.

The man liked to lord his superiority over everyone he came across, but especially Danny. Liked to claim that because he was the first of their kind, the first of the Halfas, and because he had years of experience and knowledge over Danny that he was better, and stronger, and smarter in every way and would always be so. That unless Danny gave in and became his student (his son), he would always, always be just a rash and ignorant boy. He liked to pretend, though, that it was also only a matter of time until Danny gave in. He used the fact that they were the same to twist the knife deeper and deeper. Insinuating that Danny’s path to becoming like him was an inevitability (and he refused to think about that).

But he was wrong; they weren’t the same. They were both Halfas, yes, but that wasn’t all they were. Danny was a Fetch, the ghost of a person still living. The true balance between life and death, a being both alive and dead in an even split. Vlad was a Draugr, a vengeful ghost with a corporeal body. There was still a part of Vlad that was living, however small, which classified him as a Halfa and allowed him to age the way a human would. But he was more ghost than human, even clutching to the last dregs of life within him as he was- claiming in vain he was human. Danny, on the other hand, had given up his life, denying that any part of him was still human despite the truth. Vlad was made from spite and slowly rotting flesh; Danny was made from tragedy and pure ectoplasm.

Danny had grabbed the sword from the cursing man and cut the hand that bore the Ring clean off in one vicious swipe. He’d never been so violent, never taken it that far before. And it had both felt exhilarating and terrifying. He’d shut down all feeling after that, grabbing the Ring for himself and leaving Vlad to scream and wallow in his deserved agony. They’d been lucky enough as it was that Pariah hadn’t taken the Ring from Vlad before that. With it, the King might have truly been unstoppable.

It’d been with the help of his enemies taking on the army, the Ring of Rage enhancing his Wail beyond measure, and the Sword of Nightmares slicing anything in his way, that he’d been able to fell the monster. He’d pinned Pariah to the ground with the Sword and used the enhanced strength of the Ring to dig into his chest.

(The Ring refused to leave his finger, stuck there- and forever making it impossible for him to speak without unleashing a world-ending wail. It stayed invisible most times, but he could feel it. Always.)

He watched, now, dispassionately, as a younger version of himself clutched Pariah’s core within his ectoplasm covered claws.

This was a dream, not a nightmare. He knew the difference well.

A figure appeared to his left, shrouded in a purple cloak and dark shadows, nothing of their face to be seen but deep red glow of their eyes- similar to the eye-shine of a predator in the dark. He knew the figure, but he couldn’t quite place from where. It was a memory on the edge of his mind, but he didn’t struggle too hard to grasp it. This was still just a dream.

The figure said nothing for a time, the both of them just continuing to watch the wretched memory play out. They watched Danny crush the core to dust, watched Pariah’s body melt horrifically slowly as he screamed, watched as Danny pulled the Sword from the King’s body and plunged it back into the ground. Watched as he fell to his knees in despair when nothing happened- when Amity remained trapped forever in the Realms.

“Why this?” he asked of the figure, wanting to look away, but unable.

“A warning,” the other said, voice smooth and even with the softest curl of a lisp at the edges. “A reminder.”

“Of what?” he asked, knowing he wasn’t likely to get an answer. Because that’s how all of this bullshit ever worked. Never any answers, never any real help.

“All will be revealed in time,” the other said, pulling a staff from the depths of their cloak and tapping it on the grass beneath their feet.

And then Danny woke up, disoriented and head fuzzy with sleep, the dream slipping from his mind the longer he tried to think of it, until it was nothing but a disquieting echo.

#naps fics #dp x dc #Our Empty Graves #dpxdc

17 notes · View notes

sinfulcreep · 10 months

Text

Casper Darling x OC

RIP Darling tags: Control, High School AU, Beau Ripley, Casper Darling, bullying, It had been raining for three days. Casper was getting just about sick of it, sitting in his 3rd period impatiently. He wanted to be warm in the schools lab, working on his own personal projects. Sadly the teachers aide that worked as the after-school lab tech was out for the week. A full week. For this week every day Casper would have no reason to stay late and would encounter Rip after school-- if he was lucky enough to dodge him during school hours.

Fuck.

The bell rang. It was time to put his speed walking skills to the test. As the hall flooded with students Casper did his best to keep to the edges. He was actually making pretty good time and his was locker just around the corner from his next class.

A quick stop should be fine but I have to be fast.

Casper let out a shallow sigh of relief when he got to his locker. He popped it open to trade his textbooks when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. Suddenly he was flipped around and slammed hard against the adjacent locker. A familiar voice greeted him.

"Hey there, Darling." the voice purred with malice.

Casper could feel his heart start pounding right away. He couldn't gauge the boy's mood from his face.

"Hi, Beau."

Casper was slammed against the lockers again.

"My name is Rip, you little shit!" the punk frowned and furrowed his brows. "Your manners are real crap, ya know that?"

Casper noted that the flow of students was dwindling. Only a few stragglers and lollygaggers were still making their way. Only a few witnesses left and Rip didn't mind an audience.

"Can-- can I just get to my next class?"

"Without a correction? Not on my watch."

The struggle was useless, but it was ritual. Casper thrashed as much as he could but Rip practiced. Rip shoved and crammed Casper into his locker and slammed it closed.

"Think about me while you wait for the janitor, Darling."

It hadn't taken a full 15 minutes before Ms Wander, a counselor, walked by and heard Casper slowly & rhythmically knocking on the locker. He had learned that it saved energy and his voice. It was another 10 minutes before someone with a key let him out.

"So, are you going to tell me who keeps doing this to you this time?" Asked Ms. Wander in a tone colored with concern.

Casper kept his gaze on the floor. If Rip found out he snitched suspension wouldn't stop him. He didn't want to know what Rip was like when he was pissed and free from school bounds.

"No." Casper said quietly, ashamed.

There was a silence between the two. Wander knew she wouldn't be getting more from him.

"OK, Casper. Get to class."

"Yeah, ok. Thanks."

Casper waited a moment for her to leave, then opted for the open lunch area outside. His favorite tree provided shelter from the rain where he sat until the next bell, reading.

When the bell did ring Casper was already up on his feet, on his way to the cafeteria. He would avoid most of the crowd this way and hopefully miss Rip on his way through the line.

Tray in hand, Casper returned to his spot under the big tree. As he took bites of cheap cafeteria meatloaf he kept his back to the tree and scanned the settling crowd for any sign of Rip; his familiar hair cut, the shine of his leather jacket. He stayed vigilant all through lunch and never saw a glimpse of Rip.

Maybe I can get through the rest of the day without seeing him.

Casper gathered his trash and walked to the closest bin. He only caught a glimpse of Rip's arm as it came around from his right side to slap the tray from his hands. It clattered to the ground loudly, tossing dirty utensils and napkins to the floor.

Rip didn't even say anything. He just started laughing and walked off, now joined by his friend Ana. She gave him a low-five and laughed with him all the way out of the cafeteria, leaving Casper to clean up alone. Casper took the long way to his last two classes and the extra hustle paid off. The final bell rang and he was out of his seat and out the door before the teacher could stop him. Casper rushed to his locker as other students started to flood the halls.

It was crowded. Casper was impatient to get to the front, weaving around other students and fighting the flow of foot traffic. He wasn't really looking and he didn't know until it hit him. Rip's shoulder crashed into Casper's and sent him reeling. Casper fell back into another student who shoved instinctively. He fell to the ground at Rip's feet, shoulder and knees aching already. Rip snickered and then continued on his way.

Casper stood up and adjusted his glasses, picked up his books and binder, and started walking again but this time for the exit on the west end of the school. He'd had it but no one could see. Once he'd rounded the corner into an alley between buildings he slumped against the wall, dropped his books, and started crying.

Between sobs he didn't hear Rip coming until he saw the blurry shape of his boots through tear stained glasses. Casper gasped and stood up straight.

"Rip." He said, unable to stop his lip from quivering.

Rip reached out and put his hand on Casper's chest. He pushed him firmly against the wall.

How am I going to explain this one?

Casper flinched as Rip's hand came toward his face. He waited for the shock of pain to come but it didn't. Instead Rip took Casper's glasses and tucked them in his back pocket.

"What are you doing?" Casper asked, bewildered.

Rip came closer. He reached up again to Casper's face and wiped away the tears from his cheeks. The world wasn't much less blurry without glasses but Casper could see Rip leaning in and in. Their faces were inches apart. Casper could feel Rip's breath on his lips.

What the hell is this? Is this bait?

"Casper... can I kiss you?" "What?"

"I'm asking your permission to kiss you."

Casper could feel his heart pounding in his throat. Kissing? He's out of his mind.

"Can I actually say 'no'?"

Rip moved away just slightly. "Yes."

Casper couldn't keep his mind straight. It was racing the same as his heart. He could feel his face was flushing.

"I get it." Rip said flatly.

Rip started to back off when he felt a touch on his arm. Casper was holding him, as much as he could hope to hold someone like Rip.

"You can kiss me."

Rip kept his hand on Casper's chest, keeping him pinned against the wall, being careful this time. He stepped even closer. Again Rip leaned in and in without stopping until their lips touched.

Casper felt like he could melt. He leaned further into the kiss. Without thought he clutched Rip's hand on his chest as if it was the only thing keeping them connected.

Something stirred in Rip. His heart skipped at Casper's touch. This is what he'd wanted. He grabbed Casper's hands and moved them to his shoulders, grabbing his waist and using his bulk to keep Casper pressed against the wall. God, it felt good, too.

Casper wasn't thinking clearly anymore. His head was swimming but he didn't want to stop. He grabbed the collar of Rip's jacket and pulled as if they could get closer.

They stayed there, wrapped up in each other, for a few minutes. When Rip ended the kiss he let out a long breath.

"You have no idea how bad I wanted that." Rip cooed at Casper.

"You have a fucked up way of showing it."

Casper slipped one arm around Rip, trying to take his glasses back. His hand felt around but only found- and gripped- Rip's ass. Rip gasped.

"Don't tell me," Casper said with a smug smile breaking through his usual soft expression, "you have soft spots."

Rip wanted to deny it but Casper had both hands on his ass now, rubbing and pulling at his hips. Rip didn't fight it. He let himself moan quietly for Casper.

"Like putty."

1 note · View note

daffodilsm · 2 years

Text

𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 ! oʍʇ ɹǝʇdɐɥɔ

pairing: eddie munson x female reader trigger warnings: mentions of death, grief, ptsd, and blood tags: kas!eddie, canon adjacent, lovers to strangers, strangers to enemies, enemies to lovers again summary: during an argument with your ex boyfriend, eddie munson, you had wished him dead. months later, that wish came true. bound to guilt you return to hawkins and realize that sometimes what dies doesn’t stay dead. word count: 2582 status: ongoing read on ao3: here ! masterlist: 🦇

“ You drive me absolutely wild, L/N. ”

Another memory. A better one, and yet just as painful. They flash across your vision frequently now. Blurring your motions of soapy water and wet soil.

“ I really love it when you wear my stuff. ”

His face was in your hair and his arms were wrapped loosely around your waist, tugging ever so slightly at the frayed bottom hem. He pressed his weight down against you, resulting in your best attempts of holding him up. Eddie’s clingey-ness was a secret trait kept hidden from his friends in Corroded Coffin, but an aspect of the seemingly edgy rocker you had adored.

“ So you won’t mind if I keep it? ” You teased, fully knowing the answer. It was from Megadeth’s Killing for a Living Tour 1985 in Cleveland, Ohio; one of the few concerts Eddie and his uncle were able to save up and see. It was gold to the boy who never cared for riches.

“ No, I definitely want it back. ” He had said against your neck, lips just grazing the skin as his breath sent shivers down your spine.

“ And if I refuse? ”

Fingertips, calloused from hours upon hours of playing guitar, once lifted your chin. No words coming from Eddie’s lips, but only a deviant smile before he descended down and down farther. The memory plays back timelessly, as if you were still there in those moments. It had been one of the many nights Uncle Wayne had to work late, leaving the cozy ( mostly clean ) trailer left for the two of you to enjoy the whims of being young and in love. Either the two of you were tangled up in bedsheets or settling for a scary movie marathon. Both of which you long for while knowing it will never happen again.

🥀

You drop the once white rag now pink back into the soapy, matching colored water. The entire time the five of you worked, not many words were passed. The heaviness of Eddie’s absence painful for you all in different ways you didn’t yet understand. What you did learn was that Dustin had been closest with him. The boy didn’t say this directly, but the tears you caught him wiping away carried a deep grief you recognized similar to your own.

While grief appeared differently on different people, guilt always looked the same. It was on all of their faces, however best they tried to hide it.

You saw it on Dustin as he grasped at his leg, mumbling beneath his breath of things he was afraid others would hear. You saw it on Robin as they clumsily picked up the litter surrounding his grave, her eyes looking everywhere but his gravestone as if it had eyes of it’s own boring back at her. You saw it in Erica who, despite her initial anger, worked the hardest to scrub the stone. The young girl having something she wanted to prove. And you saw it in Steve, too. Who, after finishing cleaning up, stepped off into the tree line. A letter in hand and shoulders hunched. Their three pairs of eyes following, but feet remaining still.

“ Robin, can you -- help me pour out the water? ” You ask. Their eyes immediately rip away from Steve’s back in a nod of overexaggerated motions. Her two hands grabbing the second bucket and with a ( huff ) of exertion, pulling it up and waddling before you to the cement path that ran throughout the cemetery.

As the water slowly poured, resembling dilated blood, you wonder stupidly how it happened. You didn’t know how he died. And while part of you longed for answers, another part believed it was better not knowing. His uncle had left town before you arrived, or so you heard from your parents --- who relayed you the news that Eddie was gone before it was broadcasted on television.

“ I never trusted that boy. My God, sweetie. It ---” your mother had spoken through tears, “ it could have been you instead of that other little girl. My God, it could have been you. ”

Her words had carried throughout the gym, drawing eyes from all around. The residents of Hawkins left without much privacy with half the town destroyed; including your childhood home. Those few who knew you had dated him staring at you with an odd mix of disgust and pity.

Your feet practically flew as you ran out of there. The cries of your mother and father drowned out by the pounding of your boots upon the pavement. Your legs never resting until you saw it for yourself. His last resting place.

“ Why did you lie earlier? ” Robin’s voice cut through your remembrance, jolting you awake to the present. “ Sorry, that sounded accusatory. I didn’t mean to say lie. What I actually meant to say was, you cut off Steve earlier when he was going to say you were Eddie’s girlfriend. Which is weird, because from what I remember you two were like all in love or whatever... that said as a third party who didn’t know either of you personally at the time, but merely a spectator because let’s be honest --- you two were not afraid of PDA at times. Like one time I saw you guys leaving Witness at the drive in and wow, but anyways -- that was creepy. Get to the point, Robin. I just wonder why you are you hiding that given you know he didn’t kill Chrissy and the others. ”

While the other was in no short supply of oxygen, you felt it pulled out of your lungs. Your cheeks flashing red hot, undoubtedly flustered. At the sight, to which, Robin apologize profusely at the same speed of their question.

“ No, it’s okay -- I, ” you shake your head as you had shaken the last droplets of water out of the bucket; feeling just as drained. “ It just didn’t... end well between us. ”

“ What happened? ”

🥀

“ Y/N, I can explain. ”

“ I needed you there. I asked you for this one thing... this one god damned thing ! ”

“ I know... I know --- I messed up, I know. Sweetheart just --- ”

“ Don’t insult me with sweetheart, Eddie. Not right now. Not today ! ”

“ Then let me, explain. If you just let me explain... ”

“ Fine. Go ahead. ”

🥀

The slamming of the car doors kills the echoes, setting you and Robin off back towards the car where you toss the emptied buckets and wet rags into the trunk. An awkward silence hanging around as no one knew what to do next.

“ How’d you get here, Y/N? ” Steve asked upon returning, the letter you had seen previously in his hand gone. His features appearing as if nothing had been wrong.

“ I kinda ran here.” Exclamations breaking out around you as the words left your lips.

“ You ran all the way here? ” Erica asked. “ Why would you do that? ”

“ I didn’t do it on purpose. I just --- couldn’t stop. ”

“ Was something chasing you? ” Dustin.

“ Did you hear any strange noises? ” Robin.

“ Like a clock, did you hear anything like a clock? ” Steve.

All their questions rambled off at once.

“ What are you all going on about? I just... my parents were hounding me about all this shit at the gym so I ran away. And the one person I would always run to is gone, so I went to the only place I knew had a tiny sliver of him left. No one was chasing me... a clock? No -- I just wanted to be here. ”

The others relaxed while you felt particularly more tense. Questions upon questions of your own raising in your mind. They quieted down once more before Steve pointed at your boots.

“ How are your feet? Running in that kind of footwear would hurt like hell. ”

“ They hurt a little. ”

“ Take them off. ”

“ No. ”

“ C’mon, just take them off. Let me see. ”

Begrudgingly, you bent down and untied the laces. A grimace flitting your features as you pulled one of the boots off. Your sock sticky with blood.

“ Goddammit, Y/N. ” Steve sighed. “ Get in. I’ll take you back to the gym and they’ll patch you up there. ”

“ Steve, no. I’m not going back there. I can’t deal with my parents and everyone staring at me because I dated the town murderer. ”

“ You were dating? ” Dustin interrupted, though you continued on.

“ And I can’t even feel it alright? ”

“ Okay, fine. But where will you go? ” Robin inquired, concerned at the sight of blood upon your foot.

“ Mike’s? ”

“ They have enough problems as it is right now. What about your place? ”

Erica quickly shook her head at Dustin’s question. “ If I go back with you nerds my parents will know I’m not at the hospital with Lucas. Which means my ass is grounded until I’m thirty. ”

“ We’ll just go to my place, it’s fine. Now everyone get in the car. ” Steve decided, ushering everyone inside. Before getting in himself, he looked up quickly at the sky. Dust particles were suddenly floating through the trees. An effect of the earthquake destroying Hawkins Lab, as the government officials shared with the town residents.

Once inside, Steve quickly pressed on the gas. From the back seat, you had just gotten your seatbelt on when the car lurches to a halted. Groans filling the car as sudden clouds block the sun, and the breeze that had kept you cool while cleaning his headstone picked up and shook the trees.

“ What the hell, Steve? ” Robin started from the front passenger seat.

Looking up from the back, Steve’s reflection in the review mirror stared past you. His skin pale and eyes wide. His grip upon the steering causing his knuckles to go white. You stare at the reflection perplexed until time suddenly goes slow.

“ Eddie ! ” Dustin yelled, fumbling out of the car. Your blood suddenly running cold and your feet, bloodied, stuck to the floor of the car. Unmoving.

Steve had reacted quickly, jumping over the hood and grabbing onto Dustin’s shoulders to keep him in place. You watch them, Dustin’s eyes full of tears as his begs to be let go filter through the open car door. Robin joining in holding back the young boy, a look of horror upon their features. Erica shifts next to you, looking through the back window and a deep breath catching between her teeth.

“ What’s wrong, Henderson? See a ghost? ”

Dizziness settles on your vision as you follow the all too familiar voice. Your peripherals blurring with tears as you finally open the car door and see what they saw.

Eddie.

Alive.

Your arms against the car door is the only thing keeping you standing. Your mouth falling open slightly as breathing becomes near impossible.

One foot resting against his headstone, Eddie, dressed in a severely bloodied and torn Hellfire tee, leaned as clear as day. A black bandana kept his unruly hair at bay, his red and black electric guitar was strung across his back, and a newspaper was gripped tightly in his fist.

Seeing him again brought back every time he touched you, kissed you, and held you. His laughter carried over the hollow ground, but it lacked the warmth you remembered so clearly. How was he aliv?

“ You know, if you are going to leave someone for dead, it’s probably best to ensure they stay that way. ”

“ What the hell? ”

“ Oh come on, Steve. ” Eddie drawls, standing up straight and dropping the newspaper before grabbing at his chest. “ Didn’t you miss me? ”

You stumble forward with no one holding you back, longing to see him up close... to make sure this was real and not some rare shared hallucination.

The slight sound of your movement draws his eyes like a quick blade. What had once been a deep shade of brown illuminated red. A tsk, as if he was almost surprised, cutting through the air.

“ Oh, no sweetheart. I’ll deal with you later. ” A rush of wind suddenly knocks you back several feet onto your back. Air forced out of your lungs as you gasp for breath. Erica suddenly at your side, gripping your hands while yells from Dustin still filled the air.

“ Eddie, what did he do to you? ”

Thoughts, questions, confusion all race through your mind as you tried to make sense of the scene playing out before you. Left for dead... he... who was he? What happened to your Eddie?

“ No, Dustin. What did you do to me? This is your last warning, considering your ignoring of the first. Bring him Eleven or things will get very, very ugly. ”

With the last bit of your strength, you push yourself up. A hand coming up to shield your face as gusts of winds carrying what appeared to be bats swarmed around Eddie. A smile, pointed and sadistic, fading beneath the blur of wings before it all disappeared.

Dustin’s sobs filled the quiet cemetery once more as you scrambled to your feet. The pain caused by your boots no where near the pain of seeing the boy you loved acting as something out of pet cemetery. Grasping at the newspaper he had dropped, you read.

ꜱᴀᴛᴀɴɪᴄ ᴄᴜʟᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴜᴍᴇᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟐𝐧𝐝, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟔

𝙰𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝟾.𝟷 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚊𝚐𝚘, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚊. 𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝙿𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚗 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙴𝚍𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝙼𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴, 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚎, 𝚆𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎 𝙼𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗.

𝙸𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝙿𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍: " 𝙼𝚛. 𝙼𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔, 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚠'𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙴𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝙼𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜,�� 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚔𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙴𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝, 𝚠𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜’ 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍. 𝚆𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚠, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎. "

𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝙿𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚞𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎, 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚋 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍.

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚝, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙴𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝙼𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜.

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝟽.

His body had never been found, because he was alive. He was here. Eddie was here but he wasn’t the same. Why did they... what was...

“ What the hell is going on?!? ”

🦇

please let me know if you enjoyed this HERE or if you have any suggestions, questions, or things you want to see ! follow the tag #dropdeadmunson for updates ! and use it to share your thoughts too <3 also please like and reblog <3 this helps me a lot !

𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 !

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things 4 #eddie stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #dropdeadmunson #drop dead munson

85 notes · View notes

aelaer · 3 years

Note

Sooo that What If episode huh. I'd love to hear what you think of the episode. Do you think that Stephen is capable of doing what he did, even after being warned by his own self?

Oh my goodness. Oh do I have so many thoughts.

For those who don't have the tag up, this post definitely contains What If Episode 4 spoilers. So. Yeah. Spoilers ahoy!

I was optimistic for episode 4 after the Watcher's actor, Jeffrey Wright, said it was his favorite episode. And now that I've seen it, it's easy to see why.

I thought the episode was an absolute masterpiece. It's a modern Greek tragedy, where a powerful person through their hubris suffers the greatest of falls. You don't see this trope often anymore in modern media; either the stakes in a drama are more of a modern tragedy where impulse and/or bad luck rather than hubris cause the fall, or in stories where a loss would cause utter devastation, the properties are in genres like superhero stories that cannot afford to make such risks due to the money involved in producing a story like that. Infinity War was adjacent to it, but everyone knew it would be reversed in some manner with the next film - and it wasn't the story of one protagonist like Greek tragedies tend to be.

That Marvel can afford to make such risks on the smaller screen is fantastic for modern storytelling. Tragedy is a major, major genre that has an important part in human history and as part of the human condition explored in fiction. That it's largely been lost in popular media and modern stories is a shame - you really have to seek it out in smaller projects to find it these days.

But you're not here to listen to me ramble about thematics. You're here for Stephen.

Stephen's greatest flaw in the MCU is his hubris, hands down. I mentioned this trait in my posts refuting the comments claiming he was OOC to do something reckless. His belief that he is good enough to do basically anything he sets his mind to is a lesson he has to learn in humility -- and in the MCU, he hasn't quite gotten there.

After all, in both the main MCU and What If, Stephen does what he is explicitly told not to do with the Time Stone and manages to find a way to prevent the world from being consumed by Dormammu with that strategy. In the MCU, he's told to move on from fixing his hands and his act in not following that advice leads him to mystical powers. It's only when he learns the lesson that it's not about him that his need to put his need to fix his hands first and foremost finally takes a back seat.

In What If, he doesn't get that lesson. He is motivated by a stronger grief, of lost love. In this universe the two are still clearly in a good relationship and still seem to be together. Stephen had let go of Christine already in the MCU as a romantic interest, and had moved on. In What If, that relationship was ripped from him and proved to be a motivator to prevent it. O'Bengh hit the nail on the head that people will suffer a good deal more for someone they love rather than for something strictly for themselves.

And by the time the Ancient One was able to pinpoint a moment to speak with him when he wasn't immediately reverting time back, he had tried to save Christine god knows how many times. Dozens? Hundreds? In other words, he was already going down the obsessive path of needing to prove he could fix it.

Then time comes into play. It's mentioned a couple times in the episode that Strange Supreme spent centuries curating his power. That is a long time for a person to be mostly alone with their thoughts. So combine this with experiencing a loved one's death repeatedly and you have the makings of a broken man who will heed no warning, no matter who says it.

Unbroken Stephen, in contrast, didn't start the spiral of seeing Christine die over and over and over -- and then centuries with that grief and little resistance to his plans. Without all of that, as well as proof of the world breaking, he was able to listen to his mentor and more or less immediately reject the possibility of bringing back Christine without breaking the world, even though it hurts him.

What was one of the most interesting moments in the episode was how angry Strange Supreme became when Stephen told him that reality was breaking. He yelled at him not to lie to him and his shape contorted. Strange had been feeding himself the delusion that he could fix everything and it would all be fine for so long that he couldn't handle being told that reality was already breaking.

And that delusion he told himself until it was the only truth in his mind broke the world.

The fall is the most powerful part of the classic tragedy. You as a member of the audience know that everything will end badly the way it is going, yet despite that knowledge, the fall is still painful to watch, even if it was their own actions that caused it. You still feel for the protagonist because, no matter their greatness and power, they are still so very very human.

And the terrible fall makes this episode a triumph in storytelling.

#stephen strange #doctor strange #what if #what if spoilers #meta #mcu

450 notes · View notes

xmarchwarden-of-lothlorienx · 4 years

Text

A World Away

Thranduil x fem!human!reader

Requested: Anonymous

Summary: “I want a modern reader thrown into mirkwood forest. Found and thrown into a cell by thranduil. During an escape attempt reader sees an animal and decides to rescue an animal and get caught by thranduil. He takes an interest and reader is treated as a guest. Thranduil starts falling for her and sends her to live with humans. “What did i do? Why are you sending me away?” And then during the battle of five armies she meets with thranduil again and fluff”

Warnings: a little swearing (like twice)

Authors Note: Splitting this into two parts so everyone can suffer (joking lol)

Edit: Not me trying to schedule this and realizing it didn’t post 🤦🏻‍♂️

__________________________________________

With every step, you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your adrenaline rush prevented you from noticing the sharp briars that tore at your skin and clothes. You could worry about that later. Your only concern now was making it out of this forest.

You had planned your escape from the Elvenkings dungeon for weeks. Today, the opportunity to put your plan into action had finally arisen. As you dodged fallen logs and low hanging branches, you thought of how you came to be here in the first place.

Your head was throbbing as you came to. You attempted opening your eyes, but the bright sunlight forced you to close them again. You could hear strange voices speaking in a foreign tongue. You attempted to move your hands, but they were bound. Forcing your eyes open a second time, you took in your unfamiliar surroundings.

You were in a forest, surrounded by men and women dressed in strange clothes. All of them had long hair that was intricately braided, revealing their...pointy ears? Okay, what on earth was happening here.

“Excuse me, but who are you people? Why am I here?” You voiced. One with blonde hair, you assumed he was their leader, snapped his head towards you.

“You were trespassing on our lands. You are now in the custody of King Thranduil. He shall decide your fate” You gulped. Oh lord, what had you done now?

You were ripped away from your thoughts when you tripped over something in your way.

“Shit!” You hissed at the pain now shooting up your leg. You turned and looked at what had caused you to fall. A small fawn lay trembling at your feet. It didn’t appear injured, but your conscience wouldn’t let you leave until you checked. You extended a hand to the fawn, but it flinched away. “C’mon, I won’t hurt you. I promise,” you reassured. As you were checking the animal over, the sound of a sword being drawn reached your ears. You turned to see the tall figure now standing behind you. You recognized him as one of the guards that had taken you prisoner when you arrived at this miserable place.

“I see we didn’t get very far,” the elf said sarcastically. You dropped your head in defeat.

“Damn my good conscience,” you thought.

___

The first time you were before the Elvenking, he had been perched atop his throne. This time, you met him in his private study. He was seated in a large chair, sipping a glass of rich red wine. He appeared unbothered. You weren’t sure if anything could sway him.

“Leave us,” he commanded the guards placed at the doors. He took another long drink of his wine, then placed it on the table beside him. Neither of you spoke, and the silence was deafening. Thranduil took a deep breath and gestured to the seat adjacent from him, ”Sit.”

You obeyed, the large plush seat nearly swallowing you. You fiddled with your hands-noting that they had been left unbound this time.

“Do you have any idea what the punishment is for those that try to escape my prison?” He questioned. You shook your head in response, not trusting your voice to remain steady. “A more barbaric king would likely have you put to death.” Thranduil noticed you becoming more anxious. “But do not worry, I don’t plan on doing such a thing.”

“O-Oh?” You stuttered.

“You must be quite clever to have out maneuvered my guards,” Thranduil continued as he poured another glass of wine. “It was surprising to learn that your escape failed because you stopped to help a fawn.”

“It wasn’t my greatest decision,” you admitted.

“Perhaps, but I think it’s ultimately been in your favor,” Thranduil hummed.

“What do you mean?” You questioned.

“What I mean is that I’ve reconsidered my original sentence. I believe I may have been quick to judge when you were first brought before me,” Thranduil paused. “I hear of all the happenings in this forest. Humans are typically uncaring of those around them. Despite your situation, you stopped to help another in need of aid. Quite a noble trait to possess, yes?”

“Yes, I suppose,” you replied. You had never considered yourself noble before. Helping others had always felt like the right thing to do.

“If it would be no trouble, I should like you to remain in Mirkwood-as my guest.” There it was. The point that this conversation had been leading to.

“I-Really?” You exclaimed. Just when you thought you were starting to understand how this world worked, you were blind sided once again.

“If you have family you would rather return to, I understand. We would be more than willing to supply you for your journey-“

“Oh, no,” you cut him off (which surprised him). “It’s not that. I just wasn’t expecting it is all. I appreciate the offer, and I totally except.” You were glad to finally move on from being a prisoner. The treatment in Thranduils dungeon was alright, but a prison is still a prison after all.

“Well, then,” said Thranduil, pouring a second glass of wine. “Let’s drink to the hope of newfound friendship,” he offered the glass to you. You accepted and raised your glass to him. A possible friendship with the king? Oh, this was going to be a story to tell.

___

Life in Mirkwood was very pleasant; spending your days exploring the endless gardens and library. You would share dinner with Thranduil once a week. Then twice a week. Then soon you would dine together most nights. You noticed how interested he was in your life-both before you came to Middle Earth and now.

What you didn’t notice were the whispers between the elves. Since the death of his queen, the king had been closed off. Now, he was showing such favoritism to a human woman. Sharing dinner with her. Strolling through the gardens together. Gifting her with clothes and her own dwelling. It wasn’t until Legolas brought it up did Thranduil notice how fond he had become of you.

“Ada?” Legolas asked one day.

“Yes?” Thranduil replied as he leafed through paperwork.

“I’ve seen you’ve become quite partial to (Y/N),” said Legolas.

“Hm, I suppose I have,” Thranduil paused from his work.

“Do you think you may have...romantic feelings for her?” Legolas hesitated before asking.

Thranduils eyes widened at what his son had said. “O-Of course not! Honestly, Legolas, I don’t see why you would say such things!” Legolas gave his father a look and turned to leave.

“If you say so,” Legolas teased before closing the door behind him.

Thranduil pondered over what Legolas had said. Yes-he could see it now. He had slowly become wrapped around your little fingers. Falling for you so slowly he didn’t even notice. He wanted to feel joy-could he have found a second companion at last? But he couldn’t help the guilt that clawed at his stomach. Many elves only married once. Though his wife was deceased, her soul still lingered in the Halls of Mandos. What then? Should he do you both a disservice and pursue his newfound love? Thranduil stood and paced the room, thinking of what he should do. Finally, he called to the guards outside the room. He had made his decision.

“How may we serve you, My King.”

“Tell Lady (Y/N) to pack her things. She must be gone by daybreak tomorrow. She is not to step foot in the Woodland Realm again, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Thranduil felt sick. This was for your own good, he kept telling himself. To be with you would only hurt you both. It had to be this way.

___

You wiped away your tears as you packed. You didn’t understand. Mirkwood was your home. Thranduil had become your closest friend, but now he was banishing you? You thought the Elvenking liked you, even entertained the thought that he more than liked you, but not now. Now you felt foolish. Of course it would never work. He was a stupidly handsome immortal king. You were a human girl from a different world.

You threw the last of your belongings into your bag. The guards escorted you out of the castle. Before the cart you were placed upon moved, you took one last look at the kingdom, trying to absorb every detail. The coachman urged the horses forward, and that was it. You would never see Thranduil again. As night fell, so did your tears.

Little did you know, you weren’t the only one who cried that night.

Tags: @themerriweathermage

#lord of the rings #the hobbit #thranduil #thranduil x y/n #thranduil x you #thranduil x reader #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x y/n

479 notes · View notes

saintshigaraki · 2 years

Note

Hey Vic, I’m trying to look at your tags to see what all your poetry corresponds with but the link in your pinned takes me to your masterlist 😅 Could you direct me to your tags post, please?

RIP i just fixed that thank u for informing me anon dfhid. i actually do not have a list of my poetry tags there though, although that is a really great suggestion and something I'll probably put together this weekend!!

but for now ill give u a short list of my poetry tags and what they correspond with!!

mother martyr masochist and its own breed of horror are my motherhood tags

a walking wound is my dabi tag

a messiahs burden is shigarakis tags...sort of. sometimes some early christian saint stuff gets thrown there too

i picked these flowers off my grave is my resentful housewife tag

the anatomy of a martyr is where my martyr and martyr adjacent posts go. some medical stuff too

lord i worry that love is violence is my tag for the crossover that sometimes exists between love & violence

a house or an open wound is a tag for my ghost!shouto wip, but also other childhood memories related poetry

the taste of divnity; a rot is my horror & divinity tag

andromeda chained to the rocks is a tag for a dabi wip of the same name, but also my love & grief tag

and finally...my old man i will eat your heart tag is where my women who kill stuff goes

#hello im so flattered u went looking though I'm <33 #ask

9 notes · View notes

wroteclassicaly · 2 years

Text

Tagged by my loves, @prettyboyeddiemunson & @littledemondani (thanks, babes!) ❤️❤️

heads up, 7 up

rules: share your last 7 lines and tag 7 people

———————-

1) “Eddie…?”

“Did you just use me to get off?”

“I didn’t mean to…”

~*~

2) You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that question her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.

“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”

“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.

You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”

“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.

~*~

3) He parks his van in the empty lot adjacent from your place, easing his way behind your chain link fence and into your backyard. When he approaches, he immediately locks eyes on your window, your curtains blowing open to let in that breeze. Eddie claps his hands together, as if to prepare for his own personal Olympic sport, and begins the journey up your mom’s rose lattice, switching to a last scale across a sturdy drainpipe, and it’s a secure landing onto your window sill. His rings clatter along the wooden gripping, his body tipping into the square opening, landing uncoordinated on your floor. Your bestfriend immediately tries to readjust himself, attempting to use the edge of your mattress to pull himself up.

~*~

4) Steve lets his arm shift, fingers combing your hair back behind your ear. “You thinkin’ about it?”

You’re pitifully admitting, hands cupping his back as you slink into his embrace. It’s warm, it’s safe, it’s Steve Harrington. There will be a time for talking, but now isn’t it, now is soaking each other in, being together, with your baby boy or girl.

~*~

5) You always sit in on meetings until your little brother is done, mostly to float upon your invisible flamingo pool ring, a filthy as hell mental Martini in hand, eyeing the leader of Hellfire Club-Eddie Munson. The guys hadn’t been very welcoming to a girl invading their… territory at first, mostly because you’ve known the entirety of the club since elementary school, automatically locking in your “one of the dudes” positions. That dubbed you an automatic nuisance, versus the hot girl with nerdy traits that most of them very much craved to have in your seat.

~*~

6) Blood spots. So much fucking blood. You keep a steady hand on his leather clad lower back, helping him remain upright, whilst trying to keep your own conscious state in check. You can’t exactly take Hawkins most wanted man to the hospital, despite everything inside you screaming he could die, or hell, even you. You aren’t much better to nurse anyone, your band tee ripped to shreds around your waist, denim jacket frayed at every end.

~*~

7) Dance with me, Y/N?” It’s a simple question that you aren’t prepared for.

Tagging: @gothbitchshit @runningmunson @munsonquinns @thisishellfire @master-of-munsons and anyone else that wants to!

#these are unedited and long #but the last lines don’t make sense without much context and they sound weird to post alone lol

2 notes · View notes

scaredysap · 3 years

Text

Finally made it through deadlines. Now, on to getting tagged by @jaimebluesq and @fortune-maiden...

Tag 9 people you want to know better

Favourite piece of clothing you own? oh boy, suddenly my memory is blank....uuuh i have a really neat green, yellow and black scarf that is soft and super warm, very useful since i hate the cold. OR red sweater that was hand-knitted for my mom which she passed on to me since it doesn’t fit her

Your comfort food? pasta alla carbonara (egg, some cheese and then bacon cubes (romani non uccidetemi, se gli dico ‘guanciale’ gli inglesi si perdono)

Favourite time of year? The tail-end of spring, just on the verge of tipping over into summer

Favourite song? currently: Return (归) by Wang JiaCheng (王家成) from the Word of Honor soundtrack. though Parting at Qinghe (Qing He Jue) 清河诀 from The Untamed rips my heart out every time I hear just the beginning notes so maybe that one

Do you collect something? Unfinished sketchbooks because I worry about filling them with bad art....

Favourite drink? I CAN FINALLY SAY SOMETHING OTHER THAN WATER!! Mango Loco flavour of Monster

Favourite fanfiction? lemme go back through my 129 bookmarks on Ao3....

So, honourary mention to Beneath by ninepen on fanfic.net, a Loki-centric fanfic that takes the premise of “what if Loki got banished at the end of Avengers and went on a (super well-researched) study trip to Antartica with Jane Foster?” and is currently 220 chapters and counting

Then, okay, I have to say Deadset by 1PB2PB3PB4 because the concept of NHS becoming a ghost is already amazing but I also get that sweet sweet exploration of his dark psyche and absolute fury that I crave always, at any time

In a similar vein but geared more towards worldbuilding is A List Of Names (yours is in red) by MarsDiogenes because I am so weak for Atla AUs and the POSSIBILITIES of this concept are ENDLESS.

For smut there is Our Eyes On The Road by etymologyplayground which is just... pure smut, wonderful, I love it, Wangxian are so in love and that’s so sexy.

And then the one and only This, You Protect by owlet which is the best Bucky Barnes post CA:TWS fic ever. The Olds are my favourite OCs ever and superheros (and adjacents) interacting with the public and just being smothered by simple humanity is THE BEST. Honestly this is what makes this one and Beneath wonderful fics, I’m a sucker for outsiders looking into a super complex and high-stakes world and providing stability by just being... so normal.

Thanks for tagging me! I’m passing this on to @pbaintthetb @ibijau @silliam-hill @dafan-wei-sect and @rbwannabe

#tag game

9 notes · View notes

oven-thermometer · 3 years

Text

Darksiders week Day II

Day 2: Shipping - Any rating (so long as nsfw works are tagged properly!) and any trope, so long as it involves shipping. Please note that a ship does not have to be canon (i.e. presented as a ship in the existing material) to count–in some other reality, they could have loved each other. Also, I hear human survivors have been reported by the Hellguard, so feel free to bring your OCs as well!

This is my first time writing anything with an OC, I'm happy it was Aurora because I love her so much. Also I know it's day 3 today but I didn't get to post yesterday and my work gave me the day off??? For some reason?? So I get to post today :>

What Aurora looks like and her different forms It helps to just check this post out to make the story easier to read

Warnings: blood, fighting, angst, lying, description of bad wounds, animal harm (by demons) and death.

The large golden doors swung open violently, slamming into the adjacent walls. Darkness in the hallway was chased away by the piercing light from Hell’s eternal fires raging across it’s plains. Taking her hands off from the doors, her hung head lifted up slowly. Her eyes caught the large throne situated at the end of the hallway, it’s impending presence making her swallow the invisible lump in her throat. ‘At least he’s not here.’ She thought, making her way down the dimly lit hallway, the candles burning to life as she walked past.

“Aurora.” her name was called in a monotone voice. Turning her head, she located the voice at one of the side doors next to the throne. Emerging from said door, was her mother. The woman that constructed her and made her into what she was today. She held neither malice nor love towards her. She had been made into a monster but she never knew the proper way to be treated by someone you were made by so she really had no point of reference. Coming out of her musings she walked further towards the woman. “Lilith.” she said, nodding her head in greeting.

Lilith sauntered closer, stopping in front of the taller creature. Aurora shifted her legs, waiting for her to speak. Lilith hummed and narrowed her eyes before quickly turning around. “You have a new mission. This one pertains quite importantly to the grand plan Samael and I have,” turning half her body to look over her shoulder she made clear eye contact with Aurora, “success is the only outcome that will be accepted. Are we clear?”

Lilith punctuated her last words by closing her fists, reminding Aurora of he last time she hobbled back into Samael’s castle with defeat written all over her wounded body. Shuddering slightly at the thought, she nodded. Lilith turned fully towards the throne again and stepped towards it. Picking up a small scroll of decaying paper from the stone and opening it, she spoke again, “You are to travel to Earth.”

Aurora looked up, her long ears perking up at the name, “Earth? Why there?”

Lilith slid her tail along the floor, signifying her annoyance at the question. Aurora looked back down and mumbled an apology. Lilith drew her shoulders back and closed the scroll once again, “The apocalypse will soon be triggered, Earth will become the battleground for monumental forces. You will travel there and, using your human-form, you will find the horseman that will be sent to find the cause of the trigger.”

Aurora shifted on her legs again, she hated being in her human form. It meant she had to lie. She could deal with the killing and the war but lying and infiltrating made her stomach turn. Deceit was what came with that form.

Pushing her feelings down, she held one of her hands out for the scroll Lilith was holding. Lilith left it in her outstretched hand, making her way back to the side door before adding, “You must seduce him Aurora. You’ve done this kind of thing before and I have complete faith you won’t disappoint me.”

Aurora nodded again, her eyes scanning the contents of the page for more details. “Oh and Aurora, bring him to that location before the third torch atop of this castle is blown out by the dry winds.”

Blood curdling screams replaced the quiet alleyways with sheer terror. Stepping out of the void portal Aurora took cautious steps further out of the alleyway – more screams making her turn her head towards the impeding invasion of demons from a large tear in the Earth. Large orange lava spewed from the enormous crack as demons screeched and hollered from rooftops and street lamps.

Aurora sneered from her place in the alleyway, she may be part demon but this was never who she was. Innocent humans were being torn apart right in front of her and all she could do was look on for the being she was meant to trick into her plans. She had never met any of the Nephelim, even before their demise due to four of their own. Everyone knew the story, even her. She felt sorry for the remaining four, they had been forced to murder their entire family and proceeded to work for the very beasts who bargained with their lives. Lilith also spoke of them often, cursing the four mostly. That was why Aurora was made, so that one day the spawn of angel and demon might continue.

Shaking her head, she returned to her search. Spotting another large tear and a large trail of fire and smoke further into the streets of the city she identified the crash site of the warrior. She swiftly brushed off her clothes, stopping midway as she realized she had to look dirty and beaten for him to take pity on her. Sighing, she threw her head back in sarcastic amusement.

Aurora had made her way from the alleyway towards a building used as a parking lot across the road. Smears of blood and bodily fluid littered the floor, the faint noise of muffled grunts off to one corner caught her attention. A man, a human, was being pinned to the wall as a pack of small demons overpowered him and took their opportunity to rip the scared features from his face. As the life left his eyes and his last whine of pain escaped, his head lolled forwards. Stopping in her tracks, Aurora’s face held no emotion. Seeing this as her opportunity to gain the injuries she required, she started attracting the group over from their feast. She stomped her feet and shouted at them to gain their attention. “Hey you stupid mongrels,” she put her hands on her hips and gave a low whistle, “how’s the invasion going dimwits?”

The mindless demons quirked their heads at her - they could smell that she wasn’t human, but she didn’t look supernatural. Snapping out of their daze, as if acting with a hive mind, they snarled and charged violently forwards towards her. Aurora lifted her forearms to act as guards, awaiting the attack.

Her breath felt like it was made of lead. Her arms and legs covered in bruises, welts and scratches. The vicious pain of her combined wounds made her head dizzy as she leaned against one of the concrete walls. Slouching forward she slid down slowly to sit down on the cold floor. Her mind was blank. Only focusing on keeping her healing magic at bay so as not to erase the work the now squashed demons did. As soon as she was content with how much damage they did, Aurora began her offense. Making quick work of them, she needed a moment before venturing out of the building again. She wiped the blood pooling on her chin, the viscous material flowing freely from her nose and mouth due to broken cartilage and cracked teeth.

A small scratching noise caught her attention, lifting her head she looked towards the cars sitting in their lots. It was coming from there, she was sure. It only got louder, a pitiful whining shortly accompanying it. Was it…another human? The demons would’ve killed them before though, or were they sparing them to witness the torture? If it was a person she would need to make sure they won’t get out of this alive: they could’ve seen her use her powers after all.

She stalked closer to the collection of crashed and parked cars, broken glass and more blood breaking beneath her boots. The whining and scratching continued to increase in volume, making her cock her head to the side in confusion. A thin tarp laden with dust and dirt covered the small opening between two cars that had evidently been in a bad crash. Aurora could now also hear deep and scratchy breathing – similar to her own. The whining seemed one akin to an animal, this only deepened her confusion. Lifting the tarp she readied an attack spell in her flesh hand, but what met her eyes gave her pause. A large, white hound met her vision. It’s thick fur stained with it’s own blood. It was slightly smaller than the Hell Hounds that she was used to. Awkwardly shifting again, she pulled more of the material away and threw it behind her. The dog’s labored breathing and flowing wounds made her heart ache – humans had minds, and some of them were vile beings. But, animals and beasts with no sentient choices only wanted peace. They never deserved whatever terrible treatment they got – quickly realizing Aurora made her think of her own situation, she shook her head and lowered herself to her knees. Banishing the attack spell she replaced it with her healing magic.

As she healed the creature she thought to herself, ‘Was that man your owner?’ She didn’t dwell on that thought either.

It’s breathing improved and it’s gashes closed, but it remained unconscious out of exhaustion after her magic had stopped. Sighing, Aurora questioned why she even did this. It was going to get found again. It may be almost as big as a Hell Hound, but it clearly couldn’t fight as well.

Again, another noise drew her attention away from the situation. A large crash near the entrance to the building made her quickly clamber to her feet. ‘More demons??’ she thought, exasperated. But, it was no demon. In fact, it was the one being she needed on this hellish mission.

War’s voice boomed, calling after the pathetic demons that had run from their battle. “Scum!” he shouted, “I saw you running in here with your tail between your legs, come out for a merciful decimation!” ‘Geez, he isn’t one for pleasantries, huh?’ Aurora thought to herself. Swiftly slipping into her role, she began limping her way away from the cars – although the limp wasn’t fake.

Accidentally tripping on a large piece of fallen concrete, her hands automatically came up to cushion her fall. Her metal limb creating a sharp noise against the floor caused her to cringe.

Stopping his intimidating rant, War looked over to the small human. His stony features showed no shock or confusion of any kind. Not any emotion at all. Aurora gave a small grunt, quickly getting to her knees before her eyes landed on the impressive height of War. Scrambling backwards, her face showed a feeling of utter fear. Her mouth hung open as she raised an arm in mock defense, her bionic arm. War’s eyes flashed a light of pity before turning back to their normal cloudy blue. “P-Please..Don’t - hurt me.” Aurora kept her widened eyes on him, showing nothing but the want to live another minute.

War turned fully to her form, acknowledging her wounds, her tired eyes and how she didn’t even seem to have the strength to stand. Forgetting the beasts he was chasing, he wracked his brain for what to do. He had a mission, a purpose – but this, thing, looked so helpless and in desperate need of help. Walking the short distance towards her, he took a healing potion out of his supply belt and set it down in front of her. “Use it.” Is all he said before leaving the building, and Aurora. Rearing her head back in confusion, she lowered her arm and tsked in annoyance. Grabbing the large container of green liquid, she ran as fast as her bleeding legs could take her after the Nephilim. He wasn’t going particularly fast, his normal walking pace, but to Aurora’s state it was difficult to catch up with.

“Wait!” she called out after him. War stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. Huffing, Aurora got closer and looked up to him, “Are you just gonna leave me here?!”

It was War’s turn to be confused, not visibly though, “Excuse me?” Motioning to her wounds as she spoke, Aurora replied, “Well I am arguably not in the best of states and seeing as you obviously don’t want to kill me, could you at least escort me to a safe place?”

Aurora’s heartbeat roared in her ears, she couldn’t believe she was talking this way to a Horseman. But she needed some way of being near him. War grunted, turning his head back to look onward, “Move quickly, I will take you to the angels.”

Smiling to herself, Aurora followed closely behind as he made his way towards a horde of angels a few blocks away.

#darksiders #darksiders war #darksiders oc #darksiders fanfiction #fanfiction #darksiders x oc #writing #darksiders week 2021 #DarksidersWeek2021

20 notes · View notes

lucycola · 4 years

Text

The Lone Survivor: Part 5

TOS!Spock x Fem!Reader

Spock saves the reader from an icy starship crash, only to accidentally form a bond with them in the process. They are called to investigate a happening in the morgue, seemingly to face the unseen enemy that caused the crash in the first place.

PART(S) ONE TWO THREE FOUR

WARNINGS: Blood, violence, death, corpses, language, and sexual implications. The body eating gets vivid so if you can’t ride, please don’t.

I’m so so so so sorry this took so long to come out. I’m not good at actions scenes so I did my best! Part 6 will be out soon. If I missed you on the tagged list I’m so sorry!

Part 5: Isn’t is lovely? All alone. My heart made of glass, my mind of stone.

Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy tried to shield you from the carnage, but you broke through their human shield to see Commander Craft surveying the morgue with a grim expression.

Only a portion of the crew were brought aboard-the rest were still being recovered by multiple teams below. Along with Craft came other starships to help with the recovery. The tundra below was harsh and made recovery an even more difficult process. Bodies that were still intact were brought aboard the Enterprise to be identified. The others well were left in makeshift morgues below waiting to be put together with their other pieces.

What you hadn’t known before yesterday was that some of your crew had been devoured.

More had been devoured now. Bodies were littered about the morgue, torn from their bags. Some were only half eaten at the limbs and thighs. Heads and torsos were still left in contact where it was less meat and more viscera and soupy organs. The poor morgue workers were left alone.

“Blunt force trauma,” McCoy noted into his recorder. “Why didn’t it eat them?”

“It appears...it only ate the Calvary crew. The ones that had been on ice,” Kirk murmured, fist pressing into his teeth.

“It likes its food served cold,” you said, absent mindedly.

“Fascinating,” Spock said.

You glanced over the logs last input by the crewman, “He listed finding my father. Right here! Doctor L/N. My father’s dead. It must have kept his form.”

“Which must be why the creature could not be detected on our scanners. It perfectly mimicked the dead,” Spock said, bouncing ideas off of you, “It may be possible to feign the absence of a pulse or temperature-or perhaps it can alter its physical state enough to where it appears to be a lack of both.”

“Why did it take so long to recognize Doctor L/N, then? The man’s been dead for years.”

“The bodies were beamed up in droves, Jim,” Bones answered, “Then picked through. After were found the Calvary’s lone survivor we stopped bringing up one by one.”

“How...” Commander Craft said slowly, through ground teeth, “Could you be the only one?”

“I don’t know,” you answered.

“Four hundred men dead and you...still alive having wrecked in an escape pod,” the commander snarled, seemingly refusing to even look at you. He still surveyed the frozen dead.

“What?” you asked in disbelief, “I was in an escape pod?”

“Don’t play cute with me,” he jerked to look at you finally, eyes blazing, “You launched the pod right before the ship went down. My crew scouted out the area you were recovered from. Only a single pod launched with only you in it. Or did your husband not tell you that’s where he found you?”

“Spock, is this true?” Kirk asked.

“It seems I may have accidentally omitted such a finding...as I was not aware of it.”

“You’re a Vulcan-you don’t miss things,” Craft spat.

“One forgets my human half-although I have never found myself so personal with you, Commander, to share such a fact.”

Craft looked to you and back to Spock and then back to you again.

“You were both with one another the whole evening?” Commander Craft asked.

“I had two guards posted out side their quarters,” Kirk said, his temper flaring, “I doubt she’s in cahoots with the damn thing. Spock looked into her mind and it seems she’s nothing but a scapegoat for a monster to get its next meal! Now you can stop targeting my officers and start cooperating.”

You reached for Kirk’s arm desperately, “Captain, I didn’t put myself in that pod. Captain, I didn’t do this-you’ve got to believe me still.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What see is your crew in bits and pieces down here and that thing is going to do the same to my men,” Kirk said, patience wheedling thin. “Bridge, this is the captain. Issue a red alert. Lockdown all decks.”

“But captain,” a woman’s voice replied, “You just issued a command stating that the ship take a landing and to disregard any other orders.”

“Lieutenant, where was I when I gave such orders?”

“On deck three.”

The red alert beacon seemed like it would never fade into the background but it was eventually drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in your ears. Kirk had ordered you all to stay together after a trip to the armory and that you were all going to the third deck, whether the commander liked it or not.

The assent to the third deck was painful as the commander and Kirk had it out with one another. The lift felt extremely cramped, but the tension in the air made it worse.

Splitting up the party had perhaps been briefly suggested by your husband to cover more ground, to which the commander argued, “Don’t let Spock take her anywhere. I don’t trust those two!”

“No ones going anywhere unless it’s with me,” Kirk retorted, “Set your phasers to stun. We don’t know who the real crewmen will be apart from this thing. We don’t want to kill anyone else.”

“Then how to do we know you’re not the imposter then? How do we know the real you isn’t already on the third deck or even the bridge by now?” the commander asked, nearly spitting.

“I wouldn’t have asked to land. I’m getting really tired of you,” Kirk said.

The doors to the lift finally opened, showing and eerily empty third deck washed in the red light.

“Daddy?”

A small voice, a woman’s voice in fact so far away you could barely hear it.

The doctor stepped passed you eyes bugging out of his skull, “Didja hear that?” He whirled back around to you, “Did ya’ll hear that?”

“Indeed, doctor,” Spock replied, “It seemed to be coming from that corridor.”

“Daddy!” came the woman’s voice again, now sobbing and strangled.

“Joanna?” the doctor asked, immediately breaking away with full stride.

You seized him around the waist, trying to prevent him from going, “Wait-doctor-!”

“Simon!” came a wavering moan from the adjacent hall.

Commander Craft was less vocal than Bones and bolted immediately with a tailing Kirk who was then seized up by Spock, “Captain, don’t-”

“Daddy!” Joanna’s wail was blood curdling and McCoy broke free from your hold like a frenzied horse. You bolted after him immediately.

“T’hy’la!” Spock began to which in the confusion Kirk said, “Go after them-I’ll get Craft!”

Could it possible the creature could multiply? You hadn’t seen it for yourself, but fear blazoned in your body and drove your legs to pump themselves as far as they could go. You were younger than Bones, but your weak leg gave out. Spock was faster than you anticipated and with thundering footfalls you felt him upon you.

He swept you up quickly, “That was foolish.”

“It’ll kill him, Spock!”

“I do not think it can be many places at once or it would have acted upon the crew sooner.”

“It’s just throwing its voice?”

“Possibly.”

He was moving at a light sprint, cradling you up like a baby.

“If it likes its food cold it will go for the bridge. It’ll wreck the ship to the snow below,” you breathed, clutching onto Spock’s uniform.

“I suspect the same thing-” his running faltered a bit, “-it will pursue the captain in attempt to control the ship.”

“Fuck.”

“Jim!”

“Sam?”

Long ago had Kirk lost sight of Craft, now lurking beyond every corner. It seemed the third deck was empty and he found out quickly why it was so quiet, save the bells. He came upon the mangled bodies of his crew, not eaten, but twisted like rag dolls in their heaps.

Now it was mimicking his brother. The bastard of a thing-whatever it was.

“Jim, help!”

“I’m coming, Sam!” Kirk called, moving carefully down the hall, phaser in hand. It was leading to him to his own cabin. He knew his brother was dead, but it was almost like he couldn’t stop himself. It was a painful desperation and it burned like fire in his chest.

He opened the door and stepped inside. His room was the same as it had always been. Bed in one area, dress and mirror in the other. His antique weapon collection of old era muskets, sabers, and spears freckled his walls but were hard to be seen as the lights were oddly set dim.

“Captain!” a distressed voice cried from the corner. A female voice.

“Y/N?” Kirk asked, moving closer, “Kitty, is that you?”

The person moved from the corner and into the light and indeed to the captain it appeared to be you. But how? Kirk questioned.

Your face was beaten and your body was bloodied. Your dress which once was white was almost completely dyed scarlet and it was ripped all the way down, revealing your right shoulder and breasts.

Kirk snatched the blanket off the bed and brought it to cover you. “How did you get here so fast? Did it do this to you?”

“It ran as soon as it heard you. It was a man. He looked just like you. I thought it was you,” you cried.

He skimmed the tears off your face with his thumb, “There, there. I’m here now.”

“You’ve got to help me. Spock tricked me, Jim,” you said, moving closer. “I need you.”

The third deck was so confusing you (the real you) thought you and Spock would get lost but you honed in on the doctor’s desperate cries of “Joanna!” like breadcrumbs.

You both came to a dead end to see the doctor there, bumbling at the wall, clearly confused.

“Doctor!” you cried in relief.

“I heard Jo one second and the next-I’m at a loss!” he attempted to explain, scratching the back of his head.

The doctor stared at the bare wall as if his daughter was apart of its making. She was there in his ears and the next she wasn’t.

“She was never there,” you sighed, still cradled in Spock’s clutch.

“It was a trick, Doctor,” Spock concurred.

“Lemme down,” you reached for Bones almost desperately.

You felt like you had to touch him to truly know he was alright. His face looked alright as well as the rest of his body, but his eyes were still large with bewilderment and grief. Joanna had not been there, but she had sounded so real and seemed to be in so much pain as the ghost of your own father had been.

“Doctor, are you well enough to care for my wife? It seems she has reinjured her leg to some extent,” Spock inquired, allowing you to bear weight on your good limb.

Bones reached for you immediately and then asked Spock, “Where the hell are you going?”

“I must relocate the captain and Commander Craft for their safety,” Spock explained, already having turned promptly to leave.

He broke out into another sprint, which looked faster than it had while you were being carried. Vulcans were faster, stronger than humans naturally, it seemed.

Bones fussed over you and you shushed him, “It’s just a limp-I’m fine-no, we are not going to sickbay!”

“Where do you suggest we go then? We might as well be sitting ducks.”

“We’re going to catch up with, Spock,” you said in a definite tone.

“In your condition and mine? it’ll take this old man two weeks to get you there,” he said, shaking his head.

“Hey,” you grinned, “It’s not the first time you’ve walked a pretty girl down the aisle.”

Bones face heated up with a large grin.

The door shifted open and Spock was greeted with the sight of his nude wife fondling his captain. Except you were had been left in Bones’ care behind him. Something white hot and broiling ignited in his very being.

You could feel it from down the hall.

He’s mad-why is he so mad? you questioned internally, limping as fast as you could.

Kirk fired his phaser immediately into the creature’s belly, after letting it draw itself close. The mirror version of you somehow enclosed its hand around the firing phaser, crushing it completely.

Kirk shook his hand free, screaming. The creature seized Kirk by the shoulders and flung him effortlessly into the wall. He hit part of his antique weapon collection, spears and swords clattering to the ground with him.

“Captain-!”

“I’m alright.”

The imposter whirled around and grinned like a Cheshire, “Well the infamous Mister Spock! I can read the crew’s thoughts y’know. Plenty of gals seem to like you. But you only like this one, don’t you?”

The imposter ran her hand down her naked form, taunting him.

“Too bad your captain got the upper hand on your wife first. Didn’t even stop himself when given the opportunity.”

“That’s a lie, Spock,” Kirk choked.

Spock shot at the creature, phaser still set the stun. The creature was knocked back only a little, seemingly unfazed. Spock shot multiple times only with the same result.

“I like it rough,” the creature laughed, “Keep on.”

“Why did you place Lieutenant Y/L/N in the escape pod when you could have devoured her?” Spock inquired.

“I seek the weakest link of all that visit my land. I seek their fears, their sorrows and hers was most adequate for my use,” it said, “The other ships that follow after every crash always tend to stay longer when there’s someone to blame. Everyone likes someone to blame.”

“How many other starships have you sabotaged?” Kirk asked, moving slowly about the weapons on the floor.

“Enough to feed me my due.”

Kirk launched one of the old spears at the imposter and it grazed its belly, spurting purple blood.

“Run, Captain!” Spock ordered.

The creature seized the spear and thrust it a Kirk as he ran to the door. Spock was faster and quickly moved in front of Kirk, catching the spear deafly with one hand. The blade was merely inches from his nose. The phaser clattered to the ground.

“Fascinating,” the creature said mockingly and changed it form from you to Spock himself.

Eventually you and Bones were able follow the trail of downed crewman to the captain’s cabin. Upon opening the door you were gifted with the sight of two of your husbands wrestling with one other over some ancient spear.

Where the hell did that thing come from?

Long forgone on the floor was Spock’s phaser and you knelt to grab it.

“Jim!” Bones exclaimed.

Kirk was once again a heap on the floor, already having been assaulted twice by the imposter and saved by Spock. He was bleeding from his right flank.

Bones quickly moved to him, dragging you long with him.

“We’ve got--got to kill it--” Kirk stuttered, staggering upward. You caught him under the arm, supporting him. “The phaser doesn’t seem to work on stun. You have to set it to kill.”

Bones caught the other, “But how can we? Which one is it?”

You shakenly pointed the phaser even though it seemed it had no effect.

“Alright you two!” Kirk yelled, ‘Stop or we’ll be forced to shoot the both of you!”

The wrestling came to a still and the spear was tossed aside, rolling to your feet.

They were identical, completely. Fuck.

“T’hy’la, it is I,” said the one on the left.

“No, that is incorrect,” said the one on the left.

Down to the nose, the hair, the faint hue of green in their cheeks and lips. The familiar warmth pulled you at the back of your mind.

“Kitty, what are you doing?” Kirk began.

You moved forward, with two fingers extended, “Husband, attend.”

The one of the left immediately came forward and you felt the warmth surge closer at is it, enveloping your mind as your fingers touched.

“Fools!”

The one of the right’s entire mouth opened up as if it was a venous fly trap, launching itself at you and Spock. You fired the phaser, blasting a hole on its left side but it still came.

Kirk was faster on the draw, and launched the spear into the creature’s mouth, splattering purple liquid everywhere. Its lifeless body hit the ground with a wet thud.

The spear had ripped through its body and pierced itself into the wall behind it.

“Good shot, captain,” Spock said. “And you as well, wife.”

“Second time’s the charm,” Kirk said, holding his injured side.

You let out a dry sob, mixed in with a laugh. Bones patted your shoulder, letting out a large sigh.

PART SIX

tagged: @groovyfluxie @dontgivedeath @lumar014 @pringtella @moonchildlonan @superninjapervert420 @love-wanderlust15 @ischysiaclark@imyourspacegirlfriend @hiddlestonme @fandoms4ever97 @mywellspringoflife @rebelchild93 @nilalunis16

#tos #startrek #star trek #spock x fem!reader #the lone survivor #spock x reader #schn tgai spock #s'chn t'gai spock #mr spock #tos spock #jim kirk #doctor mccoy #bones #captain kirk

143 notes · View notes

thebountyfucker · 3 years

Text

The Royal Affair - Cad

Don't read this without reading the first part!!

Part 1

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Cad Bane x AFAB!Reader (gender-neutral, though reader does wear a skirt.) Tags/CW: power imbalance, claiming, dirty talk, sex as payment, collaring, everything is consensual but Cad is a bit forceful

Here's a link to my masterpost Want to be tagged in upcoming fics like this? Here's the link to my taglist application!

Your gaze followed Prince Cad for most of the rest of the night. He wandered around the venue, making small talk with Lady Sing or Lord Jango. He seemed less inclined to stay with his family unit than some, you noted, and appeared to be most comfortable when conversing with others. He nursed a few glasses of whiskey, but never pushed too far into drunkenness. Though you were sure he’d deny it, he was a royal, and as such, he had appearances to maintain.

Your gazes met many times during the night; at first, his gaze was strictly chaste, but as the night continued on, his gaze became more and more licentious, as if he couldn’t wait to get you alone. A chill ran down your spine, and you couldn’t quite tell if you were nervous or aroused by the prospect.

Toward the end of your shift, you made your way toward him; Cad was leaned against the wall, joking with Lord Jango about something. His gaze met yours and a wide, fanged grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, well… look who it is.” He pushed off the wall to stand straight. “Made up yer mind?”

“Yeah… I want to come with you.” You answered, and he hooked his thumbs into the pockets on his suit coat.

“Good choice. Ya would’ve regretted goin’ wit’ Em.” He replied, glancing up toward the departing Kyuzan clan. Prince Embo offered you a small nod, as if honoring the decision you made. You turned back toward Cad, who had fished around in his coat pocket for a cig. “Come wit’ me.”

There were no other pleasantries as he led you out of the meeting hall toward the adjacent Azvergin Hotel; the hotel, which catered exclusively to billionaires and royalty, was largely a mystery to you. You either had to be staff to said clientele, or a member of these groups in order to be let inside. Rumor had it that one could rent an entire floor, long term, for fifty million credits! You’d never see that kind of money in your life, but you supposed that it was like spare change to the Prince at your side.

He led you inside, through the rigorous security detail which awaited you. The guards hardly regarded you, and you figured that this may be a common occurrence with the Prince. They took your fingerprints and ran a background check - when it came up clean, they allowed you through. Then, Cad led you into the lift and up 15 floors to what you assumed was his family’s floor.

The entire ride was silent, but he kept looking at you, as if he couldn’t figure out what he was going to do with you. This made you a bit nervous, only because you weren’t entirely sure if he was to be trusted. Some girls from your work told you that the Prince would lay claim to his favorite servants and mark them with collars. You briefly wondered if this would be your future too.

Cad offered you a smirk as the doors parted and he led you out into the hallway. The walls were white, with intricate gold crown mouldings; doors lined the hallway, each with carved tags denoting who stayed where. Two guards stood at attention at each door, and servants - mostly women, of varying species - bustled about. Each and every person you passed bowed for their prince, and Cad ate it up. He gripped the chin of one of the servant girls, and leaned down to kiss her straight on the lips. She swooned.

Cad turned back toward you, and gestured toward a nearby door with his head. “Dis is my room. You can stay wit’ me. Dat is, unless you want to sleep in de servants’ quarters.”

“I suppose I can stay with you… if that’s alright.”

“Sure, sure.” He nodded, and the guards pushed open the door for you both; Cad stepped in first, and you followed closely behind.

The room was cavernous - larger than your entire apartment, you wagered - and designed with royalty in mind. The walls were pristine white with gold filigree, and spanned higher than you thought possible. He had chairs gathered in one corner, near a small bookcase. Not far from that was a fireplace, which had seemed to burn real wood, which was hard to find on Coruscant.

On the other side of the door was a wardrobe - it was a modest size for a prince, which was about twice as large as your own closet. And near that was his bed. It was massive, with bedposts at each corner and silver silk sheets. His comforter was pulled back, and you swore you could see restraints bolted to the frame.

Perhaps the rumors about him weren’t exaggerated…

“Should I… leave and get my stuff?” You inquired, standing in the middle of the room awkwardly. Cad glanced over at you as he pulled his suit coat off.

“Whaddya need?”

“Clothes, toiletries.. You know, the basics.” You watched as he tossed the coat on the floor haphazardly, before he went about unbuttoning his black shirt.

“I’ll call de servants fer ya. Dey’ll fetch your things.” He replied, nonchalant. He tossed his shirt atop his suit coat, and sat on the edge of his bed to pull off his shoes. He glanced over at you. “You got a starin’ problem?”

“N-no!” You replied, casting your glance to the floor. He chuckled and sauntered over to where you stood. He took a step toward you, pushing up against you; you took a step back, not sure if this was intentional. He took another step toward you, and then another, until you were trapped up against the wall. He reached out, cupping your chin and tilting it up so you could look him in the eyes.

“Dere ain’t no need to be shy, doll. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“How can I be so sure?” You replied, your voice shaking. Heat pooled in your core, and his ravenous gaze only intensified the sensation.

“If I wanted t’ hurt ya… I would have done it already.” He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, and it trembled in response. His gaze trailed toward your tantalizing tits. “I think I found yer ‘price’.”

“Oh?” You squeaked, surprised by how easily he could sway you.

“Why don’ we getchu out of dese clothes, and you can show me why it was worth it t’ take ya in?”

“I-.” Your body screamed ‘yes’, but your sensibilities told you that this all seemed to be happening so quickly. But you weren’t sure he’d care if you told him this. He was a Prince, after all. You were sure he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted. “S-something tells me you really weren’t trying to save me from the King.”

“Yer a smart one.” He drawled, a dark, hungry look in his eyes. You could smell the whiskey and tabac on his breath as he pressed closer to you. “How else would I get you to come with me?”

That tracked, you noted with a frown. Your life was ostensibly in danger, and this spoiled, entitled Prince used that to get you in his bed. You pushed him off and walked away, but he was not so easily deterred.

“Yer safe, ain’tcha?” He wasn’t wrong. Being with him meant you were safe from the King… but were you safe with Prince Cad? You crossed your arms over your chest and sat down in one of the chairs in the room. Cad followed you over to the chair, but he did not sit beside you. “Don’t be a brat.”

“I’ll be what I want.” You replied, your pussy pulsing to remind you that you were still aroused. You cursed under your breath, but figured that maybe you could make a game of this. You were scorned, sure, but you wouldn’t pass up a chance to sleep with the Prince.

“Is dat so? Do ya need to be tamed? Is dat it?” He crossed his arms over his chest and quirked a browridge. “I’ve dealth wit’ many brats. Ya ain’t special.”

“I don’t like being lied to.” You explained to him, and his expression soured. “If you just wanted to fuck me, you could have told me that.”

“Yeah. Like dat would’ve worked.” He rolled his eyes.

“It would have! I was having a shit day and I would have loved to let off some steam!” You told him, and Cad sat on the arm of the chair next to yours. A small smirk grew on your face as you held his gaze. “You want to fuck me? Hm? You can start by telling me you’re sorry.”

He pursed his lips and turned his head. “Ain’t happenin’.”

“That’s a shame. I guess this cunt of mine is off-limits.” You pointedly closed your legs, and anger flashed in his eyes. You could practically see him trying to work his way out of this and still get what he wanted. But you wouldn’t budge and you could tell that he knew this. It took him twenty minutes before he was able to form the words.

“I… I’m sorry.” He growled through gritted teeth.

“Good. You should be.”

There was silence for a moment, and you figured Cad was sulking because of the apology. Before you could react, he got up and thrust his knee between your legs. You gasped softly as he pressed his thigh to your aching cunt.

“Now listen here… I don’ like dat attitude of yers. Yer in my home - ya don’t get to order me around. Got it?” He leaned forward, boxing you in against the chair. You tried to fight it, but you found yourself grinding your cunt against his leg. He hissed in response. “No sass now? Nexxu got yer tongue?”

“I got… I got what I wanted already.” You told him.

“Words are cheap, doll. You know I didn’t mean it.” He grabbed your chin and tipped your head back, before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. It was forceful and needy, and you had to fight against pushing him away and digging in deeper. Your cunt throbbed again, and wetness seeped into your panties. You whimpered, and Cad chuckled. “Yer a little whore, ain’t ya? Despite all yer whining, ya still want me.”

He eased away, moving to finish undressing. “Get up and get naked. I wanna see dis cunt of yers.”

“M-make me.” You replied, your voice wavering with lust. He cocked a browridge and pulled you up to stand; he ripped your shirt off, and rucked the skirt down over your ass. You were nearly bare in front of him, and his ravenous gaze on your body made warmth well in your belly. He pulled down your panties, watching with interest as webs of slick stretched between your cunt and the cloth.

“Yer droolin’ fer me, doll. Filthy whore. Do ya want my cock?” He inquired, and you slowly nodded at this. He dragged you to his bed and tossed you onto it. “Show me yer cunt, doll.”

He took a step back, watching as you casually spread your legs open and then parted your labia with your fingers; Cad watched, his hungry gaze scouring over your soaked cunt. He drew in close, his knobby finger slipping inside of you. “Yer wet fer me, ain’tcha? Mmm… so wet and tight.”

You moaned, your head lolling back onto his impossibly soft comforter; your legs spread wider of their own accord, as if anticipating that he would insert his body between them sooner rather than later. You rocked your hips, aiming to drive his finger deeper within. He chuckled.

“Yer just beggin’ fer my cock at dis point… all I need is t’ hear it. Beg fer me.” “Oh Prince…. Oh Prince!” You whined, gripping his sheets tightly. He retracted his finger and drew aimlessly on your stomach with your slick. “Please, I need your cock! Please!”

“I wanna hear my name on yer lips. You know it, don’tcha?”

“Cad… Please….” You begged, lifting your hips to present your cunt to him, trying to tell him that you so desperately needed him to fill the void. He smirked at this presentation, and drew two fingers between your folds.

“Yer cute… I’ll give ya dat.” His fingers danced up and down the slit of your cunt teasingly. You whimpered, wriggling your hips closer. First, he was bitching at you about not giving in, and now he was the one dragging his feet? Entitled prick! “Most of my lays would offer t’ sell me deir families at dis point… just to get my cock.”

“Stupid.” You muttered, and he pressed a thumb to your clit.

“My favorites get special treatment. T’ dem, it’s a good trade.” He smirked as he slowly rubbed circles on your clit. Your body tensed, and your vision went spotty. “Besides, what use is a family t’ dem if dey’re here with me?”

Your toes curled as he dipped his finger into your cunt, only going in to the first knuckle. He rubbed around the entrance as he played with your clit. Stupid, entitled Prince! Fuck, you wanted him so bad...

“Now… what would you offer t’ me t’ get my cock? Hm?” He inquired as he eased his finger in a little further. “Do ya even have anythin’ of worth? You peasants usually don’t.”

“Hey!” You squeaked as he shoved the rest of his finger into you. Another slipped in soon after, and your whole body began to shake.

“Tell me, doll… what would you give to have my cock?”

“Nothing.” You replied as he thrust his fingers in and out of you. You whimpered, grinding your hips against his hand. The heat in your belly threatened to spill over, and your cunt tightened around his fingers. He was quick to remove his fingers from you.

“Ya don’t get t’ cum until ya tell me what you’d give me.”

You panicked, trying to find something, anything, of worth to give him. He wasn’t wrong about you not having much of worth; you worked a mediocre job making decent pay. You didn’t have much in the way of family, and even if you did, you would never offer them to him. This was ridiculous but you were also desperate. In the moment, all you could say was:

“Me! You can have me!”

Cad paused, quirking a browridge at this; a slow, devious smirk spread across his face and he leaned down.

“Is dat so?” He was mere inches away as his slick-covered hand slid down your stomach. “You want to be mine?”

“If - if that means you’ll fuck me… yes!” You cried out, aching and yearning. Satisfied with your answer, he angled his hips and pressed his cock into your cunt. His cock was searingly hot inside you, and filled you up sufficiently; every inch he plunged into you drove you closer and closer to an orgasm. The moment he bottomed out, you came, your body shaking as sparks of electric pleasure shot through you. Your back arched toward him, and Cad wrapped an arm around you, holding you to his chest.

He slowly rocked into your spasming pussy, moaning at the way you desperately milked him for his cum. He would not give so easily, however. He picked up his pace, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips; the ridges of his cock massaged all the sensitive parts of your cunt, and you had to stop yourself from begging for more.

“Ya feel good, doll.” Cad grunted as he thrusted harder into you. You could only whimper in response, your hands gripping your breasts tightly. “My cock feels good, don’t it?”

“Yessss.” You cried out, your toes curling as your orgasm loomed once more. You laid your head back on his bed, closing your eyes to bask in the sensations. He raked his fingers up and down your thighs, which quivered at the touch. There was only so much more you could take before the building tension snapped and you came again.

“Say my name.”

“Cad!”

“Say it louder! Let de whole place know who ya belong t’!” He roared, digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs to the point where you were certain they would bruise. A wail rose from deep in your chest.

“CAD!” You yelled out, arching your back and thrashing about as the sensations became unbearable. You were so close! So close! Your cunt tightened around Cad’s cock and he let out a groan at the sensation.

“Ya gonna cum fer me again? Ya gonna cum, lil’ slut?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You cried, bucking your hips up against his, grasping at any additional pleasure you could get. Cad’s pace was growing erratic, and you knew that he wouldn’t be too far behind you.

“Cum fer me! Cum!” Cad commanded, pressing his thumb to your clit. Your vision went dark as your body when stiff; fluids shot out of you, soaking Cad, as waves of euphoria washed over your body. Through the haze of pleasure, you could feel Cad biting down on your shoulder, puncturing your skin, as he shot his cum deep inside you. Your cunt milked him for all he was worth.

When you came back to your head, Cad was lapping at the blood which leaked from your wound. He pulled out when he realized that you had come to, and went to find a rag so you could clean up. He returned with a towel, and gestured to your throbbing cunt.

“Go on.”

You cleaned up, as you were directed, while Cad strutted around his room. He returned to you with a collar in hand, and you quirked a brow. “For me?”

“Yeah. Ya did give yerself t’ me.” He reminded you.

“I did, didn’t I?” You managed a smile and leaned forward, presenting your neck to him. He clasped the collar around it, and stroked your cheek.

“Dere you are. All pretty.”

23 notes · View notes

novelelitist · 3 years

Text

Update

The news about banning the “girls” tag on Tumblr made its rounds on Twitter so I thought I’d pop by real quick.

I often wonder what happens/happened to creators I like, and given my history, it occurred to me that some people might actually think I’m dead. Which is not an invalid concern, and I appreciate your long-distant parasocial concern. Thanks for not wanting me RIP in peace’d. Those who DMed me since I’ve been gone and as I continue to be gone, you’re acknowledged and I appreciate you, too. This one’s for you, chickadees.

TLDR: you can bother me on Twitter or ask for my Discord handle if we’re moots. I’m still awkward at conversation though so go easy on me.

Personal(?) Update

Life changes, legally changing my first name, legally changing my gender marker to M (because my state doesn’t offer X but I’m going to badger them about it so I can hopefully get X instead). Situation still suboptimal and sucky. Who woulda thunk? I should be able to start HRT once I move out, though, and that’s something to look forward to.

Video Essay Coming SoonTM

I’m working on a massive Omegaverse video essay project through the lens of cultural imports/exports through the medium of comics. (Manga, manhwa, and manhua specifically.) It’s absolute hell. You should watch it when it’s done. The script is over 16,000 words. The essay is informative, funny, and extremely thorough literary criticism discussing Omegaverse and the subjects within it that interest me.

I’ll share the video here when I’m done, too, and I’ll be formatting the script in a way that others can understand so I can share it in a readable format as well. I seriously doubt auto-captions will do it justice.

Why Omegaverse? Because I am completely fascinated by it even though I don’t like it and nobody’s presented it in a video format the way I want to yet. Ez.

It’ll be on the same YouTube channel as my Barbie video essay once it’s done. Should be done by the end of January. Here it is in all its incomplete glory.

Game Updates & Fandom

Immediate access to me is best found via Twitter. I only got into using it recently for fandom-related things. It’s a small personal/otaku-adjacent twt but I’m trying to use it to associate with people more since I know people have worried about me and I’ve worried about them. (Moots, give me your twt so I can follow you there.) If you ever thought about commissioning me for FGO stuff, message me over there. I’m probably down, since I’m all in on FGO and GBF brainrot lately.

I’m still writing, though I’ve used most of my brain cells lately for the Omegaverse video essay. I have a conspiracy theory about Koyanskaya pinned to my twt right now that I’ll be putting on my AO3, too, probably, once it’s in coherent, complete sentences.

I’ll also try to make myself share my other FGO writing I’ve been doing on AO3. It’s been rough since the whole “losing main friend group” thing. I still miss them and that environment a lot and it’s sore. My enthusiasm about my own work in all forms took a huge hit, as did my “ability to interact with others regarding things I enjoy.” (I made myself write today, here have my extremely thorough Koyanskaya theory.)

I’ve been totally stuck on this dumb Hello Kitty mobile game, too, Hello Sweet Days. My friend code there is djg2db. I’m not a whale, I just look like one, I swear. Sanrio is Japanese WDC and is therefore evil. Fuck Disney, btw.

Idk why Hello Sweet Days looks so weird when screenshots are saved to my comp when they were fine everywhere else but okay. Hello Sweet Days is a Sanrio-property qt outfit collector/community game someone else got me hooked on. Code is djg2db.

And Granblue Fantasy is Granblue Fantasy. Which I still suck at. Use my support summons or do miserable 6D raids with me while I attempt to uncap Siete again. ID is 30825282.

Obligatory FGO Update

I have couple spaces on NA. If you want me to change supports for events etc, I have an extremely thorough Chaldea. Bug me via DMs here or on Twitter when you add me:

I have more spaces on JP because my account is still a sad sack. Again, bug me via DMs here or on Twitter when you add me:

Thorough update on all my Grailed servants because I have nobody to show off to:

Okay but will you ever exist again, 2D?

On here? Not sure. But I’m definitely not gone everywhere just yet. Come find me. :)

#novelelitist #nobody asked literally #update on existence #fgo supp code #cope

6 notes · View notes

morganas-pendragons · 4 years

Text

my privilege, my honor | rex

this was a concept i could not pass up when i got into this conversation with someone on twitter. dad!rex is life. this’ll be split up into parts within a whole (finding out you’re pregnant, pregnancy, birth, life after, etc) and is au in which the war is won by the republic and the clones are freed because i SAID SO.

this is long rip me - i worked all afternoon on this please give me something

also, rex&munitions!reader live on naboo in the back country where padmé wanted to raise the twins and does because AU!!!!

tag: @obiorbenkenobi // @icanbringyouincold // @thegoodbatch // @amazinggraceling // @cxptain-rex // @spaghetti-666 // @kaikai1324 // @jellyfishpoptart // @colorfulloverbatturkey

In the back corner of the lake country on Naboo, there lives a soldier. Well... he doesn’t call himself that anymore. Not since they won the war. The story that you are familiar with is different in other universes. Less people die. Grief is openly felt and not hidden, mourning happens for the fallen, The Republic works together to unite against a common enemy.

In this story, Anakin Skywalker does not fall. Ahsoka Tano is soon treated with dignity and respect and eventually returns to The Jedi Order. Obi-Wan Kenobi is given the help he needs to be the best Jedi he can be. This story is much happier because they won the war here. Anakin discovers the threat of the Sith far before it’s too late, and Sheev Palpatine remains nothing but a corpse with a soul that has gone to the stars.

In this story, darkness does not prevail. Light does.

Padmé Amidala-Skywalker is a genius. A renowned politician of The Senate and former Queen of Naboo, she works closely with the clones and specific Jedi who advocate for them to ensure they are no longer treated as Republic property and are treated as the people who have earned their right to freedom.

When Cody comes to the barracks to announce to his vod that the bill was passed through the senate, the clones are too riled up to sleep and thus throw the biggest celebration of a lifetime.

In a back corner of Seventy Nines far away from the prying eyes of his brothers and against a wall adjacent to the rear door, Rex kisses the living daylights out of you. You are no longer committed to the GAR and he’s free - he didn’t think he’d ever get to the point where he’d be considered a man and not a weapon - but the way your fingers thread tightly through his hair and your knee slots between his legs to pin him against that wall is the most freeing thing Rex has done in his life.

Because he can do this now. He’s allowed to show his love in front of everybody.

“Rex,” Your voice is thick with the drink you’d been consuming before you’d dragged him over here as you pull away just enough to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Take me.”

Had this been a year ago or more, Rex would’ve been so stunned by your demand that he would’ve paid for a cab like the good gentleman he was (with Skywalkers credit chit of course) and taken you back to the barracks to hide away in your quarters where he could take you in a bed.. but that’s not Rex now. No. Rex now is desperate and wanting.

“Bathroom?”

“Bathroom.”

The spare bathroom at the back of the bar is exactly what you need, and before you know it, the Clone Commander has your legs wrapped around his waist and your body poised on the sink. It’s a good thing you’d jimmied the lock on the door to buy yourself enough time to be ravished.

By the time Fives and Echo find you both, you’re walking out of the bathroom looking more guilty then you should but you can’t stop smiling because of how flustered you’d managed to make Rex in..

“I think that’s the fastest quickie we’ve ever done.” You nudge his hip with your own and sling your arm around his waist to pull him against you.

“What’s the record now?”

Oh, of course he’s been keeping track. Kriffing di’kut.

“Six and a half minutes.”

You’re really hoping that Rex isn’t the type to brag about this to his brothers, but if he is, you’d rather him do it when you’re not around. He has to clean up his meager amount of belongings from the GAR barracks before meeting Cody to discuss transport to the planets that gave given permission for the clones to be granted citizenship.

One of them is Naboo. Skywalker and Amidala have already made their way there after the birth of their twins and Anakin leaving The Order, but you have a couple of people you want to say goodbye to before this is really over. Before you all go your separate ways to live your own lives.

But oh.. no matter where, you’ll love them all. They’re the only family you’ve had and will always have. It’s not goodbye forever. It’s just the end with another beginning on its way.

“I’ll see you later, cyar’ika.” He kisses your temple and allows Cody and Jesse to take him away for one last night together with his brothers. You watch him go with a fond smile. He deserves this.

The minute you get back to your quarters, the first thing you do is call Padmé Amidala.

***

Well, if you’re gonna find out about this, you’d rather it be this way then by your own panic.

You and Rex are welcomed by Padmé and Anakin on Naboo in the Naberrie family home until they’re able to procure their own house, and Anakin seemed to be.. ah.. attuned to something in The Force that was swirling around you. Rex and Padmé are in the nursery tending to the twins - he loves them and you love how much he loves them - but Anakin has kept you behind to talk about what is clearly bothering him more then it’s bothering you.

“Wait-Are you serious?” You ask skeptically. “I know you had your opinions about me, Skywalker, but I treat your former commander with reverence and if this is some cruel joke-”

Anakin held up a hand. “I could tell with Padmé pretty quickly. It’s not hard to tell with The Force, and you’re practically glowing even without being Force Sensitive.” Both your eyes slid to the balcony where you could very clearly see Rex sitting in one of the chairs while Padmé fed Luke, who was now a couple of months old, and blew raspberries on Leia’s stomach to elicit a screech from the baby girl.

Your heart clenches. That’s... that’s so stupidly cute. And he’s.. he’s smiling.

“You should tell him.” Anakin whispers. “I know Rex was skeptical about having a family at the start of the war when he met that deserter.. but honestly, I think he’s reconsidered it since he met you.” The man who had very very quickly become like your brother rested his head against your own as you exhaled a very slow breath. “Tell him.”

You do tell him later on that night long after Padmé and Anakin go to bed. He goes wide eyed at the remark - because how on EARTH are YOU going to create and carry a human inside your body?! - and you’re almost expecting him to cry, which he does, but there’s happy tears and disbelieving laughter and before you know it, he’s spinning you around the living room and burying his face in your shoulder as you celebrate yet another victory for you both.

When Rex goes to sleep that night with Luke in his arm and Leia against your chest (you’re really interim parents so the Skywalkers can sleep) he dreams about Cody and his brothers joy for his future niece or nephew.

The first thing you see upon waking up that morning is the life-size holo of Cody, Wolffe and Jesse who are cheering in strings of Mando’a that you can’t make out well, but you know what they’re so joyful about. They’re gonna have a niece. A nephew.

In front of them, your former soldier smiles so widely that it sharpens the tears that pool in his eyes.

***

In the back corner of the lake country on Naboo, former soldiers get to work building a house. A house not made by hands - that’s not all - but by and with love and hope.

Laughter echoed in the fields of wildflowers as you watch Cody and Rex hurl insults at one another when something doesn’t quite go the way they want it to. After your pregnancy announcement and the wedding - which was just as exciting as the pregnancy - Rex had ultimately come to one decision: He loved General Skywalker but not enough to live with him, his wife, and his two twins.

Rex wants his own home which means he’s gonna build it with his own hands and the help of his insufferable brothers.

Walking through the fields of wildflowers that are just outside the area Rex has chosen to hold the foundations of your new home, you hum quietly to yourself as you take flowers and begin to braid them into your hair.

In the distance, Wolffe yells something crude in Mando’a that makes Jesse laugh hard enough to the point where if Kix hadn’t been there to catch him by his blacks, he would’ve fallen off the roof.

“Cyar’ika, c’mere!”

Rex appears just inside what’s supposed to be your front door. He’s really acclimated to the climate of Naboo - even going as far as to let his hair grow out more then it had been during the war - and he’s wearing a shirt with no sleeves which shows the tattoo he’d gotten when the Clone Wars had ended.

He’s beautiful. Seriously.

“Is someone injured?” You cast a skeptical look at Cody, Boil and Wooley who are looking at a rough sketch Rex had done on his datapad for what he planned for this house to look like. “Maybe Jesse��s dignity? Fives will to live?”

“I heard that!”

“No.. no.” Rex shakes his head and wraps his arms around your middle, hands coming to comfortably rest on the swell of your stomach. You’re only a couple of months along and are just barely beginning to show, but that doesn’t mean he won’t touch that bump every single change he gets. “I just want you to look at it with me.” Both pairs of eyes flicker to the house in front of you. “It’s ours. Our home.”

Yours.

That sounds like a dream.

***

Rex is, without a doubt, the best person you could’ve chosen to be the father of your child. He purchases a speeder after a little haggling with a trader in Theed and accompanies you to all your appointments, uses the credits Anakin had given him that he’d accumulated from his time in The Order to buy the food you most crave, and wakes up to be your personal pillow when you’re heavily pregnant and cannot for the life of you find a comfortable sleeping position.

By the time your delivery comes, he’s practically a walking disaster that somehow manages to inform Padmé, Anakin and Ahsoka (who had been there that week to visit her brother and her nephew/niece) about the delivery and to meet you at the medical station in Theed.

You don’t know this, but his brothers come too. The waiting room is filled with anxious uncles.

After a nearly effortless delivery on your part, you were staring up at your husband as he was handed your daughter by the medical droid.

It’s like the sun admiring all the stars in the galaxy. Rex looks at your daughter like he cannot believe you just birthed something so beautiful, and for a moment... you allow yourself to weep at just how awed the man is by the sight of his own child.

“Rex-” You croak, gasping for breaths between your tears as you motion to your husband. “That’s your kih ad.”

Amber irises flicker over to meet yours as your daughter lets out a wail so loud that Rex cannnot seem to comprehend that a creature that tiny just made such a sound.

“What do you want to name her?” He asks as he hands his little girl back over to you reluctantly, clearly wishing to keep hold of her for a little while longer before handing her off to the medical droid for cleaning. “She’s not just my daughter, you know.”

“Alaia.” You say it so quickly and without hesitation that Rex is taken a back by how sure you are. “It means joy.”

Considering how much joy that little girl ends up bringing to your lives, there’s no surprise that’s the name you choose. And oh.. speaking of joy.. it’s only mere days later when Rex finally lets his brothers - who had barely left the waiting room other then to go back to your cottage and refresh themselves - see their niece, it’s like a stampede of over eager children coming into your hospital room.

Cody brings you flowers. He’s respectful like that. Jesse is just too thrilled at the prospect of having a niece that he too brings you flowers, but they’re native to Naboo. If you’re right.. they come from outside your home.

The sight is enough to make you lean out of bed just enough to kiss his cheek. He swoons at the gesture and nearly passes out. Di’kut.

The remaining members of The Wolf Pack who had been given citizenship on a world in the Inner Rim with the help of Plo-Koon follow suit the day that you’re discharged from the hospital because they’ve been tending to your house in the absence of their brother, and Wolffe is the one you see first.

He doesn’t tend to come around alot but the sight of him and how he gasps at the sight of the child in your arms is enough to make you beam for the millionth time. All the clones are surprised by the sight of a baby. That doesn’t address the fact that said baby is the child of a clone.

It’s like a dream come true for them.

“Skywalker’s wife said you’d like this, and so did Tano.” He holds up a bright pink onesie that reads proud niece of a million uncles and the sight of it is enough to make you laugh so hard you wheeze because that is so something Anakin and Ahsoka would find hilarious.

Alaia wears it to bed for her first night in your home.

***

alaia - five months old

Maker.. there’s alot of stars out tonight.

At the cry of your daughters voice, Rex peels himself away from the warmth of your body and rubs the sleep from his eyes before moving across the master bedroom to retrieve his little girl from her crib.

The same crib that had taken him, Fives, Cody and Echo to build. Cody and Echo ended up having to do it because Rex had Fives in a headlock by the time they were halfway through assembling the kriffing thing.

“Alaia, ner ad,” He whispers lowly, scooping the baby from her crib and moving to the balcony before quietly shutting the door behind him. It’s not often that he’s unable to sleep anymore. There are rare occasions, like tonight, which memories of the war keep him awake. The nightmares stopped a long time ago. He’s at peace now. Mostly. “Sh.. sweet pea. We don’t want to wake your mother.”

Just as he’s done since you made him aware that she was teething, Rex nudges her lips open and allows Alaia to suck on his fingertip. She goes quiet immediately at the relief it brings.

“You know, I don’t know if you dream.. but I do. I dream about the war. If you dream... I hope you dream about me and your mom. I want to be a good father. It’s better then not having a dad at all like I didn’t.”

He goes silent at that. The closest thing he’d ever had to a father was Kenobi, and even he had been more like a brother to the clones by the end of the war. Anakin was just... he had his own struggles, he’d trusted Rex with information he couldn’t even trust Obi-Wan with and the thought of being so wholly trusted by someone again terrifies him.

That will be his daughter. His undoing will be how much she trusts him, and it’ll be how much he loves her and you.

On the balcony of a cottage home in the lake country on Naboo, a former soldier sleeps, and his infant daughter dreams. Together they are bathed in starlight.

***

Alaia - five years old

When Alaia is old enough to take into the fields outside of your house, you sit on the porch and watch Rex trek into the wildflowers with his little girl on his shoulders.

You watch from the porch with a cup of tea as your little girl toddles through the flowers that have just recently sprouted from the ground, and she yanks with all the might her little arms have to begin pulling them out.

Rex has been rather - ah- adamant that he’s going to keep his hair longer then it’s been in years. It’s not too long to curl over his ears, but it’s definitely not the normal haircut you’d grown so used to seeing on him.

Conveniently, for Alaia, it’s just long enough to stick flowers in.

“Oh, oh no. This I have to take part in.” You set down your cup of tea and move from the porch to meet your husband and daughter in the field. “Rex, cyar’ika, you know what this means.”

“Flower crowns, Mommy!” Alaia yells. “Flower crowns for daddy!”

The man is beaming as you sit down crosslegged and begin weaving the flowers together until you’re confident in your crown, and you turn towards Rex to place it gently against his forehead.

“A crown fit for a King.”

He smirks at you in that way that reminds you way too much of Anakin’s smugness and you quietly curse under your breath at the effect your former General had on his former Commander.

“Now we need a crown fit for a Queen and a princess.” Alaia screeches as Rex’s arms wind around her waist and his fingers dig into her stomach which elicits such a high pitched laughter you can’t help but smile at, and while you work on weaving two more crowns, Rex lays his daughter across his hands vertically and begins waving her little body around.

“Look Mommy!” Alaia cries out, face pinched in concentration as she sticks her arms out in front of her. “I’m flying!”

Fly high, little one.

***

In the lake country of Naboo lives a former soldier, a former officer and their daughter. Their daughter grows up surrounded by her uncles - Jesse, Fives, Echo and Cody are her favorites - and she learns Mando’a so quickly that by the time she’s eight, Alaia is as fluent as her uncles.

She grows up hearing stories about the uncles she lost. Her uncle Boil cries when he talks about Umbara and Waxer, and she reaches up and wipes tears from his face as he buries his face in waves of blonde hair. The uncles who survived Umbara don’t like to talk about it, but if they do, they leave out the stuff about war and talk about their fallen brothers.

Mama doesn’t want her to know anything but peace, and neither does Daddy. She trusts Daddy’s decision. Maybe it’s for the best.

“It is my privilege and my honor to be your father.” Rex’s fingers are nimbly braiding her hair back into the usual braid she’s kept it in since she was a child. The day is comfortable and her uncles are here with the twins while you’re in the capital city with Padmé.

“You’re talking like it’s the last time you’ll ever say that.”

“Well, if your mother finds out what I’m letting you do, yeah it’ll be the last time I ever speak.”

Anakin wants his kids to learn how to defend themselves. They probably can with a lightsaber just as well as he did at that age, but they’ve never done hand to hand before today’s training lesson. There’s no threat of war looming on the horizon but given that they’re both force sensitive, he wants them to have a good partner and for some reason that means Alaia gets to volunteer. All three kids are close enough in age to learn together.

“I’m gonna win.”

“It’s not a-” Rex pinches the bridge of his nose as Wolffe comes up behind his vod’ika and clasps her shoulders gently in his hands. If anyone is good at sparring, it’s him. “Oh, kriff it. Go on.”

Wolffe waits until you’re out on the porch and wrapping your hands to say it, “You’re too much like your buir bal ba’vodu.” He had feared initially that she’d be afraid of him because of his cybernetic, but after he’d told her how he lost it to Asajj, she hadn’t looked at him with fear one time since.

“Ni kar'taylir.”

Anakin stands on one side while Rex and Cody stands on the other, their spectators on the sidelines watching with wide eyes for something to go wrong.

“Alright. Luke,” Anakin nods to his son who tosses his saber behind him at the same time Leia does before they both turn towards Alaia. “Leia.. remember the rules. No Force Use.”

“What fun is that?!’’ Luke whines. “She’s not even Force Sensitive!”

Alaia, Luke and Leia are between the ages of fourteen to sixteen the first time they do this. Alaia has been raised to not fear Jedi, much less the children of The Hero With No Fear, so she simply approaches this as an obstacle to be conquered.

The daughter of the former soldier and officer of the Republic cracks her knuckles and eyes her opponents head on. The way she looks so much like Rex makes Anakin laugh. It’s downright terrifying.

Her ba’vodu cheer her on as Leia downright launches herself at Alaia, to which the girl simply pivots sharply on her heel and throws her hands up to defend herself from Luke’s attack. She isn’t aware of this, but Luke uses The Force to calculate each movement she makes. Leia doesn’t. He was the more attuned of the twins.

“Get him, vod’ika!”

“Show them who’s boss!”

Rex is utterly stupefied by the way Alaia moves. Of course, Luke and Leia do catch her off guard a couple of times, but part of him has always wondered if the ‘’soldier’’ part of him would be passed off his kids. That part of him that was a fighter from birth. It seemed he was right.

You’re gonna kill him when you get back.

His daughter throws her elbow right into Luke’s nose - Leia had yielded when she’d been subject to a pretty brutal chokehold - and flips him over her shoulder without so much as an issue, and the older Skywalker twin slams his hand against the ground before she can so much as try to incapacitate him further.

“Do you yield?”

“I-I yield, you-you insufferable gundark!”

The two teenagers are too busy arguing with each other while the clones laugh hysterically in the background and Kix tends to Leia to ensure she’s alright to notice the return of both you and Padmé.

“What’s going on here?” You question, arching an eyebrow at the pair of husbands in front of you who both turn around and are so guilty that they’re both blushing deep scarlet. “Rex?”

“Cyar’ika, I can explain-”

You extend your arm to where Alaia is being held back by Fives and Jesse and Luke is cursing fluently in Huttese while Kix tends to his nose. “I was waiting for the day you’d crack and see what she could do!” You exclaim. “Kriff, Rex.. She nearly broke my nose when she was a toddler because I told her she had to eat her vegetables! Or do you remember the time we took her to see Obi-Wan and Ahsoka on Coruscant and she yelled ‘’leave my dad alone you di’kuts’’ to a bunch of Jedi?!”

“Yeah-Yeah, I do.” He’d laughed at that when it happened and he’d laugh at it now.

Rex slings an arm over your shoulders as Echo and Cody exit the house beckoning you all for lunch before murmuring, “It’s good to be home.”

Your eyes flicker to the Skywalkers and to the clones who are all chattering along in a way that just feels so alive. So unlike any dream you’d ever had before the war ended, and it makes you realize that yeah... it is good to be home.

#Captain Rex x Reader #Rex x Reader #Star Wars oneshots #Star Wars imagines

816 notes · View notes