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inner-viper · 7 months

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Your first time with your FS (Detailed Ver)

Hello, I decided to do this reading because surprisingly I haven’t done a full version of it.

Pile 1

The Cosmic Slumber Tarot:

Five of Cups, King of Torches, Nine of Pentacles, The Magus, and Ten of Torches

Tarot of Sexual Magic:

The Empress, 8 of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Ace of Chalices, and 3 of Swords

This will happen when you are feeling sad, I feel like something upset you and you will want to feel comforted. Perhaps throughout the day, someone made a rude remark. For some who choose this pile, you are having a bad day. You will be focusing on the remark or the negativity. Sometimes you have tendencies to get into your head, and this is one of those days. No worries because you can always try your best to just be!

Now, your FS will want to cheer you up. They will notice that there is something off about you. I am getting this vibe that some of your FS was the one making the rude remark. Anyway, they will want to make up the day for you! They will take you out on a trip, shopping, eating, and strolling around. On this particular day, they are feeling horny, they will be in their sexual energy and will desire to be one with you.

So I see that people who choose this pile have a rich FS. They got their money up and their finances are taken care of, this means that they will take care of you. They will invite you to a fancy hotel with amazing views, or it could be their luxurious place. I see that they have set up the bed and would like to have things prepared for you, I see that you both did plan to have a date in mind! After a long non-sexual relationship, you both are ready to dive into a new experience together!

The sexual act will be fun, it will feel reliving. It’s like you both are finally reaching the highs that you wanted to with each other. I see that you both like to spend some time together reminiscing about your time spent together. It will be a cute moment, where you both will stare into each other and admire each other. Seeing through one another, walls being torn and your soul staring at the other present soul.

You both carry past burdens that may have been affecting your relationship, there will be a sense of wanting to liberate yourselves from setbacks. This is a beautiful transformation that will happen, you both will move on to the next chapter. It’s like a rite of passage, things are more serious and commitment is strong. Lust has been invoked in its purest form, a sinful desire lies awake. Ready to consume each other.

You will be dominant…

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Pile 2

TW: Degrading

The Cosmic Slumber Tarot:

Six of Torches, Eight of Swords, Six of Pentacles, Prince of Cups, and Prince of Pentacles

Tarot of Sexual Magic:

Temperance, 8 of Chalices, 5 of Swords, Knave of Swords, and 7 of Swords

You are someone who is popular, a person that is for the community. You represent something strong in other people’s lives, everyone who has chosen this pile has a heart of gold. Your general energy feels like someone who wants to help their community and build a safe space for everyone. Some people who have chosen this pile are famous, or very well-known in their communities!

Now, your FS knows that you are someone who is charismatic. You are charming and playful, someone who speaks well and knows where they are headed in life. I see that there will be a scenario that they will be jealous of you because of how attractive you are. There could be an instance of a person coming towards you and flirting with you. They may not be there at first and could be walking towards you and will get upset that someone is trying to steal you away from them.

Although, your intentions and actions mean well. In your perspective, it is your job to be charming. To be a little flirtatious and that doesn’t mean you want to leave your partner for someone else. Your partner may be sensitive at times because they are afraid of you leaving them for someone else. You will explain to them how you view this interaction and they will calm down.

You are beautiful and they know that your features and body are beautiful! You will playfully tease them after they cool down. Your attention will be back on them and you will focus on flirting with your partner. Making them feel special and having all the attention to themselves. This will eventually lead to an evening of passionate lustful sex. Your desires grow for each other, they will be feening to take control. Showing who is the one who “owns” you.

They can be quite selfish and over-possessive. This will be evident in the evenings that you both spend with each other. They can be childish at times, and they aren’t focused on the world around them. Although, they will be awakened to mark you up, to see you being “owned”, this manifests in their sexual desires and fantasies.

They will want to put their face in your butt…

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Pile 3

The Cosmic Slumber Tarot:

Princess of Swords, Eight of Cups, Temperance, Four of Cups, Eight of Torches

Tarot of Sexual Magic:

Knave of Chalices, 10 of Swords, 9 of Swords, 8 of Wands, and 3 of Chalices

This will happen when you are in a state of being strong, independent, and confident. You have this fearless energy around you, or you are perceived that way by many. Your FS thinks that you are someone who is strong and is always standing up for yourself. They will find it very attractive, it’s a quality that elevates your character.

There seem to be some challenges that you will face on that day, you both have spoken about wanting to drift your relationship into something more. You both will discuss things and mention how the current relationship doesn’t feel that “serious” despite the both of you being very serious and committed to each other. A venture into a new path, what lies ahead is a testament to your passionate love, lust, and emotions.

There will be some waiting period for this event to occur, you both will remain patient and may engage in phone sex. There will be risky messages sent, private photos, and videos. It’s erotic, also it seems like some of you are confident over the phone but in person. If that doesn’t resonate with you, then it could be your FS. There is attention to detail on their end, they will point out the things you mention when you both meet up.

However, someone here is shy and will want to initiate sex. There is an insecurity stemming from this person. They don’t feel confident enough to bring it up, and this could be your FS. You may be the one to lead because of their shy personality, but once they are in bed they aren’t shy anymore. It’s a very contrasting relationship but one that compliments each other.

The sexual act will be fast, there will be a climax reached in a short time. There does seem to be a focus on wanting to bring new experiences that can bring both of you closer. I see that you both will explore different kinks, positions, and locations. It is like a journey of sexual freedom, you both after this experience will feel comfortable sharing your specific likes and dislikes.

There will be an emotional bond that will develop..

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dhl-au · 9 months

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Master-post:

Main blog: @ark-fork Support me: [🔥Boosty] - requests ✅

This post is too big, so, just press <keep reading> button and enjoy! Old tags: The horror circus au, thc au

The Amusement park

Tutorial area: [Unlocked] The park [The park is full of attractions, abandoned a long time ago.] [The danger inside - Mannequins that can move if the lights are off. Happily that there's always bright.] The Circus tent [A dark circus tent that has no bright light inside.] [The danger inside - two clown puppets whom a tutorial encounters that Pomni uses to teach the player how to fight. A dark maze where Pomni plays hide and seek (under the tent)] Boss: Pomni [immortal]

Side chapter: The attractions area [there are many attractions, all of which are broken and not working, where you can see a lot of old mannequins.] [The danger inside - Mannequins, light cut off] The carousel [12 horses, mainly unicorns, pegasus, and common horses.] [The danger - these encounters can move and try to kill you if you come too close.] Boss: [̵͎̜͕̊ͅḐ̸̧̞̦̯͐Ĕ̷̪̘̑L̷̮̭͇̮̏̑̓̓ͅÊ̴̺͊͗̊͝ͅT̵̖̭͙̜͗͐́̕Ę̸̛͙͎͌̏͌͜D̴̢̨̢̬̚]̵̝̈́̉̀̕

Greek drama comedy pantheon

Chapter 1: [Unlocked] The pantheon [The giant ancient Greek pantheon that is based on Greek attributes like mazes with common myth encounters, traps, and puzzles.] [The danger inside - Minotaur, soldiers, dark in location] The Amphitheater [A large arena with a stage where operas were. Mostly destroyed.] [The danger inside - traps, gladiators, common myth encounters] Boss: Gangle

Dollhouse

Chapter 2: [Locked] The garden [The big garden with a dollhouse in the center, abandoned and broken giant villa with three floors. The garden is desolated and filled with dangerous encounters.] [The danger inside - Dolls, spiders.] The house [Giant villa, abandoned, broken, made in dark-colored wood and stone. ] [The danger inside - Dolls, bugs, traps, old floors.] Boss: Ragatha

Playground Meat Factory

Chapter 3: [Locked] The Factory [An abandoned meat factory for a long time, but with the mechanisms still working. There are many gigantic rooms here, which have complex mechanisms] [The danger inside - traps, puzzles, encounters "workers" and mechanisms] Boss: Zooble

Wonderland Nightmare-land

Chapter 4: [Locked] The forest [Huge forest full of mushroom trees, trees. Some of it can remind of human silhouettes.] [The danger inside Wild creatures (animals mostly), Card guards, flowers with faces, living trees.] Mini-boss: Cheshire cat The Madman's house [A small house in the shape of a hat is unremarkable at first glance. However, the inside of it is much larger and consists of long corridors with many doors. The location is full of scratches of nails, broken portraits, and furniture.] [The danger inside - Jax] Boss: Jax

Chess castle

Chapter 5: [Locked] The chess desk [A giant chessboard inside a majestic castle divided in half by two colors - old, slightly faded platinum and dark copper. There is weak lighting around the field from torches attached to holders.] [The danger inside - the chess. The Pale King] Boss: Kinger

[Locations gates] [The gate is giant and looks heavy because of the forged steel. Each gate has its unique tag belonging to one or another boss of the location behind these gates.] [Five gates in summary]

COMICS:

[redacted]

MASTER POST REF SHEETS:

Pre horror: [dont turm on the light!]

Game stuff: [cover]; [chapters menu]; [...] About: [DLC?]; [non canon DLC]; [winter DLC]; [...]

[Jax]

[Kinger]

[Queenie]

Post horror:

Size line: [additional]

3 | 6 Main Bosses

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc au #digital horror land au #dhl au #ps1 stuff of the digital horror land (dhl tadc)#game locations

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discordantwritings · 7 months

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The Sand Dragon and I Pt. 1 (Dragon! Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Part 1 / Part 2

Warnings: this chapter is SFW but the next one won’t be so still MDNI 18+, gn afab! Reader, Dragon Shifter! Sir Crocodile, the power dynamics are whack in this one not gonna lie, canon typical violence, Crocodile calls you pet

WC: 4.6k

Summary: You’re set to be sacrificed to the fearsome Dragon of the Sands as a tribute for your town. When you get down to the caves and get face to face with him however- you make a different choice.

Notes: this fic is for me ngl this is just me fully shoving my monsterfucking dragon loving desires onto sir crocodile and I hope other people like it

You knew long before your name was called that you were going to be the tribute to the sand dragon. No living family, you worked a non-essential job, healthy enough to make the journey to his cave- you checked all the sacrificial boxes. No one else seemed surprised either, very few people made the effort to even look sad for you. It was something that you were used to since you never made the effort to connect with anyone in your town.

You were independent- a symptom of your parents dying young and you having no family to take you in. No one else made the effort to help you, so you made no effort to help them whenever situations came up. You didn’t hate anyone, and no one hated you, but there was a large gap that you accepted a long time ago.

So when it was time to select a human tribute for the terrifying sand dragon that made his home in the caverns miles from your town- a ritual that happened once every 5 years to appease him on top of the annual gold tribute- everyone knew it was you. You had your bags packed at home already- not that you needed to pack much. The journey would take a day on horseback and as you strapped your bags to the horse’s saddle you couldn’t help but feel bad for her.

A sacrifice to be eaten, just like you.

A few people saw you off, mostly to be polite. A small token of appreciation to the person who was going to die so they could live worry free for another few years. It meant nothing to you.

The journey was painfully uneventful. Miles of sand dusting over craggy rocks with no other life in sight. You had hoped for something- anything- to keep your thoughts away from your impending doom but you never got that reprieve. So you stirred, and thought, and stewed until resentment and anger came bubbling up.

Why did you have to die? Just because your life sucked already? Because there was no one to stick up for you? Years of being alone suddenly tore through you- sadness hardening over into anger.

And then something else.

You don’t know what it is yet but it drives you to continue your journey until you reach the giant cavern opening jutting out of the dunes and rocks. You leave the horse at the entrance just underneath the lip of the cavern for some shade. Giving her your remaining water you leave her untied, hoping she’ll have a better chance than you.

It’s a long and dark journey down into the caverns below the desert, a single torch lighting your way. At first it was just rocks and sand lining the path down but soon it turned to bones and dented armor. You don’t look down for too long, knowing you’ll lose your nerve if you have to look at the discarded bodies knowing your skeleton might soon reside with them.

It takes you an hour, maybe, time is hard to gauge down here, to get to the first opening. Your torch lights only a fraction of the vast cavern but you quickly find you don’t need it- golden braziers line the stone walls and flicker with fire illuminating the space.

Initially you wonder if you were somehow transported somewhere else- because a place this nice existing in a deep underground cavern was vexing. The stone floor was covered in the most luxurious rugs you’ve ever seen. Deep reds, golds, and blacks overlap and you fight the urge to run your hands over the fabric. Mismatched furniture liters the space- all expensive in their own rights but seemingly misplaced as none of them are quite set up in a logical formation. A pleasant humidity hangs in the air and you look and see a small natural fountain in one of the far corners of the cave. On the opposite side of that there’s another tunnel that seems to continue down further into the earth.

What use does a dragon have for a living room?

“Seems like a little morsel has arrived at my doorstep.” A low voice echoes off the dark stone walls and practically shakes the ground you’re standing on. It’s hard to deny the deep instinct to run away- all of the cells in your body signal to you that this is a predator and you are prey.

From the far tunnel you hear the distinct sound of claws against stone and you know he’s coming. You hold your breath as a giant crocodile-esque head slides into view. If it wasn’t for the sheer size of this creature you think you could mistake him for a crocodile- the long flat snout and smooth scales resembling a mosaic across dark green skin. But the way the scales shine like emeralds flecked with gold set him apart. As his legs come into view your eyes are drawn to his front left leg. In contrast to the dark green of the rest of his body his front left leg from the elbow down was a bright shimmering gold. It almost seemed liquid the way it connected with his body but the way it landed with a hard thud with each step solidified its hardness. A deep gash ran across his snout, dull and long healed over. Bat like wings folded against his long body as he finally made the last few strides into the cavern with you.

It’s hard not to be in awe of a creature so terrifying yet stunning- fear overloading and loosing all meaning and giving way to appreciation. Colorless eyes lock in on you and his pupils contract into slivers. You truly and deeply feel like prey under his gaze.

“Your heart is beating so fast little tribute. Will you run? Will you fight? Or are you just going to stand there and let me eat you? I do love seeing how your little human brains scramble…” His maw opens and you see large, shining teeth- each probably as big as you. You’re not sure if a dragon can smile but you get the impression from his voice that he is, there must be something deeply amusing to him to see you falter under his gaze.

You don’t know what comes over you. That emotion that had puzzled you for the last day now rips up and into your throat, saying works your brain hasn’t even processed.

“What if I can make myself useful to you.”

Defiance.

That catches him off guard, his large head tilting slightly. He’s only confused for a second before he chuckles, a deep sound that shakes your ribcage. “Well this is new. And what do you think you could possibly do for me?”

And now your brain has caught up, desperately searching for good answers. “I can cook, I can clean, I can organize- I’m sure a dragon as important as yourself has much better things to do than worry about the day to day.”

There’s a painful silence as the dragon mauls over your answer, terrifying eyes dragging over your form. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded.

“I have to admit, it is an interesting proposition.” He steps closer and lowers his head to the ground, jaws only a few feet from you. “It wouldn’t be a good life, serving under me.”

“It would be a life.”

“I guess it would.” You feel the heat of his breath wash over you. “If you ever underperform I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“I understand.”

“And you will do whatever I ask?”

“I will.”

“Then we have a deal.”

You feel like you’ve just sold your soul to the devil. In a way, you probably have. But you don’t feel bad about it at all.

His head swings up and away from you, standing up and nearly scraping the ceiling. “You’ll stay in here until I clear out a space for you. I’ll lay out where you can and cannot go and what your daily routine should be.”

You nod, knowing he probably doesn’t need to hear much more from you.

“Get some rest. I’ll start working you to the bone tomorrow.”

And with that he leaves you, thundering steps disappearing into the depths of the further tunnels. When you can no longer hear and feel the steps you collapse to the ground, exhausted from bargaining for your life. Every muscle in your body had been tensed and you work your way through your body, individually willing your body to relax.

This was your life now. You needed to get used to this fucked up situation very fast.

Gathering yourself you find the largest couch and drag it over by the fountain and begin putting together your makeshift bed. It was surprisingly comfortable and the sound of running water did a lot to block out your worst thoughts.

You shut your eyes and before you know it a sleep of sheer exhaustion catches you, dragging you down into unconsciousness.

You’re not sure how much sleep you got, there was no way to tell the time this deep underground. But you feel as rested as you probably could get under the circumstances and quickly move the couch back to where you found it before the dragon could come and see you’ve disturbed his room. Piling your stuff neatly behind a rock on along the wall of the cavern you wait for your instructions.

You pace the heavily rugged floor trying to keep an ear out for the distinctive sound of a dragon approaching. You don’t have to wait too long for some noise- but it’s not what you expect. You hear regular human foot steps echo through the far tunnel- are you not the only human here? Did someone sneak past you in the middle of the night? All your questions are stopped in their tracks when a man walks out of the tunnel.

Well, not quite a man.

He’s mostly human, standing on two legs with tanned skin and slicked back black hair. Dressed in an immaculate suit with a fur lined cloak covering his broad shoulders. But of course- there were the other features. You first notice his hands- one covered in green scales and ending in sharp claws, the other a molten gold molded into similar claws. His ears are longer and more pointed than a humans and across his face is a long dark scar. And of course you can’t miss the thick crocodile tail dragging behind him, the same deep emerald green scales of the dragon you faced yesterday.

As he walks closer you notice that he’s still so much bigger than you- towering over your form by three feet or more. His eyes had the same reptilian slit to them as he looked you up and down.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d think you’d be remiss not to call him handsome. But the fear for your life drowns out most of those traitorous thoughts.

“Surprised to see you didn’t try and scamper off during the night.” His voice, while certainly not as loud, still resonates deep in your chest as it echoes off the tall stone walls of the cavern.

“I made a deal, I intend to see it through.” You make the choice not to look him in the eyes out of fear of disrespecting him.

“Good to see you have some sense. Here.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a rolled up piece of paper. You take it and unfold it and see a map. “This is your map of my lair. I’ve labeled the caverns you can go in and which ones you can’t. You step a single foot into somewhere you’re not supposed to be- I’ll kill you.”

“Understood.” You reply, looking over the map. You knew this place had to be massive but looking over the paper in your hand it was so much vaster than you imagined. Dozens of caves and tunnels interlinking, going over and under each other. It made your head swim.

“I’ll guide you to the important rooms so you don’t get lost. But after that I expect you to be able to navigate on your own.” He starts walking and you follow close behind as you try and track where you’re going on the map.

You travel down deep, following him as he quickly navigates the tunnels. Thankfully everything is lit by the same type of flaming braziers that are in the large entrance cavern.

“You don’t need to worry about preparing food for me- I only eat every few months and I eat more than you could possibly physically handle. You’re here to keep my lair neat and organized. Initial cleaning of the caverns I indicate and then if you do a good job- and only if- you can begin cataloguing my hoard.” He doesn’t make any effort to speak directly to you or to make sure you’re matching his pace.

“Yes my… lord?” It comes off more of a question as you quickly realize you have no idea what to refer to him as.

He stops in his tracks so abruptly you almost collide with his tail, but thankfully you’re able to stop just short. “This is the dry food storage, silly human foods that they leave as tribute. Should be enough for you to live on.”

You peek in, expecting a sparse and dingy space but are pleasantly surprised when you see all manner of foods. Beans, grains, dried fruits, spices, and probably more in the dark wooden cabinets and shelves. You only have that brief moment before he is walking off again and you hastily follow.

“Sir Crocodile. That’s the best name you humans have given me, so you can refer to me as such. My true name is unpronounceable for human forms.”

You nod, not like he can see you but better safe than sorry. Only a few tunnels later he stops again and points to the smallest cavern yet. It’s not actually small by most definitions of the word but as you gaze in you might actually call it cozy.

There’s a mismatch of elegant furniture piled in there- a dresser, a cabinet, a large bed, and rugs covering the stone floor. The bed is unmade but linens sit on top of it and even from this distance you know they are higher quality than you have ever even seen.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping and existing when not performing your duties. I don’t want you out wandering when I haven’t assigned you something.” And then he’s back to walking. You were expecting to just be thrown in a bare room but seemingly he put forth some effort… you’re not sure what to think about that.

The next stretch of your journey is long and you purposefully make sure your eyes don’t wander into any caverns you’re not stopping at. You focus on tracing your path, finger dragging along the rough paper of the map as you go.

“This is the last cave you’ll be allowed in until you prove yourself trustworthy.” He stops and finally fully turns around to face you. “This is my surplus- the stuff left to me that I deemed not worthy of my hoard. It’s been sitting and collecting dust for too long. I need to know what exactly is here and if I should keep it in storage or dispose of it. After you’re done cleaning the previous spaces and the tunnels between you can get to work on organizing and cataloging everything in here.”

To call this place a mess would be kind. Layers of junk and books haphazardly thrown into a cave that you honestly can’t tell the size of. There’s only room to get maybe five feet through the entrance before the wall of stuff is piled nearly as high as the ceiling. And on top of everything is a thick layer of dust and dirt. This might take your lifetime to sort through.

You turn your glance back to Sir Crocodile and realize he’s been carefully watching you this whole time, sharp gaze dragging over your body. Suddenly it’s ten degrees hotter in the tunnel and you force your eyes back to the ground. Did he purposefully make his human form attractive or was that just the default? And why did you even find the creature that could kill you without a second thought attractive. Stupid stupid base instincts.

“I suggest you clean the tunnels first so you learn your way. Then the entrance, food storage, and lastly here. You clean your room on your own time. I expect you to work at least eight hours a day- keep track with this.” That golden clawed hand extends out and you see a pocket watch settled in his palm. You reach out and take it, fingertips gliding over the cold metal of his hand.

“Thank you sir.” Pressing the small button on the top you find out what time it is- just before noon.

“Do your best not to make too much noise. If there is something so completely wrong you cannot deal with yourself just yell. I will hear. Just like I will hear if you try to leave, understood?”

“Yes.” Silence hangs awkwardly in the air and you look upward for a second to see him glaring down at you.

“Yes sir.” You correct, and his face returns to neutral.

“Alright, don’t make yourself too comfortable. I’ll check back soon.” And with that he turns and walks away, down a tunnel that you don’t have permission to tread into.

You let out a long breath, taking in all of the information he’s just given you. Using your map you (slowly) make your way back up through the tunnels to where you started. As you passed by the few spaces you were allowed in you couldn’t help but think about how much better this whole situation was than you expected.

Sure, scrubbing rock for weeks wouldn’t be fun but you expected much worse like cleaning his scales or butchering meals. You even had a space of your own that rivaled your room back home. Of course there’s no sunlight and you have the hanging threat of being eaten alive but you can’t help but feel a weird sense of relief. It’s not like you have anyone that you miss or responsibilities that you’ve left behind. This was just the newest (and incredibly bizarre) chapter in your life.

Well.

Time to get cleaning.

It takes you two weeks to clean the entrance, food storage, and the tunnels connecting them all. You worked more than your mandatory hours- what else were you going to do anyways, stare at stone walls? The work wasn’t fun by any means, dragging water to and from the fountain in the entrance cave was a serious workout, but there was something fulfilling once you were completely done with a space.

The entrance was the easiest given the water source was right there. You had taken one of the worse looking rugs and ripped it up to use as you cloths figuring you shouldn’t pester Sir Crocodile for cleaning supplies when you could figure out something on your own. Once everything had been as cleared of sand and dust as it could get you got to organize out the room- something actually a little fun.

You matched together furniture and set it up perfectly for gatherings. Not like there was actually ever going to be a gathering but at least your arrangement will never be messed up. You made sure to leave ample room for a dragon sized being to make it from the far tunnel to the exit- he probably leaves at some point.

The food storage wasn’t that bad either. You worked your way through it in between cleaning the entry cave and the tunnels, mostly when it was time to eat. There was a huge variety of food, most expensive and long lasting. It made sense, given that it was meant for Sir Crocodile and that no one would offer him anything less than their best for fear of being eaten. You were eating better than you had been in a while.

Throwing yourself into the work you could nearly forget why you were here in the first place. You hadn’t seen Sir Crocodile since he gave you that initial tour- you hadn’t even heard or felt movement deeper in the tunnels. Despite having no signs of him you could still feel his presence somehow. Every time you turned around you expected to see him standing there, judging you. But he never was. Maybe it was a sign you were doing a good enough job but you had no confidence in that.

No matter if your job was up to the correct standards or not you were onto your final task- cleaning and organizing the overstock. Far away the most daunting task. You have your bucket and cloths but honestly you have no idea where to start.

“From the top.” That deep voice comes from right behind you and the yelp that leaves you as you jump is mortifying.

You whip around and see Sir Crocodile in his humanoid form, clearly pleased with the reaction he got from you. He’s got a nasty grin, showing that his teeth are just as sharp as they are in his draconic form.

“I’m sorry sir?” You do your best to return your heart rate to its normal rhythm as you straighten yourself out.

“You were trying to figure out how to start here. From the top. Taking anything from the base even if it seems loose might cause the whole pile to collapse and crush you to death.” There’s a few terrifying seconds where you think he can read your mind but you shove that away- it was probably incredibly obvious how lost you were.

“Thank you sir.” It was probably simple advice but getting a clear starting point was relieving.

“Of course, I couldn’t have my new pet getting killed after they’ve done some decent work.”

Your brain struggles to process that statement, a weird mix of emotions swirling in your stomach at his words. You shove it all down for now- you can parse through that later.

“I’m glad my work is up to your standards sir. Was there something you needed?” Your hands grip your water bucket tight as his gaze bores into you.

“I’m just making sure that you are still aware of my presence. For a human though, you do seem pretty competent. You haven’t even tried to run away once.” He steps closer to you, invading your space. “Why is that?”

“I-“ You suck in a breath as you try and fight the urge to cower. “I have nothing to go back to.”

His pupils are narrow slits as they rake over your face for a few painfully silent moments. He then straightens up, barely exiting your personal space. “Interesting.”

He turns and slowly walks away, a clawed hand waving in the air. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

You finally exhale when he leaves the space, able to relax just a bit. Shoving down all your thoughts for now you focus on cleaning in a way that doesn’t destabilize the pile and crush you. It works for a while as a distraction but you slowly lose your focus and need to stop for the day.

It wasn’t until you were tucked in bed that you allowed your emotions to surface.

“I couldn’t have my new pet getting killed after they’ve done some decent work.”

It should disgust you to be called a pet. It should be dehumanizing and humiliating to have someone else look at you and see you as something so small, something they own. You search and hope that’s what’s churning deep in your stomach.

It’s not.

A shameful realization washes over you as the words repeat in your head, that low, terrifying voice somehow praising you while putting you down. You weren’t disgusted.

Heat pools in the pit of your body, a sick reaction you couldn’t will away.

You loved when he called you his pet.

You were fucked.

For the next few weeks your work slowed considerably. Not because you were less motivated- but because the overstock room had so many wonderful things. Sure there was a fair share of junk- broken porcelain dishes, rotting wooden statues, things that are so beaten you can’t even hope to identify. But the things that aren’t junk are fascinating.

You find trinkets and toys that spin and dance in ways you can’t figure out. Jewelry that despite being dusty, rusted, or dented was still gorgeous. Hand woven blankets and rugs that you could see the time and energy put in despite the holes and fraying edges. And then there were the books.

Most were non-fiction and on topics you could have only ever hoped to have learned about. From science to history to mathematics and everything in between every single page was fascinating. Every day you collected all the new books you would find and saved them for yourself later.

You’ve made yourself a reading corner in that cavern- cast off rugs and blankets folded and placed over the stone so you can sit somewhat comfortably. You fall back to only working your exact hours so you can spend the rest of your time reading. Pages old and new fill your head and you can only wonder that if these were the books dismissed by the sand dragon- what books lay in his true hoard?

“And what are you doing?” How someone so large continues to sneak up on you you’ll never understand.

You jump up, fear gripping your chest as he catches you decidedly not working. His face is decidedly unamused and you think that maybe you’ve really fucked up.

“I-“ For a second you debate lying, debate saying that you were thumbing through the pages to properly organize the book. But you aren’t the best liar- certainly not in the face of someone so terrifying. “I’m spending my off time reading through some of your books sir. I figured asking if I could read through some of your spare books was a question I shouldn’t have bothered you with.”

“Smart move pet.” Your body relaxes slightly, having made the right move. “What are you reading?”

That question catches you off guard, not expecting him to care. “Oh, this is a book on astronomy.”

“And is that interesting to you?” You can’t tell if it’s just his natural tone that makes it sound almost like an accusation or if he’s judging you.

“It’s something I never had the chance to learn about before so I decided to take the opportunity to educate myself.”

Crocodile nods, seemingly pleased with your answer. “A good use of your spare time. Just don’t get carried away.”

“Yes, of course sir.”

And like that he’s gone again. The conversation lingers in your mind until the next day when you come back to the cavern to see a plush chair situated where your rugs had been set up.

You can’t stop yourself from flushing as you look over your gift. You try not to let your thoughts and emotions get away from you, there was probably a banal reason he put a chair in here for you. I mean, sitting on the floor was probably bad for your back and if it was bad for your back then your work could be impacted.

It’s that and not that he might care about you.

No matter what, reading is a lot nicer when you’re not sitting on a stone floor.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #discordantwritings #x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #dragon x reader

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physalian · 3 months

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Juggling Multiple POVS (Writing Like A Movie)

At one point in a WIP, I had one character being held captive, two characters on a quest to bust them out, two characters racing to join the jailbreakers, four with no idea any of this is going on because they think they’re all dead, and then of those four, two split off on a side quest, and the remaining two also split off on various other tasks.

If you’re keeping track, that meant I had a book rotating between 6 different subplots and about 9 POVS at the absolute worst, and then about 4 subplots once characters finally reunited with each other.

It was… a lot.

Now this was never published so I don’t know how well it would have been received but it was a sequel and its predecessors received good feedback so I think I know what I’m doing.

—

When you’re committing to a book with Multiple POV, you’ve generally got two roads you can go down: predetermined narrators or ~cinematic~.

You can select a set number of characters to narrate regardless of how many exist in your ensemble cast, and no matter how many split off on their own subplots, those predetermined narrators will be keeping up with the story. These types of books tend to have shorter chapters and single narrators for chunks of chapters at a time with no cutting in between and fairly long breaks in between a character’s chunks of POV. Or, they have entire sections of book dedicated to them with clear markers between POVS.

The easy example here is Heroes of Olympus that I believe had up to 4 narrators per book despite a main cast of about 8 characters depending on the book. The first two were 3-POV, for each of the 3 questers, and then once the whole party was together the POVS were determined by who split off into which groups. Rather infamously, in my opinion, the last book of the series did not give a POV to the two legacy characters and the former protagonist of the first series, which was… a choice. I think the point was that Riordan gave them their spotlight in book 4 and was passing the torch to the new batch for book 5, but for many of us, who had no idea we’d never get a POV of these two again, it was mighty disappointing.

These books also had no chapter titles and instead had banner-style chapters where you had NICO or PIPER in massive banners over the start of each chapter, which was also a choice as going without chapter titles (or even numbers, they’re in roman numerals) makes it a lot harder to search things up in books 500+ pages long.

Who narrates when is less determined by who the most important character of the chapter is, for the most part. It might be Hazel’s moment, but she’s not a narrator of this book, so it’s in Piper POV (or Nico’s forced coming out moment in Jason POV which I will never forgive Riordan for). It’s just a dice roll of whoever it lands on which can lead to some moments, like the Nico incident, that really should have been in Nico POV, but the structure of the story demanded otherwise.

I don’t really love this style of multiple POV. Personally, I think it’s rather inflexible and doesn’t take full advantage of what MPOV can do. But that’s personal opinion so here’s some strengths:

It doesn’t jump around as much and with a minimal set of narrators, it’s more streamlined. You know what to expect going in with no surprises

It forces the author to get creative within the bounds of the POV they’re stuck in

The extra time with a single narrator can be a solid guide rail through a complicated plot piece

—

Or, you can write a more ~cinematic~ MPOV. I don’t know the proper term for this, if it exists, but this style of MPOV is when you basically free-for-all. Anyone can narrate whenever the scene demands and this either grants you a book with short chapters, but one narrator per short chapter, or multiple narrators within a single chapter, as you’d film a movie or an episode of TV with multiple perspectives per set piece.

This isn’t a random grab-bag of narrators. It demands a lot of restraint. This kind of MPOV is entirely based on who is the most important character of the scene, or who’s POV would be the most interesting to view the scene through.

ENNS is written in cinematic MPOV, with a far smaller rotating cast than the WIP I mentioned at the top of this post. It starts out slow with the protagonist for the first two chapters as the only narrator, then mid-chapter 3, I give a cue that he’s going to be unable to narrate the next bit, and I switch to my deuteragonist. I don’t give banner headings. I don’t give my characters entire chapters because the POV structure demands it. I just start whichever POV with the narrator’s name within the first 1-3 sentences. If that means one character has an entire chapter to themselves, then at this point in the story, their arc is the most important thing to be focusing on.

In the WIP at the top of the post, it was book 3 of a series which gave me some freedom. Namely that most of those 9 POVs were established characters you’d already be familiar with. I wasn’t throwing my audience into the deep end with 9 strangers and demanding they try to keep up with 6 subplots of equally confusing and unknown characters.

Cinematic MPOV should rely less on “who hasn’t narrated in a while let’s give it to them” and more “who would be the most interesting narrator for this moment”. You could have a villain POV, a one-off that might never narrate again, or a tertiary character who isn’t doing the most action in the scene, but has the richest commentary on what’s going on.

It does demand restraint. If anyone can pick up the narrator hat, then you could find yourself splitting off into unnecessary subplots. Not every piece of the story must be told and letting readers imagine what’s going on behind closed doors is sometimes better than detailing it all out. I could give a captive or missing character some POVS, or I could let the audience anxiously stew with the rest of the cast wondering if they’re even still alive.

In some books I’ve read, the deliberate choice to not let readers see into the mind of a character as they make important decisions, left on the outs with their friend or lover or relative, is maddeningly entertaining. They won’t explain themselves to the people who care about them, and they won’t explain themselves to the audience, either.

Or, you can let a side character have the spotlight for a scene or two as we see our favorites through their eyes, possibly in a way they’ve never been depicted before. A’s lover B might describe them as strong and brash. A’s old rival C might describe those same actions completely differently.

—

In terms of who narrates when, like the 9-POV monster I had going, I had key moments of every POV that had to hit the book's physical layout at specific times. Like episodes of TV, I needed certain scenes and moments and reveals to fit within specific chapters, not dangling off on either end.

I had to remember the time scale that all of this was happening on so every scene that was meant to happen simultaneously actually read like it was all going on at once. I had some chapters with the “A” group of narrators, then skipped them for a chapter for the “B” group of narrators for their scenes. Keeping the pacing as frenetic as it needed to be wasn’t easy, but if you can pull it off, I think it can be quite entertaining.

Some things to keep in mind with MPOV:

Don’t retread the same scenes or conversations. I read a fanfic a very long time ago that had I think 10 different takes on one character’s death with the dialogue copy-pasted over and over again and it was exhausting. If you want to have a character reflect on a previous scene, pull the specific lines as they remember them.

Unless messing up the timeline is the point of the story or you make it very clear that a scene happens before the present, don’t let POVs muck up the continuity. If plot happens on a Wednesday and the next scene is more important plot that happens that previous Tuesday, you might confuse your readers on when everything is meant to be happening.

Sometimes not knowing is better. Prequels tend to fail because whatever fans imagined happening is way better than what the writers explicitly show happening. Practice restraint.

Unless your story is paced very slowly, try not to have POVS butt up right against each other every time. In an action set piece, everything happens in sequence with zero black space between them. But a whole book with zero room to breathe can get tiring to read. Books with a single narrator have scene breaks and mini time skips, not every single part of your characters’ day has to be detailed.

If you don’t have banners, make it clear as quickly as possible who the new narrator is. Eventually, if your narration is distinct enough for each character, you can go a paragraph or two and your audience will know who it is anyway just based on how they think.

If these are all unknown characters, try to hop around minimally at first until you establish a clear protagonist, otherwise your readers might get lost on who the focus of the story is meant to be and lose which character is doing or thinking what.

*ETA: I forgot: typically with multiple narrators for a single “group”, like two characters stuck on a side quest together, I try to flip-flop their POVS. For example, if I have D and E with a whole chapter to themselves, the POV structure would go D E D E. To my eyes, it looks better, as they have equal share of the action. I try very hard to not let any one narrator have back-to-back POVS unless the narrative demands otherwise. But that’s just me.

—

This is personal opinion on what I think works. If you’re struggling on maintaining pacing or clarity with your ensemble cast, consider the above points. Hope this helps!

#writing #writing advice #writing resources #writing a book #writing tips #writing tools #writeblr #book formatting #pov #multiple pov #story structure

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hesbuckcompton-baby · 8 months

Text

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 1

AO3

Summary: As Frankie reaches the end of her second week at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield, she begins to find her footing among the men of the 100th Bomb Group

Warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption, language

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee

The setting sun cast a golden blanket over Thorpe Abbotts airfield, basking everything in an idyllic, orange glow that was almost beautiful enough to distract from the heady stench of motor oil that lay thick on the air, permeating hair and clothes so thoroughly that anyone who spent even five minutes in the place would carry it with them for the rest of the day.

Frankie Bevan clamped a flashlight tight between her teeth, the narrow beam of light illuminating the underside of the B-17's gun turret as she surveyed it for any cracks or gaps in the glass that could compromise its integrity. The rest of the ground crew had called it a day almost two hours ago, but the Yanks always did prefer to work in the daylight. She was nearing the end of her third year in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, and after so many nights spent running the airstrips in the darkness for the RAF, Frankie was well accustomed to toiling away into the night.

Thorpe Abbotts was new, and yet much the same. It was only her second week here, compensating for the Americans' manpower shortages. The job was always the same, no matter where she went or what planes she worked on - checks, fixes, refuelling, over and over again - but thus was the nature of a mechanic's job. What she was not yet quite used to was the Americans themselves. Loud and brash and self-assured, Frankie was sometimes glad they worked different hours.

Taking note of a few cracks in the glass panelling, she reached up to swipe the torch from her mouth, offering a satisfied nod as she completed her checks for the night. All that was left was to pin her list of concerns up on the board inside the mechanics' Nissen hut, and then it was off to the pub for her.

Once she changed out of her oil-stained coveralls, that was.

"They're working you like a dog down there on the strip," Georgina, one of Frankie's bunkmates, pointed out, flipping nonchalantly through a magazine as she lounged on her bed.

"Someone's gotta do it," She shrugged, kicking off her coveralls as she rummaged in the shared wardrobe for the correct service uniform. "Some of the mechanics they've brought over are practically kids, not sure I'd trust 'em to fix my plane if I was going up there."

"You'd better show 'em what for, then," George smiled, glancing over as Frankie finished buttoning up her blouse, reaching for the navy blue jacket.

"You coming for drinks?"

"Uh, nah - I'll go tomorrow. Sandra thinks we'll be starting early tomorrow so I wanna get a decent night's sleep."

"Ooh, luxury," Frankie teased, shimmying her shoulders as she made her way to the door of the hut. "Alright, see you later."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The pub was crammed from door to door as she forced her way inside, the sound of chattering overpowering the music blaring from a radio in the corner. The American invasion of Thorpe Abbotts had well and truly been successful, scarcely a flash of RAF blue visible amongst the sea of khaki as Frankie burrowed her way through the crowds towards the bar.

"Pint of Guinness, please," She called over the din, the bartender offering a friendly nod of affirmation as she felt the crowd behind her push her body further into the edge of the bar.

"There y'are, love," The man nodded, placing the pint glass in front of her as she smiled her thanks, foam lining her top lip as she took her first sip. Frankie barely had time to wipe it away, turning to take a step back from the bar, before another body collided with hers. She gasped as the beer she had so looked forward to sloshed over the rim of the glass, pooling on the floor and staining the front of her uniform, as the other man's drink did the same.

"Woah, careful there!" The man cried, flicking a few stray droplets of spilt beer from his hand onto the floor. A deep frown creased her features as she peered up at him. The soldier was so tall that the tip of her head didn't quite pass his shoulder, and yet the irritation in her expression was so palpable that he took a full step back.

"Oh, that was my fault, was it?" Frankie tutted.

"Well, sweetheart, maybe if you'd been looking where you were going-"

"Maybe if you bloody Yanks gave us some room to breathe in here we wouldn't have a problem!"

There was an easy smile on the man's face that struck her as distinctly annoying. Discarding his now almost empty glass on the bar, the man put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Look. We're not gonna agree on this, so what d'ya say we settle this with a little friendly competition?"

She raised a brow. "What sort of competition?"

"Uh... how 'bout a drinking contest?"

Frankie let out a guffaw so forceful that the man's confident smile disappeared, and a few nearby airmen turned to watch the scene unfold. "Y'know what? Yeah. You're on."

With a nod, he turned away, marching towards the closest table. "Alright boys, gimme some space, I got a contest to win against half-pint over here."

She approached the table, sitting down opposite the soldier, smirking at his arrogance. The airmen he had kicked out of their seats were lingering to watch the spectacle unfold, and it was clear their bets were on her opponent.

"Now," He sighed, taking a seat. "In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I oughta introduce myself. John Egan," He said, reaching a hand across the table.

"Frances Bevan. Frankie," She nodded, shaking his hand.

Egan nodded. "So, normal rules apply. No spilling, no vomiting, gotta drain the glass. Still wanna do this?"

Frankie nodded firmly. "I'd never pass up such a wonderful opportunity to humble you Yanks," She grinned.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Egan was turning red, his smug smile long since vanished, the motion of his arm slowing as he reached for the next shot glass, glancing across at her with a slightly nauseated expression. The crowd surrounding them had long since grown since they had begun, although how long ago that was she couldn't quite remember. The huge pile of empty shot glasses in the centre of the table did nothing to jog her memory.

"Oh, come on, Egan, you've gotta do better than that," Frankie teased, reaching forward and downing her next shot. In fairness, she too was beginning to feel light-headed, but it never showed on her face, her demeanour as cool and collected as it had been when she first sat down.

"I thought... I thought this would be easy," John complained, grimacing as he brought the next glass to his lips. "You're so small, where are you storing all this liquor?"

"I'm British - pretty sure it's in our bloodstream," She teased. Egan's eyes narrowed as he weakly upturned the contents of his glass into his mouth, screwing up his face as the liquid ran down his throat.

"I really like her," John admitted, letting out a long sigh as he drew a hand over his eyes. A few of the airmen laughed, clapping him over the shoulders.

"I think we're done here," Frankie chuckled.

"You forfeit?" He asked hopefully.

"No, I'm saying you're about to. That or you're gonna throw up - either way, I win."

"Nuh-uh," Egan shook his head. "Not gonna happen," He fought to suppress a burp, and the room seemed to brace itself for the inevitable vomit that would follow, letting out a collective sigh of relief when he swallowed his nausea back down. "...Yeah. Ok."

She clapped, throwing up her hands in victory as a couple of the men standing behind her cheered. "Well, it's been a real pleasure doing business with you Major," Frankie chuckled, fighting through the splitting headache that was growing in her temples as she rose from her seat, offering him a hand to help him stand.

John batted her away, but stumbled as he got up, one of his friends pressing a firm hand on his back to keep him upright. She smiled. "I'll help you get him back since it's my fault. Gotta get back to the huts anyway."

The airman accepted, each of them slinging one of Egan's arms around their shoulders as he tilted haphazardly over to one side, struggling to prop himself up against her due to her height. Trailing towards the door, a few of the men let out celebratory whoops at her as she passed, praising her victory.

"Thanks for the night, gents - I'm here all war," Frankie called over her shoulders, a cheer erupting from the crowd as they dragged Egan sideways out of the door.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was growing difficult to see as they marched John back to the huts, the street lights growing more and more sparse the closer they got to the airfield. "You gotta teach me how to do that," He slurred, tilting his head down towards her, the smell of liquor thick on his breath.

"You gotta get more practice in - you Americans with your 'no alcohol until you're 21' rule never stood a chance, we've just been in the game longer."

"Ah," He nodded, pausing for a moment. "Hey, why'd you call yourself Frankie?"

"Because Frances is a terrible name," She scoffed.

"Can I call you Fran?"

"Only if you want to die."

"Fair enough."

As they reached the end of the row of men's huts, she shrugged his arm off of her shoulders, relinquishing custody of John to the other airman, who thanked her for her help.

"See ya 'round, Shortcake!" Egan called as they trailed away, grinning proudly to himself at the nickname. Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes and massaging her temples as her headache steadily worsened.

"You look like shit," George whispered as she wandered back into their hut. She had rolled her hair up into pin curls, protected beneath a headscarf, and was reading a copy of Wuthering Heights in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

"Got into a drinking contest with one of the Americans," She shrugged, tossing her beer-stained blouse and jacket into a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed, a reminder to wash them tomorrow.

"Did you win?"

"Of course."

"Shh!" One of the other women hissed from the opposite end of the room, shrouded in the darkness. Frankie pulled a face at her scolding, dragging a brush through the knots in her dark brown hair as George stifled a laugh, discarding her book and turning off the light once her friend had changed and gotten into bed.

It was silent for a while as she lay beneath the blankets, staring up at what would have been the ceiling if not for the complete absence of light. Her alcohol-induced headache thrummed behind her eyes, a constant, dull pain keeping her from sleep.

"George?" She whispered.

"What?"

"Do you have an aspirin?"

The sound of quiet rummaging was audible in the stillness of the hut, and she struggled to suppress a laugh as she felt the tube smack her in the face, a result of Georgina tossing it blindly in the darkness.

"Thank you," She giggled, trying not to gag as she took the pills dry, lying back and waiting for the pain to subside as she thought back on the night's events.

I'm not that short.

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The blinding morning sun was unwelcome the next day as Frankie made her way to the airfield from her hut, bike resting against her hip as she made a momentary stop to fix her hair for the day ahead, hair tie held between her teeth as she scooped it into a ponytail. Most of the women she shared the Nissen hut with had left over an hour ago, hurrying to the flight tower in anticipation of the arrival of yet more American pilots, but her job didn't begin until after the planes landed, so fortunately for her, she had been afforded a little more sleep, her headache now more or less dissipated.

A loud honking startled her, the hair tie slipping from her teeth and falling to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, a jeep rolled to a stop in front of her, the horn parping once more.

"Fuck's sake, what?" Frankie muttered, glancing up to see the cheery grin of Major John Egan smiling down at her.

"Mornin'."

"Are you even fit to drive after last night?"

"Fifty-fifty. Hop in, throw your bike in the back."

She frowned as she noticed the pile of bikes already forming in the back of the car, but stacked her on top all the same, sliding into the passenger seat beside him. "Starting a collection?"

"Won them in a bet, night before last. Got one for me and my buddy Buck, he's arriving today."

"Is that Major Cleven?" She asked.

"Sure is," John nodded as the engine roared to life, taking them sailing along the road towards the airstrip, the wind ruining her hair before she even had a chance to finish it.

"So..." He began, swerving slightly to dodge a few maintenance workers on bikes. "Where ya from, Frankie?"

"Stratford."

"I... do not know where that is."

"I didn't expect you to," She chuckled. "Grew up with my dad working his garage, that's what got me into it. Always preferred planes to cars, though."

"You and me both," John nodded, slowing as they neared the landing strip. Up ahead, the flight crew were beginning to disembark, and Frankie's eyes narrowed as she noticed one of the airmen carrying a large dog.

"If they let that dog shit in the plane, I'm not cleaning it up," She stated. "You've heard me say it, that's on the record now."

"Yes ma'am," Egan affirmed, pulling to a stop, a grin spreading across his face as he got close enough to recognise his friends.

As he clambered out of the car, stepping forward to greet his comrades, she climbed out of her seat, wandering around the back of the jeep to disentangle her bike from the pile, tugging it free as the sounds of wind and aeroplane engines overpowered the men's voices.

"Oh, and, uh - This is Frankie Bevan," John called, guiding Cleven towards her, speaking louder so that she could hear. She raised her hand in a somewhat awkward wave, almost dropping her bike on her foot as she hauled it off the back of the jeep. "Best damn mechanic we've got, she's holdin' us together, that's for sure."

"Ma'am," Cleven greeted her with a tilt of his cap.

"He's never seen me work," Frankie shook her head, stepping forward to shake Cleven's hand. "We only met yesterday, he's just being nice in the hopes I won't tell you about how I drank him under the table last night."

John scoffed. "That is not what-" She raised a brow and he stuttered. "Yeah, that - that did happen."

Cleven laughed, squeezing Egan's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure glad he's had someone to keep him humble before I got here. Thank you for your work, ma'am, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."

She nodded, grinning at Egan's embarrassment. "How was your flight?"

"Smooth sailin', not sure there'll be anything to fix up this time."

A soldier she had heard John greet as Demarco spoke up from where he was stood, scratching his dog's stomach. "The dog dropped a deuce in the cockpit."

Clicking her fingers, she pointed to Egan. "She's not doing that!" He called, craning his head over his shoulder as Demarco put his hands up in surrender.

"Well, that works wonders," Frankie chuckled, lifting her leg to straddle the seat of her bike. "Now, if all you gents have planned is standing around, I've got work to do."

"Bye Shortcake," John grinned as she pedalled the bicycle into motion, ringing the bell and offering up a middle finger as she left. He chuckled, feeling Cleven clap him over the shoulder again.

"She's interesting... nice," His friend began. "Bucky, I know you're sick of Marge tryna set you up, but she is definitely-"

"She's definitely my friend, Buck. Besides, I could never date a woman with a higher alcohol tolerance than me. That's just embarrassing."

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The wind whipped her hair this way and that as Frankie hammered at the pedals, gaining speed faster and faster with each second until the rolling fields beyond the airstrip were little more than a green blur. She'd always loved to cycle, preferably as fast as she possibly could. Her father used to say she should try racing, but his ambition curtailed rather when she got in trouble for almost taking out a couple of tourists outside Shakespeare's birthplace on her way home from school. Besides, she'd never quite had the discipline for sports.

Her breaks squeaked noisily as she rolled to a stop outside the mechanics' Nissen hut, stationed just beyond the main runway. They had been given a single hut for all of their operations, much to the chagrin of many. The back end was an orderly pile of spare parts - buckets of rivets, piles of sheet metal - but someone had supplied them with a table and chairs, and the recent addition of a gas stove and kettle had proved a huge hit.

Ken Lemmons was sat at the table as she wandered in, glancing at the corkboard by the door where she and the others posted notice of anything in need of urgent repair.

"A couple of the guys replaced the glass in the gun turrets earlier - thanks for the shout," Lemmons spoke up.

"Ah, good," Frankie nodded, taking a seat opposite him. As much as she bemoaned her younger, American co-workers, she had grown fond of Ken. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and by the look on his face, he was not enjoying it. She tossed the paper bag containing her lunch onto the table, retrieving a cucumber sandwich - meagre subsistence, and a sight that made the boy frown.

"I think I'd actually murder someone for some Hershey's right about now," He remarked, grimacing as he took another sip of coffee.

"Hey, we make do with what we've got," She shrugged, attempting to devour the sandwich before the cucumber could soak through the thin slices of bread. "I know one of the girls in the Land Army - I darn her jumpers in exchange for a bit of her extra cheese ration."

Lemmons chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "I miss good chocolate. I can't get used to... Cad-berry's?"

"Oh, that's sacrilege," She laughed, tossing a slice of cucumber at him, which stuck to the breast pocket of his coveralls. "If you'd come a couple years ago when they were still making Dairy Milk you'd've thought you'd died and gone to heaven."

"I'll believe it when I see it," He grinned, plucking the slice off of his clothes. There was a pause before he spoke again. "One of the fellas says they're actually taking off later."

Frankie nodded, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food. "Oh yeah? This gonna be your first proper go at it?"

"Yeah..." Lemmons admitted, looking momentarily nervous. "You?"

She snorted back a laugh. "Nah. I've been in the WAAF nearly four years - moved around a bit, but whether it's Attlebridge or Docking or Thorpe Abbotts, it's all the same gig. You stick with me when the planes start coming back down and you'll be fine."

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile. "You're gonna babysit me?"

Frankie grinned, standing up to reach across the table and ruffle his curls. "With a cute little face like yours, who could help it?" She teased, laughing as he batted her away.

"Get off, I'm serious," Lemmons chuckled, but the smile never faded from his expression.

Ken's buddy hadn't been wrong, per se, but his fabled mission had come not hours, but days later, with a hammering knock on the door to her hut, the women stirring from their sleep in a wave of disgruntled moans.

"What time is it?" Frankie whined as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resisting the urge to burrow her head beneath the pillow and block out the relentless knocking outside.

"Four thirty," George groaned, frowning vindictively at her watch as she put it on, as if time itself had caused her personal grievance.

"They're flying today, get ready!" A young male voice bellowed from the other side of the door, clearly too shy to bare his face to a room of half-dressed, irritated women.

"Fuck me, I'm coming," She muttered, brushing her hair with one hand as she buttoned up the front of her coveralls with the other.

"Spot me! How's my lipstick?" George called, and Frankie leant across the bed that separated them to wipe a stray smudge of red away with her thumb.

"All good."

"Right," Her bunkmate huffed. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"See you later," Frankie affirmed.

"I'll join you for drinks this time if all goes well!" George called over her shoulder as she scurried towards the door.

"I'll hold you to that!" She replied, smiling as she laced up her boots.

The planes left and returned in mere hours, but the in-between had felt never-ending as the ground crew waited in tense anticipation to see how many would return and in what state. Frankie had sent Egan away to the flight tower after his nervous hovering had started to get on her nerves, and she had since spent the last half-hour sitting in the grass beside the runway making daisy chains with a few of the local children as a way to pass the time.

"Frankie! They're comin' in!" She heard Lemmons yell from across the airstrip. Hurriedly sending the children back to their parents as the sound of plane engines grew steadily louder overhead, she scrambled to her feet, grass stains streaking the knees of her coveralls as she jogged over, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the planes began to descend towards them.

"...10, 11, 12..." Frankie muttered, coming to the slow realisation that many of the men they'd sent away that morning had not returned. But that loss did not negate the importance of the work they had to do now. "Ok, let's go," She patted Lemmons on the shoulder, and they reached for the bikes they had discarded on the ground nearby, pedalling hard towards the landing strip.

From the second they arrived, she was surveying the damage, scanning the planes for the areas that would need the most attention. It was impossible to pick just one.

"There's a reason we go at night," She muttered, so softly no one else could hear over the din of shouts and dying engines. The mechanics weren't emergency staff, but she'd seen a fair few planes come in either on fire, half-collapsed or both over the years, enough to learn it was best to get in as soon as possible.

"Shit," Lemmons huffed beside her, staring up at a huge, jagged hole in the metal of one of the plane's wings.

"Send a couple of the boys back to the hut - tell them to bring a car back with all the sheet metal they can put in it. Oh - and get me a welder!" She called to him, and the young man began barking orders at the other mechanics, the crew erupting to life around the plane as they began to fix the mess that had returned.

"Frankie!" Egan's voice rang from down below as she climbed up onto the top of the plane, marking out the areas of the body that needed replacing. She looked down at him as he yelled again. "You need anything?"

"Nope, we're good here!" Frankie replied, holding up a thumbs-up in case the wind drowned out her voice. Looking down at the work to do below her, it was as if she could map out every fix in her mind, envision every action in order, play it out in her head until the beast was as good as new. She smiled to herself. "This is what I do."

#masters of the air #masters of the air fic #masters of the air oc #mota oc #hbo war #john egan #gale cleven #ken lemmons #rosie rosenthal x oc #oc: frankie #mota #fic | i'm your man #oc: george

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gghostwriter · 4 months

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Entangled Strings of Fate Masterlist

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

Tropes -- Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Eventual Romance

Initial chapters below. Unsure of how many chapters this fanfic of my would be so masterlist will be updated with every chapter post!

Act One - Initial Impact Chapter 0. Fate (in all its theory) Chapter 1. Lighting struck (and was caught in a bottle) Chapter 2. Seventh heaven (how temporary it is) Chapter 3. My torch stays burnings Chapter 4. Re-routing (take the long way home) Chapter 5. Everything (he) is blue Chapter 6. A needle of lies Chapter 7. Act of war (and parting ways) Act Two - The Appeal Chapter 9. When Fate comes knocking (back) ~~more chapters will be added

#criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #Spencer Reid x fem!oc #spencer reid fanfiction #gw fics #esof fanfic

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jammydodger3579 · 1 month

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Young Lust pt. 5

Summary: Y/N goes off on her own to fight.

A/N: not much really to say about this chapter. it's a lil shorter, so hope you like it, let me know what you think.

Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Patreon || Discord server

18+ mature audiences only

1500+ word count

Warnings: implied SA and cursing.

~9 years ago

It was raining. Y/N was in a single bed, lying awake next to Evie, who was sound asleep. The sound of the rain was pounding on the windows. Y/N got out of bed, careful to not awaken Evie. She walked to the ensuite and looked in the mirror. Her face was bruised under her eye and she had marks down her neck. She didn’t remember getting them, but then again, she didn’t remember a lot from last night. She looked over at Evie, still sleeping peacefully and looking as beautiful as always. It wasn’t fair, everyone always called Evie “the pretty friend”. Y/N undressed and got in the shower. She gently washed her face, letting last night's makeup wash away. She and Evie had snuck out to go to the cemetery, where they drank a bottle of whiskey they stole from their training instructor. Everyone knew he was a drunk. Y/N was racking her brain, trying to remember what they did together. She had a vague memory of Yelena telling her not to sneak out, but that happened before they got to the cemetery. A sinking feeling grew in Y/N’s stomach. Something happened, something horrible happened. She just couldn’t remember.

Logan was yelling again. He wasn’t happy that the Professor told Y/N about Evie. “She’s still recovering!” he yelled. Jean was nodding in agreement. Y/N scoffed, she wasn’t that fragile. She’s lived a thousand lifetimes over the course of 30 years. She’s tougher than Logan gives her credit for. She’s survived Evie before, she can do it again.

“I can fight. I’m fine to fight. Sure, my legs are still burnt but that’s nothing compared to what these kids are dealing with. Let me fight, please”

“I wish we could, dear” Logan started saying. Y/N stood from her seat and stormed out of the office. She couldn’t listen to this. She returned to Logan’s room and started packing her things into her bag. If they weren’t putting her on the field, she’d find a way to fight anyway. She’s a spy, she can figure it out. Logan rushed into the room, chest heaving. “Hey what- don’t go”

“I have to, I need to face her. You need to stop looking at me like I’m fucking broken. I’m not” she said, pushing past Logan and walking down the hallway. He followed.

“Let me fight with you”

“No, you’ll get in the way”

“I thought we were together, partners and stuff. What’s bothering you, bothers me too” She stopped walking and turned to look at Logan. She felt she was about to cry, but she didn’t want to be seen as weak. She walked up to him, putting a hand on his cheek. He looked at her, full of sorrow.

“I’m sorry Lo, I need to do this alone”

—

Heartbreak had never felt like this before. It had been a few days on the road, and Y/N was tired. She hated how things ended with Logan, but she couldn’t risk him getting in the way. She decided the best place to start was at the warehouse in Madripoor. Yelena was helpful and sent her all the files she needed to start looking for Evie. She made some progress, finding more locations of outposts near Belarus, and Moscow. She was reading through these files in an office when she heard some voices. Someone was coming. She had scouted the area for a few days to make sure no one would come around, so she wasn’t prepared for visitors.

“Yeah, nah Oakley said that we needed to clear out this place, there’s too much evidence,” one voice said, getting closer to Y/N. She looked around the room, looking for somewhere to hide. She quickly locked the door to give her time to break into an air vent on the wall. Using a knife, she got the grate off and wiggled inside. It was a tight squeeze, but she’s been in tighter places before. Using a torch attached to her backpack, she made her way through the air vent. “Hey someone's been in here!” the voice echoed through the vent. Y/N was on top of another grate that entered a new room. She swung the grate open and jumped down into the room. Her heart stopped. It was a sterile surgical room, similar to the one from her dreams. The fluorescent lights flickered, and there were X-rays on the wall. Y/N looked at them. These kids had very different and unique mutations. One x-ray showed a hand with webbing between the fingers. Another showed a spine with bone spikes along the vertebrae. There were test tubes on a desk, all marked with different numbers. Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket and took photos of everything. She sent the photos through to Yelena.

There was a computer on the desk. Y/N turned it on, but there was a password. She got out a USB drive, old S.H.E.I.L.D tech designed to hack into anything, and plugged it into the computer. It instantly started decrypting the passcode, logging her in. She looked through the computer, copying everything she found to another hard drive that she stole from Tony. Surely he wouldn’t notice. Once she was done, she started looking around the room, opening drawers to find more files, this time on the X-Men. She went to pick up a file when she heard someone walking towards her. She put them straight into her backpack before climbing back into the air vent. She got there just in time. A man holding a gun walked into the room and looked around before leaving.

“Clear!” he called. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief before crawling through the air vent. She found another grate opening up to the outside. She kicked the grate off and stuck her head out to check for anyone coming, gun in hand just in case. There was no one. Y/N jumped down, being sure to bend her knees as she landed. She crawled under the fence that surrounded the place and fled into the tree line. She walked until she reached the city of Madripoor. Going to Lowtown, she made her way to the motel she’d been staying at. She entered her room, chucking her backpack on the bed and going straight to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and took off her tactical gear. Her legs were red, swollen and oozing pus. She winced as she gently washed her legs under the cold water.

Freshly showered and dressed, Y/N was ready to read the files she’d found today. She sat on the bed and opened her backpack, pulling everything out and setting it in front of her. There was a file on every X-Men, even people Y/N didn’t know. She picked up Logan’s one first, hesitantly looking through. There was a picture of him attached. It didn’t look like the soft man she’d grown to love, he looked dark and angry. His hair was long and his beard was scruffy. He had some sort of tech attached to his head. Y/N shuddered. She read through the file, learning about “Weapon X” and all the experiments they did on Logan. He’d never mentioned any of this. Her stomach sank. This whole time, Logan had known exactly what it was like to be used and abused and never said anything. Her phone chimed, bringing her back to reality. It was Yelena.

Logan asked about you again today. I’m super close to telling him where you are if you don’t message him. He’s like a sulking puppy.

Y/N texted back;

Evie had a file on every X-Men, past and present. I’m worried for their safety. This is becoming bigger than we think.

She decided to bite the bullet and call Logan. It didn’t ring for long.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Hey Lo, I’m okay. Look, I was at that warehouse outside Madripoor and I found a load of files on all the X-Men… I think you guys are gonna be targeted next” She spoke softly, hoping he wouldn’t freak out.

“What? What do you mean? I’m coming to Madripoor”

“What, no Logan. You can’t,” She flicked through the files, landing on a photo of the school. Her heart stopped. “They have your location. I think they’re coming-” She was cut off by the sound of screaming on the other end of the phone. “Logan!?”

“Hold on, sugar” She couldn’t hear much, just the sound of running footsteps. There was a scream and then silence. She looked at her phone. Did he hang up? Panic rose inside her. Had they just attacked the school? And what was all the screaming? Y/N got up and packed her bags. She had to leave, find Logan and figure out what was going on.

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sleepy-jeans · 2 months

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My Favourite Dead Boy Detecives Fanfics on Ao3 :)

to the pain (10456 words) by shadowquill17 Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Characters: Charles Rowland (DCU), Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Crystal Palace (DCU), Niko Sasaki, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Hurt Charles Rowland, POV Charles Rowland, Blood and Injury, Blood Loss, Graphic Description, listen I got grabbed by the throat by this idea and I have no idea how I even made it here, Love Confessions, Charles is so in love with Edwin and that’s his priority even when he’s literally bleeding out, Temporary Character Death, YES I PROMISE IT’S TEMPORARY, Torture, Violent Thoughts, Angst with a Happy Ending Series: Part 5 of what the rest means (DBD fics) Summary: There is an orb full of souls and a wizard pissed off at them for breaking in, and then there is pain. Or, the one where Charles has the most important epiphany of his life at the worst possible time.

Starting off strong. This one made me cry, like a lot. It's not finished yet but I don't care girl, the first chapter is incredible. Like okay, Edwin is crying and I'm crying, what now?

Carry These Torches For You (1965 words) by that_trans_autistic_guy Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland & Crystal Palace & Niko Sasaki, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Characters: Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace - Character, Niko Sasaki, Jenny Green Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Autistic Edwin Payne, ADHD Charles Rowland, Cuddling & Snuggling, Families of Choice, Family Fluff, it is mostly just kinda cute shit, yall sent me a request via tumblr and well here we are, The Adventures of Orbwin and Chorb Series: Part 82 of Traumatized Dead Boys Summary: Charles would really appreciate a fucking break. Seriously, they all needed a day off. For weeks straight they’d been running around and frantically completing cases. None of them had really been resting well, but Edwin was completely toast. He’d barely sat down for more than a minute and pretty soon his form was going to force him to rest whether he liked it or not.

By that_trans_autistic_guy so you know its good. Really sweet and short. loved it <3 (Love Chorb with all my heart)

The case of the warlock (5559 words) by TheRamblingsOfaMadWoman Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace & Charles Rowland (DCU), Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Crystal Palace Characters: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU), Crystal Palace (DCU) Additional Tags: Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Charles hurts Edwin, Angst Summary: The gang come across a warlock. Charles is quite taken with him. Edwin is distrustful. Whose instinct is right? **Charles hurts Edwin

So well written oh my God. love the beginning, middle, and end. The emotional and physical trauma? *chef's kiss*

Burns and Hidden Pains (30299 words) by Infinite_beginnings Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace & Charles Rowland (DCU), Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Crystal Palace & Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Crystal Palace, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland, Crystal Palace/Charles Rowland (DCU) Characters: Charles Rowland (DCU), Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Crystal Palace (DCU), Jenny Green (Dead Boy Detectives) Additional Tags: not really very shippy but can be read as a pre-ship for the boys if you want!, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, charles rowland whump, Whump, Protective Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Protective Crystal Palace, Hidden Injury, charles places all of his personal value on protecting his loved ones, and i just need him to be taken care of for a bit, questionable ghost science, listen i don't know the rules of this universe I'm just making it up as I go, Charles past abuse is alluded to, because that influences who he is as a character but its not mentioned in any detail ×, And characters still think Niko is dead and are dealing with the grief of that Summary: This takes place after the season ends. Both boys are a bit roughed up physically and emotionally from their trip to hell and Esther's treatment. They try to take care of each other but Charles is more hurt than anyone realizes.

Girl, my heart was pumping and everything like I was scared. Nice and whumpy, just how I like it. The definition of hurt/comfort.

Hold This (26196 words) by RoseGanymede95 Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Characters: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU) Additional Tags: Graphic violence in this one, gratuitous limb-severing, Escape The Evil Wizard Dungeon, Charles Rowland Loves Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, so much it's frankly a liability, Brief Torture, surprisingly unrelated to the limb-severing thing, Mr. Potato Head Ghost Anatomy, Completely Unhinged Levels of Codependency, Charles Rowland Is Not A Role Model, Blood and Injury, the boys can't bleed but the bad guy can, Charles Rowland gets his Home Alone on, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Body Horror, should have tagged Body Horror way earlier, antagonists displaying some casual racism, discussions of racist bullying, Stitches, I need you to understand I really mean that Body Horror tag take care of yourselves Series: Part 2 of Who? You mean your teammate in the Codependency World Cup? Summary: “Alright, listen,” Charles said, after trying not to think at all for at least five minutes. “Hear me out.” “Any ideas?” Edwin asked, not looking up from his page. “It’s just. What would actually happen if you cut my hand off?” Edwin jerked his head up so fast, Charles wondered that he didn’t brain himself against the stone wall. He looked more offended than he had when he found out about the live snake in Charles’ bag. “What the hell kind of a question is that?” He hissed. “I’m not saying we should do it!” Charles backpedaled. “I’m just curious! These cuffs make us proper solid, don’t they? We could probably lop it off and get me out.” “No,” said Edwin emphatically. “We are not discussing this. I don’t want you getting any ideas and chewing your own arm off like a trapped weasel.” “Not my whole arm, just my hand.”

This one is my favourite (sorry). Like it is written like a published novel. The writing was phenomenal. The story was incredible. It was hilarious. It was cleaver. It was cute. And it was heartbreaking! I can't believe I can read this shit for free. 10/10 gold star.

#fanfic #dead boy detectives fan fic #dead boy detectives #hurt/comfort #dead boy detective agency #dead gay detectives #writing

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sarahjtv · 3 months

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My Hero Academia Chapter 426 Spoiler Talk: The Hellish Todoroki Family Conclusion

Whew, what a chapter goddamn. The Todoroki Family, especially Shoto (my favorite character 🩵), is one of my favorite and one of the best arcs in My Hero Academia. We all knew that their conclusion was coming this chapter and now that we're here, let's talk about it:

First off, in case you didn't hear, Weekly Shonen Jump and MHA mangaka, Kohei Horikoshi himself, confirmed that this is the first of the last 5 chapters of My Hero Academia. The series will end in early August with 430 chapters total if all goes well. I made a post about this when it was announced 2 days ago, but I want to briefly say that I am going to miss this series so much. It has had such an amazing impact on my life and surely saved me during many rough times. I will be so sad to see it end, but happy to see Horikoshi finish his beloved story on his own terms after 10 long years of publication. I will make sure to see it through myself.

We start off the chapter with a Todoroki Family reunion. We see the whole family about a month after the war ended. Everyone has burn scars of some kind now with Rei's having the largest that even covers the left side of her face like Shoto's and Endeavor's do ironically enough (I see what you did, Horikoshi). We don't see if Endeavor got any burn scars on his face because it's covered with bandages, but given he has the highest fire resistance next to Shoto, I doubt it.

Also, pretty much everyone got a haircut from their bodies getting torched trying to stop Touya (I'm going to call him that from here on). Fuyumi and Endeavor got a few inches off, Natsuo cut quite a bit off to the point where he's looking like his father again (oh, the irony), and Rei got a significant portion cut off to the point where it's back to the length it was when she and Enji first met. I think Shoto got a slight trim, but it's hard to tell. His hair is definitely scruffier than it was before, though. Honestly looks-wise, they all still look really good. Those Todoroki/Himura genes are doing good work.

But, despite those good looks, everyone is here to see Touya in his own operating tube (?). The doctor says that Touya's slowly dying and Endeavor tells everyone that he's retiring. Both things are what everyone saw coming. There was no way Endeavor was going back to hero work after everything that happened to him during the final war. It was just never possible. Even with prosthetics, I think his own mental state and where he is in life with his family would have prevented that from happening. I'm surprised that Touya is alive at all, but I'm glad to see that he's alive to see his family for a little longer before he eventually dies which I assume may happen in the final chapter of the series.

Also, Touya can still talk! Bro still can't move for shit, but he's conscious enough to talk to his family. He still hates his father and I get it. I don't think there was any way Touya was going to forgive his father after everything that happened. It's good to see that Endeavor still is trying to atone and wants to talk with Touya as much as he possibly can to his eldest son, but that won't change anything right now. The least Endeavor can do is listen to what Touya might want to say.

Fuyumi and Rei try to talk to Touya too, but the doctor is telling them that talking more would be a burden on Touya's heart. And then Shoto asks his oldest brother "What's your favorite food?" and Touya responds "Soba..." just like Shoto. I can't do this tonight, guys! I'm screaming, crying, throwing up! WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN! THEY COULD HAVE EATEN SOBA TOGETHER IN ANOTHER LIFE!!! HOW DARE YOU, HORIKOSHI! I'M IN YOUR WALLS 😭

And right as his family leaves his room, Touya slowly cries tears and says "Shoto... I'm sorry..." I don't need to explain this one. This fucking hurts. Touya has regrets, but it's too late. Touya may be Dabi the murderous villain who ruined a lot of lives, but he's also still a young man who deserved a better life than what was handed to him and does still care for his family even if only a little. All around a tragic character. If this is the last we see of Touya, I think it's a good albeit sad send-off.

As the Todorokis start to part ways, we get an idea of where their lives are going now:

1. Natsuo wants to start a family with his girlfriend (isn’t he only 20 btw and he started dating her like, what, a year ago? I get it, Natsuo, but this is too early don’t you think? 😭) but has no intention of having a ceremony for it specifically because he doesn't want her or himself to ever see Enji again. I don't blame him for this. Even though he helped stop Touya from literally exploding which did save his father, Natsuo made it clear from the start that he was never going to forgive Enji no matter how much he atoned. The reason why he was even born was because Enji wanted a perfect Ice/Fire child, but he didn't get that until Shoto was born afterwards. Natsuo saw Enji hurt and abuse his family for pretty much his entire life and Enji suddenly wanting to fix what he broke wasn't going to change Natsuo's mind on what he thought of his father. Cutting ties with his father is for the best. It's a miracle the rest of his family still want to see Enji at all, especially Shoto.

2. Fuyumi has also quit her teaching job, but a mother of one of her students found another one. This is also understandable. The public slander of her family on her is what probably pushed this and I'm sure her good reputation got inadvertently damaged from it. I hope she is treated better at her new job.

3. Enji is going got continue to pay for his crimes for the rest of his life whatever that takes. He even understands if the rest of his kids never want to see him again either. He will still do everything he can to make sure his kids are unharmed by the whole Dabi thing. He even accepts that he's going to dance with Touya in Hell one day. Honestly, regardless of what you think of Endeavor, I honestly think his atonement/development arc is one of the best in the series. He has definitely become a better man than what he started out as when we first met him during the Sports Festival Arc, but what I love about this is that Horikoshi never let him off the hook. He made Enji face his sins head-on and suffer through every consequence that came from his abusive actions. If Enji Todoroki is going to atone, he's going to atone the very, very hard way. Enji may be a better man and father, but that doesn't mean he's going to see the pearly gates when all is said and done. The best he can do is pay for his sins for the rest of his life and pray that Rei, Fuyumi, and Shoto don't leave him completely too.

4. And finally, there's my favorite, Shoto 🩵! He's going back to school and reassures his parents that he will be fine with his friends as they help him become who he wants to be. This essentially concludes Shoto's arc as well. When we first met him, he was a cold, anti-social teen who didn't want to make any friends. All he wanted to do was to become a hero with his ice alone to spite his father. Since then, he's opened up to his classmates, made amazing friends especially in Izuku, Iida, and Bakugo, rekindled his relationship with his mother and siblings, come to terms with his father and Touya, and finally accepted his Ice/Fire powers as his own. He says he's on the path to becoming the hero he wants to be, but I'd argue that he's already there. Again, it's an incredible development for Shoto and I think this is a great conclusion to his own character arc.

After Shoto leaves, we transition to Hawks! He's still there for Endeavor if he needs him which is nice. He's also the president of the Public Safety Commission! Dude may be Quirkless, but that doesn't mean he can't do anything! I'm happy to see him thrive in this new role of his and I hope he can reform the PSC into something good as opposed to how they treated him in the past.

We also catch up on Lady Nagant WHO IS NOT DEAD 🎊, but chooses to stay in prison for a bit longer. And Gentle and LaBrava are ok and free too! Good endings here!

The final panel shows Spinner and someone is opening his hospital door 🤔

Phenomenal chapter! 10/10 would read and cry over again. Thank you and fuck you for everything, Kohei Horikoshi. 4 Chapters left. Fuck, my hands hurt 😭

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ozai-the-bonsai · 17 days

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Memento Mori

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: strong language

Important note: At some point in the chapter, the reader provides a way for Daemon to address her. However, I want to emphasise that what she provides him is a title she has earned in the language of her people. Please regard this title the same way when the reader is addressed as Princess or Queen or Niece or whatever. Daemon will not be explicitly given the name of the reader due to obvious reasons :3

Credits for the gif: @dailyhodtgifs

“I don’t have time for stupid riddles and meaningless mind games, woman.” Daemon spoke with a hard tone, switching the torch to his left hand so that his right hand could rest against the Dark Sister. “I will not repeat myself again – show yourself!”

The woman walked towards the steel bars with slow steps, the sound of her bare feet touching the wet stones of the ground made Daemon realise that she did not have any kind of footwear on. All she wore was a plain, silver dress; however, when the light of the torch illuminated her figure completely, Daemon realised that the dress was not that plain at all. The ends of both sleeves and the neckline of the deep v-cut were all adorned with diamonds which made one think as if they had captured the light of the stars from the night sky.

Her long hair had that same unearthly glow to it, again. “I still find it amusing,” the woman spoke, her soft voice holding Daemon in a warm embrace. “That you can see me, talk to me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Daemon asked, not trying to mask his confusion at all. “You will be giving me some answers, woman: who are you? Why is it amusing that I can see you? And how did you know that I was not here in flesh when I first saw you?”

The woman chuckled as she held the bars with her both hands. “You desire to know quite many, Daemon Targaryen.” She raised an eyebrow at Daemon’s direction. “What will be my gain in all this? Why must I provide you with such information?”

The grip Daemon had on Dark Sister tightened, causing the eyes of the woman to drift to the sword fastened around his hip. “Your gain shall be keeping your life, woman.”

A small laughter left her lips as she took a step backwards, causing Daemon to frown upon her reaction. “You cannot end my life as long as I am here, in this cell.” Her words caused the frown on Daemon’s face to get deeper. “No one can. It is enchanted to keep me alive, without being fed or given water, through any kind of sickness or injury – you ought to try harder.”

“Is the witch keeping you here? Captive?” Daemon asked, the word enchanted had been enough to ring some bells in his memory. He should have known that it was the witch’s doing – they all had been her doings. All the things he had seen – or he had believed to have seen – and more.

The woman nodded with slow movements. “I assume you have already met her,” she muttered, more to herself. “Explains why you weren’t really here before tonight.”

Daemon shook himself and took up a strong, authoritative tone to put an end to this unnecessary negotiation. “Fine, name your price then!”

“My freedom,” the woman spoke without even thinking twice. “You shall have all the information you desire and in extension, all the support you shall require from me – in exchange for my freedom from this cursed prison.”

“Fine,” Daemon muttered somewhat reluctantly. “Even though I cannot quite tell what usefulness you could possibly posses for me, I will give you your freedom.”

His words caused the woman to stand upright suddenly, showing her full height – she could be even taller than most Targaryen Princesses. Daemon found it utterly difficult to tell who and what she was – the aura she carried with her was with no doubt different than any other human without Valyrian blood. Hence, his guess would be that she was not from around here; however, she too was neither Targaryen nor Velaryon.

It was almost that she was not from the world as the men of Westeros had known it so far.

“What will be your question, Daemon Targaryen?”

Daemon didn’t even give himself a moment to think before the words lefts his lips. “Who are you?”

The edge of her lips curled upwards as she came closer to the bars, her face almost resting against them. “In your tongue, in the world as you know it, I do not have a name.” Her answer only caused the confusion inside Daemon to grow. “Your people and the people you rule neither know me nor my kind.”

“So you are no human?” Daemon asked, only to earn a nod from the woman. “What did your people call you?”

“Oh, I have had many names and I too was given many more names but my people preferred referring to me as, Lùthril.” The woman responded, she pronounced her name amongst her people with a different accent, catching Daemon’s attention even further. “Which is not my given name, it is the name my people seemed fit for me.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow at her. “And what does that mean? In the language of your people?”

Lùthril sent Daemon a cunning smile. “In your tongue, it means enchantress – roughly translated.”

The silver-haired man rolled his eyes in annoyance at her words. “Another enchantress? As if I didn’t have enough of those to deal with.”

A soft chuckle left Lùthril’s lips. “Trust me, Daemon Targaryen, you have never had to deal with any enchantress of my kind, yet.”

With a swift movement, Daemon placed the torch on an iron holder hanging from the wall to his right. Then, he crossed both of his arms in front of his chest, raising an eyebrow as he spoke. “And what would be your kind? You don’t look like any other men from Westros.”

“It is because we are not from Westros, at least not from the way you know these lands.” Lùthril responded, her voice felt like silk against Daemon’s skin when her words reached him, pulling him in a gentle embrace. “I believe the name of my people has been forgotten to yours for generations, perhaps there haven’t been any word to describe us in the common tongue.”

The gaps she left between her words was making Daemon furious, testing his patience but at the same time, he was more intrigued than ever – he found himself wanting to learn everything about her, uncover every last mystery she had to offer.

“What about the language of my people?” Daemon asked. “Do you have a name in High Valyrian?”

The smile forming on Lùthril’s lips was so beautiful, so pure it could make the rarest, prettiest flowers in the Seven Kingdoms envy its beauty; even the clearest of the rivers could not compete its pureness. Perhaps it was a trick of the enchantress, he did not know, but Daemon felt his heart and soul were being drawn to her, the more he let his eyes devour her unearthly beauty.

“Valyrians used to call us Valargon,” she replied and chuckled upon seeing the sudden change in his expression. “I suppose you are no stranger to the term.”

There was no direct translation of Valargon to the Westrosi common tongue, it meant something in the lines of spirit people but that was not enough to catch the powerful meaning of the word itself. Valargon was used to describe a different race which looked similar to humans but were closer to the gods in every other sense.

“Don’t try to hold me for a fool, woman.” Daemon spoke with a hard tone, the feeling of having wasted his time was slithering slowly back into his mind. “Valargon are nothing more than some fairytale told in Valyria before the land met its doom. State your business now or I will make sure you meet your doom as well!”

Lùthril heaved a sigh as she shook her head in disbelief, the way she showed her King absolutely no respect was about to drive Daemon mad. One voice in his head was whispering him to smash her head to the bars until her pretty face was nothing but a mess of blood and broken bones. However, a different voice was telling him to be patient with her and was secretly yearning to touch her skin.

“Such a disappointment,” she spoke with a low voice which carried the hints of sadness, “that me and my people are nothing but a bedtime story to you. Look into my eyes, Daemon Targaryen. If you look deep enough, you will see the undeniable proof.”

A frown formed on Daemon’s face. “What proof?”

Lùthril motioned Daemon to come closer and his feet obeyed her without even letting him decide. Before he knew it, Daemon stood with his face against the bars separating the enchantress from him, her warm breath licked his skin when she spoke with a low voice. “What do you know about the connection between the Gods – the real Gods – and the Valargon?”

“Not much,” Daemon responded, being able to feel the heat and harmony radiating off of her body had made him drunk in mere seconds, he could not think about anything but her. Anything else wandering his mind few seconds ago was gone. “I barely heard that the Valargon were the last beings to have seen the eternal light from the Land of the Old Gods.”

“That should suffice,” Lùthril muttered, more to herself. “Now, Daemon Targaryen, you shall look deep into my eyes and if you look close enough, you shall see the eternal light for I have spent very many years living under its grace.”

[POV Change]

The moment Daemon Targaryen looked into your eyes to see the remnants of the ancient light, you swiftly reached forwards through the bars, pressing your right thumb against his forehead. Before Daemon could react, his very essence started falling down into the eternal light still captured inside the beauty of your eyes.

You showed him all he needed to see so that he would be ready to trust you in the end. Daemon saw you dancing on the moon-lit-meadows of the Land of the Old Gods, barefoot and adorned in white silk, the eternal light was visible on the shore behind your shoulders. As you danced, you were singing a sweet song in the Language of the Gods, the melody made the grass bloom whenever you hit the right tone.

The next memory was from the Feast of the Gods – right under the eternal light, all the Gods and your kin were gathered around the wooden table, which was adorned with the finest of food known to mankind. The Valargon maidens were serving the wines they have made from the sweetest grapes, celebrating the harmony of life and joy.

Lastly, you showed Daemon the day your kind left the Land of the Gods on your ships, sailing east through the western waters, never to return to your homeland. The Gods, too, had left the magical lands around that time – after deciding that the era of magic, melody and harmony was over for the first men had set foot on the Earth.

When men came, the ancient magic left the world, never to return, only to exist in the memories of those lucky enough to have seen it.

Slowly, you left go off Daemon, freeing him from the clutches of the eternal light. When his soul returned to his body, he stumbled backwards, fighting to find his balance again. It took him a few minutes to comprehend what he had just experienced, all the while you waited quietly and patiently. For you knew that whatever Daemon was to decide next, would shape his destiny greatly.

“You are one fucking enchantress, there I have no doubts,” Daemon spoke with his usual careless and dangerous aura surrounding him; however, you could easily see through his façade – he was desperate to know how you could aid him in his mission, you being perhaps the most powerful being in the Seven Kingdoms at that particular moment. “They were all… true?”

He was referring to the memories he had seen a few moments ago. You nodded at him. “Those were my memories from a long, long time ago.”

Daemon frowned. “There is, though, something I do not understand,” he spoke cautiously. “How did a fucking Valargon ended up in Simon fucking Strong’s dungeons? It doesn’t add up.”

Heaving a sigh, you let your body slide down the right wall until you were sitting on the cold, damp ground – not that it bothered you, you could hardly feel it. “The destiny of the Valargon had to end in flames when the first Targaryen King arrived in Westros on the back of the largest dragon known to mankind.”

“Aegon the Conquerer,” Daemon said quietly, you nodded. “A Targaryen killed all your people, I understand – then why are you alive?”

“We all tried to overcome what was destined for us – the eternal light had to survive to see the end of all days.” A mischievous spark was visible in your eyes for a brief moment. “Thus, we tried to alter the destiny.”

Daemon shook his head in disbelief at your words, even the Rogue Prince himself did not approve of such behaviour. “Only a fool would meddle with the strings of the fate.” Of course, when he understood what you actually meant, the expression on his face changed. “And the said fool is standing in front of me, right, enchantress?”

A bitter smile formed on your lips. “I did it – I managed to change the destiny. However, it came with a terrible price.” Even mentioning those horrifying moments made you shiver in your place, you would give the days of your remaining life to forget everything you had seen on that cursed day. “As you see, all my people are gone and I am held here captive ever since.”

Slowly, without even realising, Daemon found himself sitting on the ground right next to you, on the other side of the bars separating the two of you. “130 long years and you have never tried to escape?” He asked with a rather mocking tone, failing to notice the way you inhaled his scent. “No magic tricks?”

You shook your head, pointing at the bars. “Did you not realise the missing lock or the door? This cell is being held with powerful magic. Only the blood of the man imprisoning me can set me free.” You added. “And coming back to your very first question: the enchantress of Harrenhal uses magic to keep me hidden from the eyes of men. Perhaps she has failed to strengthen her magic at the right time, hence it faded and you were able to see me.”

You heard Daemon cursing at the witch of Harrenhal, apparently she was being called Alys Rivers as of late. “That cunt of a witch has been around here since the Conquest?” You shrugged at his words. “Fucking cunt,” he muttered under his breath before speaking to you again. “What will I gain if I set you free? Can you aid me in winning my battles? Can you pour fear into the hearts of my enemies?”

“I will use my magic to aid you; however, your fate has been decided by the Gods long ago, Daemon Targaryen.” You spoke with a powerful voice as you stood up, from the looks inside Daemon’s purple eyes, you realised that he was, for the first time, seeing you as the mighty Lùthril you were. “It is no longer in my power to change their judgement. If you will, I can guide you through what was written for you in times of hardship and doubt.”

It took Daemon Targaryen a considerable amount of time to arrive at a final decision, through which you waited patiently, giving him the space and the time to make perhaps the most important choice at the crossroads of his destiny. Finally, when he rose to his feet, a Targaryen King stood in front of your eyes, determination radiating off of him.

“What must I do?” Daemon asked, “to set you free?”

As you can notice, my inspiration for the reader has been heavily influenced by Lúthien and Galadriel 💜

Taglist: @throughgoeshamilton @mirandastuckinthe80s @xicesam @mariamyousef702 @eddiemadmunson @dont-try-pesticide @sweetybuzz25 @hc-geralt-23 @schniiipsel @ttae-yong @syrma-sensei @asiludida164 @kaitieskidmore1 @irmavanity-blog @pax-2735 @trickrtreatart @shanzeyxsyed @random-human02 @scarwicht @xcallmetaniax @instabull @niiight-dreamerrrr @my-dark-prince @stargaryenx @abaker74 @babywolff @sonnensplitter @bi-narystars @softtina @sadmonke @avalyaaa @superintenseart

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader smut #daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #hodt #hodt fic #matt smith #game of thrones

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 6 months

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 5

I hope ya'll enjoy :D please comment and reblog, it really helps out (i just want that juicy feedback babyyy)

Two pristine white suits stood in the doorway. The laboratory's glaring white light bared down from behind the two men, framing them in an uneasy, uncertain shadow. Despite being indoors, the agents wore cold sunglasses, and one would be forgiven for assuming they were permanent fixtures on their heads.

"Our deepest condolences, Mr Wayne." The so-called Agent K said. Bruce Wayne noted not the slightest hint of condolence or sympathy.

He considered himself an effortlessly logical person. Someone who got what needed to be done, done. Someone who push away fear and stress in order to chip through the walls and find a path to victory in any situation.

But now, as he stared at the pile of bloody and torn clothes laid on the examination table, a DNA test on the side showing MATCH in bold letters, Bruce found himself blanking for the first time in years.

The first time since Jason...

Damian's tracker had blinked its last only hours before, and Bruce hopped on the first boat he could procure and organised a search part, recruiting the help of the local and governmental siren hunters, not that he was not still suspicious, but man power was man power, and his son was on borrowed time.

Time that had to be paid back.

"We could not find a body, sir. Your son has likely been consumed by the sirens."

No body. None. And that was not for a lack of trying. Divers had scoured the ocean floor underneath vigilant patrols. Sonars echoed across the bay and surrounding reefs. Nothing, not hide or hair or even a bone.

Bruce needed to stay calm, to stay effortlessly logical. There was no way to confirm a death just by some bloody clothes and a lack of a body. He needed to find a way, the only way.

"Thank, gentlemen. I'm gonna need a moment alone. I'll be returning to my room." The crack in "Brucie's" voice was not fake.

When Bruce got back to his hotel room, its emptiness like poison to his eyes, he beelined to his laptop. There he opened the staticky and blurry video showing the moment of disaster.

Damian was on the boardwalk, taking a moment for himself to get away from the hustle and bustle of yet another vapid party. All he wanted out of this trip was to see the fish...

An explosion rocked the boardwalk, sending splinters flying. The camera blurred into static. All that could be made out was a hand grabbing onto Damian's foot and pulling him under. The feed cut out.

Bruce played the recording again, and again, and again. Just like he had been doing all day. It was so blurry he couldn't even identify the colour of the hand.

Each time, his heart broke a little more. A tear came closer and closer to tearing its way out behind the barrier he'd put around his heart. The barrier these damn kids have wormed through over time.

Bruce dialed the phone. It answered on the first ring. "Dick, gather the family. I have some bad news..."

Danny buckled the last belt in his collection around his tail. Funny thing about belts, is that they're still useful even if you aren't wearing pants. The Fenton waterproof torch, the Fenton Stinger, Fenton Lipstick Laser among several other greatest hits slotted neatly into the loops of his belts along his tail. All he needed was a jacket and he might have a biker aesthetic to rival Johnny's.

Damian had spent the past hour or so pacing back and forth, trying to get a hang of his fins and occasionally bumping into a wall. Kid was itching to go out, and had taken to waving the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick around at imaginary enemies, despite having complained about the "inelegance of such a crude weapon."

"You will know suffering." He muttered. "I will make you beg for deliverance." He scowled.

Maybe Danny should introduce him to Sam. He feels like they'd get on like a house on fire.

Damian clung to his shoulder again, little arms wrapped around his neck for purchase as he swam out the cave. The Anti-Creep stick sat comfortably in a holster wrapped round the kid's waist with a knot Danny had to retie six times because he was so small. It was mid afternoon and the sun bathed the reef in bright colours like a warm blanket.

"We should keep an eye out for any other weapons. Our current stock is not enough."

Danny snorted. "You sound like a serial killer talking like that, you know?"

"I am more dangerous than a serial killer." Damian huffed. Danny could feel the offence radiating off him. To think that a himbo like Bruce Wayne could spawn someone with this many sticks up his ass. "And more intimidating."

"Please threaten me more. I'm shaking in my non-existent boots."

Damian growled. A deep guttural sound that rumbled his chest and tickled Danny's scales. Well, it would've been deep if Damian weren't half Danny's size.

"Where is your map and compass? How are we to get to Panama without navigation equipment?"

"Relaaax! We don't need a map because I've got a little something called celestial navigation." See Sam and Tuck? His space obsession was useful in his siren life!

The smaller siren head sank and banged on Danny's. "It is broad daylight."

Danny grinned over his shoulder. "Yeah that was a joke."

Damian screeched.

Danny laughed as he surfaced and got himself some fresh air. Calm waters for miles around them. Slowly he kicked off the swim, building up speed. "Relaaaax. It doesn't take a genius to figure out we need to go south."

"The only reason I have allowed you to live is because you are my only way home."

"As if I couldn't literally sit on you and you'd be helpless."

"I should invite you to try!"

Thousands of miles of blue ocean stretched on in every direction Damian looked. Below the two of them, the ocean floor lay deep enough that all Damian could see was a blur. Just above, the surface of the water rippling from slow winds blazes past. Phantom's strength lets them cut through the water at breakneck pace. The water rushing past his ears and fins reminds him of flying with Jon, if only much thicker than air in the upper-atmosphere.

Light from above, and unending darkness below. It was the darkness that Damian focused on. Occasionally, a tingle spread down his back and through his tail, like a warning, only for nothing to be visible underneath. The first few times, he shivered from surprise. Then it just unnerved him.

He'd read about lateral lines on sharks and other fish before, as a curiosity. Never had he imagined he would come to possess one himself, and never that it would feel so natural that it was difficult to parse it out from all his other sensations. The idea of not feeling this new sensation felt foreign, and unnerving, even though this form was the foreign one.

He would never admit this to anyone, but he didn't know much longer he could deny the creeping feeling on his neck. For all Phantom appeared friendly, Damian knew nothing of his motivations, or even his true character. If Phantom decided he didn't want anything to do with Damian, then what? With no weapons save a measly baseball bat, no contact with the outside world, no armour, no legs, no support and no knowledge of how to survive, he would be good as shark meat.

Damian tightened his grip on Phantom's neck. He was supposed to be above fear, and yet why was his heart pounding so hard?

A series of fast clicking echoed from the distance. Damian jerked his head to the left. Through squinted eyes hie made out long slender forms swimming parallel, their tails undulating up and down.

"Are those dolphins?" Damian muttered.

Phantom turned to the same sight, and raised his eyebrows. "Huh, I guess they are-" Damian jerked Phantom to their direction.

"We must approach them immediately!"

Phantom's body almost tumbled out of his normal swimming rhythm from the shock. "What? What for?"

"We must! The only reason I agreed to come to Amity Island was to see the sea creatures."

"Dude, you know dolphins can be total assho-" But Damian was having none of it. To solidify his point, he clamped his teeth into Phantom's shoulder, focusing them on the part where bone jutted out. Even if they couldn't penetrate, the blunt force against bone would be very painful.

"YOUCH Alright alright alright alright can you please stop biting me!"

Phantom rerouted their course, and Damian chittered in satisfaction. "Excellent."

The dolphins were as beautiful and majestic as he could have ever imagined. It was a small pod, comprising of about five adults, all swimming together in stunning synchrony. Phantom swam at a cautious distance, close enough to admire but too far to touch. How he longed to pet a dolphin... Even Damian slapping him with his tail could only move him an inch closer.

"Dude, I've dealt with dolphins before, and they're literally the most evil beings on the planet, right next to toast and Vlad."

Damian huffed. If only he had a camera on him. To swim alongside dolphins at top speed, out in the wild... He was pretty sure he was drooling, or would have been.

He'd just have to commit the scene to memory, and paint it when he got home.

The thought of home made his fins droop a little.

He felt a finger poking at his cheek. "Hey Damian, you ok? Fine, I'll give like two inches, but that's it."

Damian snappes teeth at him. "I am perfectly fine. Just thinking."

Before Phantom could get closer, Damian saw one member of the pod swerve right for them. Instinctively, he ducked, only for the dolphin to somersault overhead, twirling three times before 'landing' right of them. Two more of its podmates followed suit as they danced in circles around them. One of them came so close he could even catch its scent. It smelled tangy, like freedom and excitement.

Seeing dolphins performing manoeuvres at aquariums was one thing, sitting in dries seats what felt like half a world away from the water, but here? Damian felt the water stolen from right out of his gills.

And the best part was rubbing it in to Phantom. "What was that you said while disparaging these beautiful creatures?"

"Dude, don't these guys smell weird to you?" Even now he was suspicious? The dolphins smelled perfectly fine.

"Not in the slightest. I believe you are just trying to save face."

"Dude, I've seen dolphins before. Plenty of them, but none of them smelled this.. familiar."

Then again, now that Phantom mentions it, those moves seemed just a bit too disciplined for a wild animal. Just a bit too measured...

Damian's hackles spiked up. They were surrounded.

"Phantom, get us out of-"

Deafening squeals blasted from every direction. The noise was so horrible Damian could barely see. His ear fins felt like cracked glass. His field of view was getting darker. They were sinking.

Phantom moved Damian so he was flat against his chest and curled up. The boys crash landed into the barren sea floor. Pain erupted from every surface as debris and particles tore scales and broke fins. Phantom's screaming mixed into the water with teal blood. He held onto Damian like a vice the entire time.

They finally came to a stop. Damian's head spun and spun and his ears rang. He dimly noted the criss-crossing ropes of a fishing net entrapping them. Above him, the blasted dolphins loomed over them in circles like they were sharks, and in the centre floated a man in a large metal suit, a metal suit sporting a malicious, leopardlike grin, a grin that for a moment he could not place, until his mind cleared.

That was the last thing he ever had ever seen as a human.

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thetraumaking · 5 months

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The Accursed Crown

Child soldier program within the Fire Nation. Princess Ursa will be having the first grandchild of fire lord Azulon, and as a gift, he sends his son, prince Ozai, to find an appropriate bodyguard for the mother of the nation.

After prince Zuko was born, princess Ursa became pregnant once more.

When she gave birth to her second. Not only did she suffer from a burn from the newborn, she didn't feel the motherly love she felt for her firstborn to her second. She couldn't hold her or even look at her. But she's not a cruel woman, so she found a wet nurse and let the other woman raise her. Well, that was the plan until for a whole day straight the baby girl wouldn't and couldn't stop crying. Even Ozai heard it and came to yell at Ursa for failing as a mother.

When the child had finally shutten up, Ozai turned to see the young guard gently holding the baby.

From that day onward, you, who was nothing but a child soldier, became the guard, the nursemaid, and mentor for the new princess.

NOT for the feint of Hearts!!!

Other Chapters here

Chapter 5: Parallel

You don’t know from where, but the earliest memory you have before being “saved” was a tune. Maybe it was the one your mother used to sing to you, but the word to the lullaby has been long been forgotten. The only thing remaining from those innocent days were empty tunes and whispers of the wind.

As you hum the same tune that now haunted your dreams, the child in your arms is taken by sleep. Her tiny tuft of black hair is still damp from the bath you’ve given her. You tried to leave her in her crib as you leaned to place her down, but the moment your hands left her tiny body, those big golden eyes of hers were open. Staring at you as if asking where you were going. Her lips pouty as her eyes followed you around.

The action made you wonder if she can actually tell you apart from the others.

Since she wasn’t crying, you sat down on your knees and gave her your hand. She grabbed onto your fingers as you wiggled them around. Babbling as if telling you a story while looking between you and your digits.

She tugged on your hand, bringing it to her chest as she stared at you.

You couldn’t fight the smile that formed.

The supple flesh that was now under your palm. The warmth that radiated from under your touch made you want to admire the peace that dwelled within you. Your heart tranquil after so much.

A quiet night with a single torch laminating the room.

You wished for this moment to last forever.

It has been a little over a month since you started your new job. Taking care of the youngest member of the royal family was not as hard as you expected it to be.

While you only had observed Princess Ursa attend to her son, you had no prior experience in child-rearing.

Especially when you, yourself are still considered a child. Albeit a deadly one with years worth of experience in combat.

Taking care of Princess Azula wasn’t hard. She’s far calmer compared to her older brother, who had a tendency to scream when he wanted something.

She was mature in a sense. Rarely cried and only did so whenever something was terribly wrong, be it illness, in need of changing, or a stranger. Though for the latter, she didn’t cry, it was more of a physical reaction, she would lean away as far as possible with her little legs kicked up.

The only thing that's worth complaining about is feeding time. The young princess is a good and easy child. She drinks all her milk and thanks you with a happy babble.

The feeding itself wasn’t the problem.

No.

The part where it warrants a complaint is how you acquire said milk.

The wet nurse stuck around for the first few days before Prince Ozai fired her. He reasoned that he did not see a reason as to why they must waste funds on something unnecessary when the mother of his child is alive and well, and still producing milk.

Seeing as you were in charge of the princess’s well-being, it was your job to make sure the child was well-fed. The wetnurse was out of the question, so the only one you could turn to, with a heavy heart, was the mother.

Similar to how the child wouldn’t take to the hired help, the mother was against being in the same room as the newborn. No matter how much you begged she wouldn’t back down. She was fully adamant about not letting the baby, her baby, latch on to her.

The child protested as you handed her off to the maid. You needed to go get her milk. *‘I’m sorry, but even if it’s you who asks of me this, I am not strong enough to hold that child.’* She once said. Her hand held your chin up as you were bowing to her. There was no remorse in her eyes.

As you walk down the hall to her Highness’s room, you can't help but think back to that previous exchange. Like the color of her eyes, you remember her being warm. But as she talked about her own child, Azula, she looked as if she was referring to an obstacle in her path.

Annoyance.

That’s the emotion that you saw. Either at you or your constant groveling or her child, you weren’t quite sure. The time you regularly spent with her has been cut in half. The majority of your time is now spent by the child’s side.

Cleaning her, changing her, feeding her, and tending to her whenever she cries or needs attention. The only time you go to Princess Ursa is when you need her milk to feed Azula.

And that trip is by far the most unfavoured part of your new daily routine. Which will stick with you till the child is old enough to digest solids.

You made it to her room.

Swallowing dry, you prepared yourself before knocking.

*If you care for her so, why don’t you extract the milk yourself?*

Her words taunted you. Ringing in your head as you walked in.

The way she said those words was wrong. The way she looked at you expectedly was wrong. The way she arched her back and the way she tilted her head were all wrong.

You nodded in acknowledgment as she greeted you.

Ursa was seated on the edge of her bed, in her luscious silk robe, her hair still wet from her bath. Her greeting came with a smile. She lifted her arm, her fingers loose, expecting, as she reached towards you.

A phantom hand squeezed at your heart. Your breath hitching, as you drew in closer to her.

With an open palm and a closed heart, you held her hand. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist as she pulled you in, guiding you toward your knees with unwavering eyes.

She looks down on you… as you began your grueling task of preparing the young princess’s meal.

She tugged on your hand, bringing it to her chest as she stared at you.

You couldn’t fight the grimace that formed.

The supple flesh that was now under your palm. The warmth that radiated from under your touch made you want to tear at it, to scream and shout. To run away and never look back from the gruesome scene you would be leaving behind.

A quiet night with a single torch illuminating the room.

You begged for this moment to go by faster.

#fanfic #atla #atla azula #avatar the last airbender #azula x reader #fire lord azula #fire lord ozai #prince zuko #princess ursa

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olenvasynyt · 1 month

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What’s your take on Beron? Him saying that he fought to keep his family alive UTM keeps me up at night. Do you think there was ever a moment in his life that he showed kindness to his family? Or, was warm to Lucien at any point?

Ugh the Vanserra family is so interesting. And it’s because of 🫶daddy issues 😂😭

I have too many headcanons around Beron and the Vanserras, so I guess I got to trim it down a bit.

With LoA: she was young when she was sold off to Beron by her family. I’m not exactly sure if it was before or after Beron was High Lord but either way, LoA was described to be all smiles before their marriage. And I think there were signs that Beron was awful, but I don’t think he was initially. He was probably very manipulative, and LoA, being young, might have been manipulated by him and also her family to believe that this was right, that this was her duty in court.

Going to be obnoxious and post a quote from my fanfic, sorry. No big spoilers.

From chapter 5:

They all assured her that she belonged here. Her father, the previous High Lord before his untimely death…even her sisters were thrilled at the news of her betrothal to the heir to the Autumn Court. So she tried to hold onto the hope that they were right.

Despite that tug at her ribs that wanted her to stray somewhere else.

She was so unbearably naive back then. So hopeful, despite all of the little signs she tried hard to ignore; the angry fire flickering in Beron’s eyes despite his polite smile…the dark hallways that even a torch couldn’t brighten. Of course that hope was too green to last. And it dwindled for more than two centuries until it was nearly gone. The glass of The Canopy became dirty, the couches began to sag and the tea table collected dust.

She stroked Lucien’s hair again, breathing in its scent, letting its softness fill her with comfort.

After over two hundred years, hope was at her fingertips once again.

Beron is soooo much more vicious behind closed doors. He’s an asshole in public too, but he also makes a show of holding LoA’s hand, talking about keeping her safe. He’s a manipulative abuser. And like all abusers, he tries to manipulate and lie to his wife and children, and attacks when things don’t go his way. So he probably has been kind of LoA and his sons, and I think especially Eris, as his eldest. He was their first child, and Beron probably immediately set into place what he expects from his children.

Beron enjoys hierarchies, competition, etc. We can see this from his sons, from how he treats the lesser fae, to the blood duel, which is an Autumn court tradition. And he teaches his sons that. And again, he is an abuser, so he probably has different ways of going about that: switching from approval to disappointment and anger when his sons do something wrong; turning his sons against each other to win his approval. It’s psychological abuse.

Lucien is different, though. And I think he brings out another aspect of Beron that’s common in abusers: pride. Beron is very prideful, and that could already be a motivator before Lucien was born, but Lucien upset that pride because he’s proof LoA disobeyed him. He is proof of LoA’s infidelity, and abusers hate proof. They hate their rules being disrespected. So with Beron’s pride, it was probably very hard for him to continue faux love and manipulation he had with his other sons with Lucien. Because though he may not have known about Helion and LoA’s affair from the start, he suspected. And he probably was so angry it was impossible for him to even pretend he loves or approves of Lucien. Plus abusing Lucien is a way to hurt LoA for her betrayal too.

Such a fun topic, right? 💕 thanks for the ask haha!

#tw: abuse #Lucien Vanserra #Eris Vanserra #lady of autumn #the lady of autumn #beron vanserra #autumn court #a court of embers and sunlight #anon asks

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deceptive-daydreams · 1 year

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Five - Cold Eggs

W/C: 6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mentions of drinking

Some early morning honesty on the rocks. Eddie is fucked. In every sense other than literal.

A/N: I'm getting giddy over these two please tell me yall feel the same

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The Munson bachelor pad wasn’t as boyish and messy as you initially thought. You were sober enough to make that observation. It was cozy, much like your own home and was around the same size. The kitchen was probably the messiest part of it however you didn’t get a peek at the bedroom which you assumed could also be very disheveled. There were cereal boxes left open on the counter, Cocoa Pebbles being the one that caught your eye along with a neglected box of Rice Krispies that laid on its side.

A few too many pots and pans cluttered the stove top and some empty cans of soup and Spaghettios were left to collect dust near the sink. His refrigerator held a collection of magnets, some being letters from the alphabet, although quite a few were missing, and others were ads from a pizza place and a few fruits and vegetables with cartoony faces. Among the mess on the counters, you also noted a few empty liters of soda and some crushed beer cans. Budweiser to be specific.

Other than that, the living room you’d been sitting in was tidy. There was a clearly used checkered blanket bunched up on the corner of the couch you’d been occupying for the past several minutes and a few car catalogs littering the coffee table along with a copy of Lord of the Rings, bookmarked with a coupon for ground beef clipped from the local ads. Next to that, an ash tray nearly overflowed.

His wallpaper wasn’t as ugly as yours, which you envied. It was maroon with even darker stripes alternating, creating a dark but homey atmosphere. The wall sconces on the other hand, we’re tacky. They looked more medieval than anything, almost like torches. The light wood floors contrasted with the walls and at your feet was a frayed rug that looked like it had seen better days. Not dirty, just tattered.

In the corner sat an acoustic guitar painted with the words ‘this machine slays dragons’ and next to it was an electric guitar, red with cracks of black. You’d never seen one like it before and it seemed to be well loved from what you’d heard every day, the endless guitar solos bleeding into your eardrums daily. At least he was getting his money's worth out of it.

You continued eyeing your surroundings, taking in the habitat that was Eddie Munson’s home when your gaze lands on a particular object that piqued your interest. It sat atop a shelf near the door, a lonely Garfield mug.

Before you could further examine the mug or even think of reasons as to why it was displayed, if it was even displayed, or perhaps it was abandoned in a hurry out the door, Eddie emerges from the bathroom just off the living room. His curls are now wet ringlets toward the bottom, and instead of wearing your puke, he wears a red sweatshirt that reads ‘Indianapolis, Indiana’ on the front along with some baggy black sweats. Despite his comfy clothes, his face is still decorated with that grouchy frown you’d grown used to. Did this man ever relax his face? His eyebrows were still pinched together either in thought or in irritation.

“I-um, I’ll wash the shirt and um the–the boots.” You stutter, rapidly standing from your perch at the edge of his couch.

Though still a little tipsy, more coherent thoughts flooded your mind. Guilt plagued you as you thought about the blanket of barf that coated his shirt and boots about a half hour earlier, abandoned on the front porch. You were smart enough to avert your gaze when he lifted his shirt off of his torso just to let it wrinkle up on the wood planks to be dealt with later. It wasn’t your fault that you’d caught a glimpse of the tattoos that adorned his body, some kind of dragon if you remember correctly, wound from his waist up to his ribs. The others you didn’t have long enough to distinguish their imagery, though there were several along with what appeared to be some scarring of some kind. You couldn’t be sure, the darkness from the night not allowing you a clear picture along with your hazy mental state.

“Don’t worry about it.” He dismisses while you bashfully sit back down on the edge of the couch.

It was hard to grasp whether he was pissed at you or just at life in general. You would take full responsibility for the vomit but everything before that was on him. Yelling at you over a pile of broken plates seemed far more degrading based on his tone, the way he reprimanded you and painted you as this stupid girl, unable to stand your ground. Maybe it was better that he fired you, you wouldn’t be subject to his obnoxious mood swings where he seemed to take everything out on you when shit hit the fan.

You continued watching Eddie move about his surroundings, taking in how he interacted with his day to day environment. What did he look like fully relaxed? Lounging around, playing his guitar without a care in the world. It was difficult to picture; the image of a moody man with a tensed facial expression the only one you could seem to conjure up every time rather than the vision of him with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, enjoying coffee out of that stupid Garfield mug. You wonder if takes his coffee with cream and sugar. Maybe just cream? Or just sugar? Maybe he drinks it black, that would be the most sensible option if you were going by his grouchy nature.

“Gonna find my keys, then we’ll go back to the bar to get yours.” Eddie decides, shuffling through some items on the kitchen counter.

The irony.

Agreeing with a hum, you allow yourself to lean further into the couch while trailing your finger over the faded plaid pattern, lines of beige crossing over white that temporarily held your focus. The clinking of empty beer cans against the linoleum counter can be heard, and then footsteps into the bedroom just off the living room to your left. Two idiots with misplaced keys under the same roof.

It feels as if the couch begins to mold around you, welcoming you into its springy cushions that otherwise wouldn’t be very comfortable but considering the night you had and the state you were in, you felt like you were on a cloud. Your thoughts drift back to curious visions of Eddie. What did his hair look like first thing in the morning? Was it as wild as you imagined? Curls sticking up every which way, frizzy and matted? Or was it somehow still perfectly messy? Boyishly messy.

Did he take those chunky rings off every night, leaving them on his nightstand until the morning? How many more tattoos did he have? What movies did he watch? What did he do for fun? You suppose plucking at his guitars was a main contender with the way it would constantly invade your ears. Obviously he read, your eyes catching that copy of Lord of the Rings on the coffee table again. Maybe he worked on cars too, based on those car part catalogs.

The image of him working under the hood of a car, all sweaty in some kind of tank top occupied your brain, his usually tense face hard at work with grease smeared along his cheek. And his hands. His hands would be coated in oil and he’d pull a rag out from his back pocket to wipe them off. Then he’d smile and reveal those deep dimples framing his face so perfectly. And then you would–

“Uh, Bambi?”

Eddie’s voice doesn’t do much other than cause you to stir in your sleep, snuggling a pillow while curling into yourself. You were nearly drooling, completely content. He couldn’t help but stare a little longer than necessary before realizing what a creep he was being. Was he supposed to wake you? If he was, he felt wrong doing so with how peaceful you looked. He rolled his eyes but truthfully, he didn’t mind having a guest for the night.

Maybe he’d be able to get some sleep for once.

–

Tossing around as the springs beneath you squeak, your mouth feels like it had previously been filled with sand. Not an ounce of saliva coated your tongue, you were severely dehydrated. You flung the knitted blanket that had rested on top of you off–when did that get there? You don’t remember grabbing a blanket before drifting off into a deep slumber.

This wasn’t even your house.

Collecting your thoughts, you recall that you had been sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch before apparently falling asleep. It was still dark outside, signifying that it had to be early in the morning which meant you’d only slept for maybe two or so hours. A lamp set atop a beat up side table in the corner was the only thing illuminating the room now. Sitting up and stretching, your bones ached from the way they were piled on top of each other in the position you had been sleeping in. Your right arm had pins and needles running up and down it from being cut off from circulation for so long.

The groan that threatened to escape you was held in your throat as you scooted forward, only to find a full glass of water right there on the coffee table. This was beyond embarrassing, this was humiliating. If you could scurry out the door and across the yard back to your place you would, but you were in this predicament due to your own negligence.

With no other options available to you, you gulp down the lukewarm water, just grateful that your tongue was no longer dryer than the Sahara desert. But it still wasn’t enough. Your thirst seemed unquenchable, at this rate you’d need approximately five more glasses. So you stood yourself up, legs shaky and stomach a tiny bit queasy, and wobbled over to the kitchen. You’d have to pace yourself to avoid throwing up a bunch of water since your stomach was so sensitive right now. Food was out of the question but water was a necessity.

Twisting the sink handle with a small screech of the metal, you fill the glass with a shaky and weak arm before sipping away.

Slowly. You remind yourself.

It must have taken around eight minutes to finish that second glass of water, coaching yourself through it the entire time. You grew tired of drinking it but persisted anyway. As you reach to fill a third glass, you’re startled by a figure in the doorway to Eddie’s room, unable to make out any features in the dim lighting. With a yelp, you manage to drop the glass in the sink, it clanking around noisily but thankfully, not breaking.

“Shit, why are you awake?” Eddie asks, hands raised in surrender as he emerges from the shadows.

“Why are you awake?” You counter.

He raises a brow, clearly wide awake. He didn’t even have that gravelly, sleepy voice. Maybe he hadn’t even gone to sleep at all. There was no evidence that his hair was any frizzier than before and his face didn’t have that puffiness to it when you wake up. It’s also possible that he just looked perfect when he woke up but if you’re being honest, no one really woke up perfect.

“I, uh, I was reading.” He admits, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh.”

An awkward silence trickles in, causing you to cross your arms as a means to close in on yourself, steadily backing up until you hit the counter behind you. Eddie maintains eye contact with you as he retrieves his own cup from one of the cabinets, filling it up and chugging it down with ease. You suddenly feel so out of place, like you were supposed to leave but there was nowhere else to go.

“I, um, I’m sorry for…for the puke. A-and for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You tell him honestly.

He only nods.

“I can go…sit on my porch until you go into the bar. And I’ll get my keys and be out of your hair.”

A few drops of water roll down his chin as he continues drinking, the back of his hand coming up to swipe the liquid away. He appears to be lost in thought, eyes concentrated on the counter in front of him where a few rogue Rice Krispies live. You let your legs carry you a few feet away, your goal being the front door until he speaks up again.

“I’m not gonna be responsible if you get eaten out there.” He grumbles.

“Eaten?”

Eddie looks you up and down as if to say ‘are you serious?’. To be completely honest, you hadn’t taken into account the wildlife that thrived throughout the area before you moved in. Now you were looking more and more dumb by the minute.

“Bears?” He offers an anxious head tilt. “We have fucking bears here, Bambi. You can’t just wander around in the middle of the night.”

“I wouldn’t be wandering.” Why were you trying to make an argument? Out of all the things you could fight him on, why were you choosing whether or not you’d get eaten by a bear? “I would be sitting on my porch.”

You felt like the dumbest woman on the planet and you knew you should’ve stopped talking but the words just…came out.

“Bears can reach your fucking porch, you know that, right?”

His large eyes bored into you in disbelief, his mouth slightly hung open as he awaited your answer.

“Y-yeah.” You gulp.

“God.” He scoffs, turning away from you, perplexed before muttering something under his breath that you happened to also catch. “Christ, they shoulda turned you away.”

“Who?” You pipe up, feeling a bit daring.

For a moment, he turns to stare at you blankly. It’s almost as if you’re the only two people awake and if either of you happened to raise your voice in the slightest, it would awaken the town.

“The assholes that sold you that house.” He just about whines, his voice an octave higher, frustration obvious in his tone.

The refrigerator light briefly appears over the blue and green tiled floor as Eddie opens it, reaching for something before turning around toward the stove and kicking the door shut.

“What–what do you mean? Turn me away? What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask in offense.

“I mean…” He cracks an egg into a pan, followed by another. “They shouldn’t have sold it to someone so clueless.” Another egg.

The shells are discarded in the sink, further cracking into smaller pieces at the impact he’d thrown them.

“What? Were they just supposed to reject me until someone more ‘qualified’ came along?” You try to catch his gaze, ducking your head as he reaches for the salt and pepper. “And–are you seriously making eggs right now?”

You earn a scowl from him as his pan begins to sizzle, his hand quick to grab a spatula from one of the pots on the stove to flip the eggs. This had to have been some weird dream or manifestation. And there they were again, those three numbers falling from his lips in a whisper as his eyes shut temporarily while his eggs simmered.

“I was already qualified before you came along!” He raises his voice, not quite to a yell but not very quiet either.

Silence.

Your eyes must have bulged out of your head, Eddie’s features softening by the second. Regret settled in his eyes, your face the vision of pure horror and all because of him.

He got impatient.

His therapist would be disappointed in him. And so would Wayne.

“I-I just…I was going to, um…” He starts calmly. “I was gonna buy it. And, and I was—” His breathing is now shallow, his eyes wet and pleading. “It–it was–I don’t–”

“Eddie.” You whisper, trying to break through whatever trance he was in.

He seemed stuck in his own head, eyes darting back and forth while he struggled to find words. The eggs were on the verge of burning which prompted you to reach over him and turn the stove off. The spatula he previously held clung against the tile.

“I-I–um, I was–”

It’s as if he isn’t even in the room, totally removed as the same few syllables fell from his tongue.

“I’m–I-I–”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You attempt to soothe him. “Do you wanna sit down?” You ask, trying to catch his eyes but failing as he squeezes them shut.

Again with the counting.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

All under his shaky breath.

“I-I’m fine. ‘M fine.” His voice cracks, eyes opening timidly.

When you go to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, he flinches, a gasp leaving his lungs. Forcing yourself a few steps backward in order to provide him the space he needs, you recognize a hint of fear within him. It’s not of you, it’s something else yanking at his thoughts.

“Sit down, let’s sit down, okay?” You instruct, gradually lower yourself, waiting for him to follow your actions.

Nodding, he slowly slides his back down the side of the counter, falling into a position where his knees were to his chest, hands resting against the floor. You join him, still keeping your distance but wanting him to know that despite the previous tension, you were being supportive through his episode. Whatever it may be.

“Breathe.” You tell him, just as he had done with you back at the bar. “In…and out.” You encourage him.

He follows, his breathing still labored but improving. Continuing for a minute or so, his shoulders finally loosen up, his face relaxing. You let him guide the situation from here, if he wanted to talk or remain mute. Either was okay.

Moments pass, the hard kitchen floor causing you discomfort that you willingly take, not daring to shift around too much as to keep the tranquility finally falling over the two of you. Instead, you take interest in the wood grain of the cabinets, eyes wandering around each curve like a maze, sometimes identifying shapes along the way. A dog’s face, a ghost, and occasionally the haunting silhouette of a human.

Sneaking a glance at Eddie, you find that his eyes are shut as he rests his head against the cabinet behind him, his hands fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie, tying little knots and then undoing them just to repeat the process. Your watch indicates that it’s 4:03 AM. You would usually be sleeping however you can’t really offer yourself much sympathy when it seems this is the norm for Eddie. He always had tired eyes though you’d never put much thought into it until now. He must not be sleeping. Which could also be a contribution to his moodiness.

“I’m gonna lose the bar.” Eddie speaks up from beside you, eyes still shut as he continues to fidget.

“Hm?” You turn your full attention to him.

There’s a pause, a moment of thinking. You can tell as he opens his eyes and side-eyes you, not with malice but more so to collect his thoughts. Lips pinched in between his teeth roughly, you could almost wince at the way blood surfaces from the poor abused skin. Not too obvious, but obvious enough as you await clarification, the tiniest bit of crimson seeping out from behind his teeth only to be left to dry out on his perfectly shaped lips. Then he breaks the silence with a heavy exhale.

“I, uh, I’m pretty close to losing it. Can barely pay the bills on the damn place. Been going downhill for a few months now.” He elaborates, spinning a ring around his finger repeatedly . “I was gonna use the rest of my savings that my grandpa left me to buy that house. Rent it out. I talked to a friend who’s really good with all that financial shit and he said I could get a steady income and most likely keep the bar running and profiting again.”

“Oh.” You whisper, a huge sensation of guilt overtaking you.

“Not your fault.” He sighs. “Guess I’ve been kinda taking it out on you.”

Now he avoids your gaze, far more interested in the cracked tile beneath him. A curse can be made out from just under his breath while he buries his head in his hands, running them up and down his face, almost as if to relieve some of his stress but having no such luck. His admission catches you off guard, not at all suspecting that this morning would turn into honesty hour.

“No.” You reply quickly. “I mean…yes. But I-I didn’t know. If I knew–”

“Don’t give yourself a stroke, Bambi.” He cuts you off, turning to look at you. “I’m not proud of how dick-ish I’ve been. It’s nothing personal though.” Eddie confesses, seemingly annoyed with himself.

Sincerity floods his eyes, a cry for help. But how were you supposed to help him? Before you can muster up some kind of response to his almost-apology, he continues.

“I-uh, I just can’t lose this bar. I inherited it from my grandpa and he had been running it for…years.” Behind his persistence, there’s hints of defeat. A bitterness that you’d come to recognize in the last few weeks. “And, uh, I didn’t know ‘im for very long but, I kinda feel like it’s my responsibility.”

“Didn’t know him for very long?” You asked before even calculating the consequences. You had no right to pry into his personal life.

His hands begin to move up and down his shins, a self-soothing gesture from what you can tell. Eddie was very fidgety, and you’d only just started noticing.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “I moved here like four years ago. Some bad shit happened back home and I–” There’s a moment of hesitation, a sudden panic lurking behind his gaze. “I can’t go back.”

You want so badly to ask him where ‘home’ used to be but decide against it. He had already willingly offered you more information than you would have originally been brave enough to ask for.

“Anyway, I never really knew my grandpa until I came here to live with him. He died last year. I’ve been trying to keep things afloat since then.” He explains, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

Genuine sympathy drips from your voice, the kind that felt like hot honey running down a sore throat during flu season. During the moment it feels…good. Comforting. In the way that only his mother ever was in the brief time they had together. And then the sting returns.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” The walls are rapidly raised once again and god knows when you would get to peek through the cracks again. “We should, uh, we should get to the bar so you can get your keys. And your car.” He suggests, pulling himself up from the floor with a groan.

“Wait–what about your eggs?” You mention, gripping the edge of the counter for leverage as you stand.

The eggs were long forgotten about, now all sad and cold in the pan. Unappetizing. One of the yolks had somehow broken among the commotion of Eddie’s panic and left a disgusting coating around the gaps, that eggy-wet-dog smell nauseating you. They were trash in all honesty but Eddie didn’t seem to mind, quickly lifting the pan and grabbing a fork to shovel them into his mouth.

You can’t fight the urge to stare, cold eggs and runny yolks being tossed into his mouth without a second thought.

“What?” He glances at you in irritation.

“You could’ve at least heated them up.” You complain, nose crinkled in revolt.

He rolls his eyes but his annoyance quickly melts away, a fraction of a playful smirk pulling at his lips, eyes gleaming with something captivating.

–

The scent of tobacco and motor oil invades your nose, the smells of Eddie’s truck, much different than the little pine tree air freshener in the car he’d driven you in last night. The engine rumbles down the road, startling the birds as he drives by. Some kind of guitar riff blares through the radio, his ringed fingers tapping along against the steering wheel. Instead of his sweatshirt and sweatpants, he now wears a long sleeve covered with his leather jacket along with some ripped up blue jeans. As far as you’re concerned, he’s way underdressed for the brisk morning air, only getting colder and colder by the day. Though, he may run hot and the drop in temperature just doesn’t faze him. Even so, it’d make you feel better if he at least put on a heavier coat.

Regardless, you can’t seem to control the shivers that rattle your body, your teeth nearly chattering, jaw clenched tightly. You were mentally scolding drunk-you for forgetting your jacket at the bar and though you were on your way there now, it didn’t do you any good with the way you were practically an ice cube. It was apparent that the heater of Eddie’s truck wasn’t very efficient as the air coming out was slightly warm but not warm enough to relieve the cold nipping at the exposed skin of your arms. You could see your breath, only further reminding you of how cold you truly were.

Attention was the last thing you wanted as you subtly moved your hands that rested politely in your lap, up your arms to offer the tiniest bit of skin-on-skin warmth. Any kind of relief would do. You only hoped he wouldn’t notice as you began to move your hands back and forth as a means to create some friction, more heat.

Buy a large, fuzzy, soft coat, ASAP. You note to yourself.

As a distraction, you begin to identify objects within the truck, a solo game of ‘I spy’ if you will. At your feet, there’s a small crate of cassette tapes. An impressive collection, mainly metal and rock from what you can see. Maybe a few folksy ones behind those based on the labels, John Denver being the one that stood out to you. Then, another car parts catalog on top of the dash. An empty can of Dr. Pepper in the cup holder. Or what you assume to be empty. A definitely empty cigarette carton abandoned in the other cup holder–

“Shit, here.” Eddie says, reaching behind into the back seat only to magically pull out a denim jacket covered in several patches and pins.

Evidently, you weren’t playing it as cool as you thought, clearly somehow exposing that you were in fact freezing. He showed no emotion as he urged the jacket into your reach, eyes still focused on the road. Your hesitation only had him pushing the denim into your hand, wordlessly cautioning you that he wouldn’t have your modesty or insistence that you were fine. Clutching the rough fabric in your hand, you pause to stare at him, as if he was going to change his mind any second. He doesn’t. Only keeps his eyes forward, brows furrowed in that grumpy manner.

His nose is pink again and you were willing to bet that the tips of his ears matched if they hadn’t been hidden by his wild hair. Even his cheeks were dusted with the lightest rosy shade. Fall looked good on him. You couldn’t even imagine how amazing Summer would look on him.

Quickly, you undo your seatbelt and shrug the jacket on. It’s cold from living in the truck all night but warms you up regardless, much cozier than your bare arms out in the open. And it smells like Eddie, a smell you can’t quite pinpoint to one specific thing. A little bit like cigarettes, maybe a hint of cologne, spicy but not overpowering, and a whiff of rubber. It almost smelled like a garage.

The sun was just rising on the horizon, the lake coming into view perfectly as if to put on a show. Hues of orange painted the sky, birds chirping and squawking as they announced the arrival of a new day. An apricot dream accompanied by peachy tones.

–

The Bourbon was a shell of itself at 5:00 AM. The morning was bright and early though the bar wasn’t ready to awaken just yet, not until the evening when it thrived. Until then, it slept peacefully throughout the day, forgotten about until Happy Hour. Ribbons of light snuck in through the blinds, illuminating the smallest sections of the tables and the floorboards.

The lights quickly took over that magical early morning feel as Eddie emerged next to you, hands tucked into his pockets while you scanned the room. And there they were, your keys. Sat right on top of the bar just as you had remembered. Your jacket, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Bummer.

You could’ve sworn you grabbed it from the back lockers before you declared war on Eddie last night. It wasn’t there either, your locker devoid of your belongings other than a pad of paper and a pen.

“Have you seen my jacket?” You ask Eddie, checking the barstools just to be safe. Nothing.

He had slipped right back into work mode, even at the crack of dawn. You suppose it's fair though, the information he had shared with you in the quietest hours of the morning resonating in your mind. Work never stopped for him.

“Hm? No, I haven’t seen it.” He answers, collecting the dirty rags from their designated bin behind the bar to start them up in the wash.

With a soft pout, you trace your steps in your head but can’t seem to recall where you’d left it, your brain failing you. Maybe it would eventually pop up again, it wasn’t anything special anyway. It just happened to be one of the heaviest jackets you owned so you would have to remember to stop by one of the shops to search for something equivalent. Beginning to pull your arm out of the sleeve of the jacket you currently wore, Eddie’s voice stops you.

“Just–keep it ‘til you find yours.” He says. Like he knew.

Were you that obvious? Girl moves to a random town miles and miles away from home only to be unprepared for the weather conditions in which you would think she would be aware of before committing.

“No, it’s–”

You immediately shut up when you see his expression, something that says ‘for the love of god, just listen’ with glaring eyes and furrowed brows. Instead of fighting him on it, you offer your gratitude in the form of labor.

“Um, I could stick around…and help. If you need.”

Your words float in the air, so delicate it makes him want to vomit; not out of disgust but out of confusion for whatever feeling was swirling around in his head, making him dizzy. Each word was too sweet, cavity inducing sweetness that he wanted to lick up like icing. He wasn’t used to being presented with such regard, a candied offer delivered right from your pretty lips to his ears.

“If I still have a job.” You add. Sugary syllables pouring from your lips unintentionally. He may have a heart attack from the amount of sugar.

Eddie collects himself, clears his throat as if to also clear his conscience, not succeeding. You’re so unlike everything that he knows. He knows of friendly conversation and boyish banter, endless nights followed by endless days without sleep, he knows of his shitty attitude that comes around more often than not, but he’s never been one to know pure kindness, a certain tenderness radiating from you and seeping into him. Sure people are kind to him, especially here. But you’re something else.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course you have a job.” He affirms.

The small smile you grace him with makes him want to jump off of a bridge. Because he is such a cruel being, such a monstrous man awaiting further punishment from the universe for being much less than gentle with such a sweet-tempered, sympathetic human that may even be a gift from god himself if Eddie believed in all that.

And then Chrissy crossed his mind. He could not endure another loss. Chrissy was never even his but he used to mourn what could have been had she lived. Perhaps she was his first love. A miserable little middle schooler pining after Hawkin’s Sweetheart all the way up until highschool. And the moment he got close enough, she was gone, right in front of his poor traumatized eyes. It was enough for him to swear off love for good.

For some reason he was finding himself wanting to dial back on that promise. He had only known you for around two weeks and was going back on his own word. It was freaking him out, making him want to yank his hair out from the roots and collapse onto the floor. He felt like a teenage boy again, going through puberty and trying to work out all of his jumbled feelings and hormones.

You were staring at him expectantly and it was only then that he realized he had been lost in thought. A pool of thoughts actually. Maybe even having a revelation?

“You can uh…” He clears his throat, nearly hacking up a lung. “You haven’t…you haven’t eaten, have you?”

Internally, he’s scolding himself.

You’re gonna get hurt before you can even get close. People are not meant to love you, Munson. It’s been proven time and time again. Quit while you’re ahead.

He was too far ahead anyway. Would he ever learn his lesson?

People are not meant to love you.

“No.” You answer sheepishly. “But I-I’m fine!” You try to say convincingly. The reality was that your stomach was swallowing itself, the fact that your dinner had been four tequila shots was not favoring you.

“Bambi.” Eddie says sternly.

God she’s gorgeous.

He was fucked.

“Okay…fine. I haven’t eaten.” You admit. “But I can help out a little and then–”

“C’mon.” He demands, abandoning the bin of dirty rags to head for the kitchen.

And on the way, he reasons with himself as you follow.

Just be friendly. There’s nothing wrong with being friendly. We can be friends. Stop scaring the shit out of yourself. She wouldn’t even like you beyond that. No one would.

“So, what are you feelin’?” He asks, knocking his knuckles against the metal worktop.

“Oh, I-I don’t know. Whatever is easiest. You know what, I can just go get something from one of the shops, I’m sure that little pancake place is open by now.”

“You don’t trust my cooking?” He jokes, amusement written all over his face.

To be fair, he hadn’t given you much reason to trust him since you arrived. But somehow, layers were starting to peel back and you were getting the tiniest glimpses of his true self. And you’d be stupid not to indulge when he had practically propped the door to his mind right open. At least for the time being.

“Should I?” There’s a huge grin on your face, a stupid grin that you try to conceal but can’t. “I dunno, you kind of have me wondering if you’re gonna spit in my food or something.” You quip.

“Ouch.” Eddie feigns hurt by bringing a hand to his chest. “You think I’m that scummy?” He asks, raising his brow playfully.

“Oh, the scummiest.” You banter back.

“You’re breakin’ my heart Bambi.” He frowns before disappearing into the walk-in freezer, discarding his leather jacket on a hook on his way.

Truth be told he was breaking yours too, with his handsome face and his dumb smile, deep dimples you could think about for hours, and those eyes. They told a story, a tragic story that maybe he would never care to share. And that’s what broke your heart. Suffering in silence. You knew that feeling all too well.

“By the way…” Eddie shouts from the freezer before appearing once again. “I’m Eddie.” He sticks his hand out toward you, two eggs held in his free hand.

You look up at him, bewildered.

“I never asked for your name.” He reminds you with a shit-eating grin.

The Eddie you met weeks ago was gone as far as you were concerned. All within a few hours, he seemed to warm up to you.

The scary dog was rolling over…for you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things au #stranger things fic

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