#LIKE FROM WHAT IM SEEING ITS VERY LITTLE IN MARROW
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I believe blood is made in the bone marrow actually
WHAT THE FUCK
#I DID NOT KNOW THAT#BUT ALSO LIKE#HOW IS THERE THAT MUCH BLOOD IN HIS BONES THEN????#LIKE FROM WHAT IM SEEING ITS VERY LITTLE IN MARROW#EXPLAIN THAT THEN /j#christ. forgetting i made that post and seeing this in my inbox made me shit my pants for a second#so threatening#thank you#oakdrawss#ask
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hey pspsps i found this thing n twitter and i cant get it out of my head,, so dreams escape right? and sapnap said that he'd be the one who'd take dreams last life rgiht? so imagine if he gets ant, bad and george and tells them "its the final manhunt" (:
im ngl the name of this on my document was “the final manhunt *offkey kazoo*”
with that, have some good ol’ post-prison c!dream angst! probably not exactly what you asked for, but i hope you like it anyway :D
tw: implied torture, abuse, dark portrayals of c!sam and c!quackity, suicide/suicide implications, panic attacks, emotional distress, emotional instability, death threats, violence, flashbacks, pandora’s vault/prison arc
When Dream escapes the prison, he is a frothing thing of spite and rage, one part human and ninety-nine parts determination simmered and condensed over high heat; there is anger and then there’s this, the fire that leaps to his eyes and the shaking shreds of a battered heart he holds close to his chest and refuses to let anyone close enough to see. He moves and the server moves with him, tugged along by his iron will and sweat-slick desperation, joining in the brilliant blue whirl of a diamond axe swung recklessly and slammed into the dirt, an aimless fury following each formless drive of the blade into grass and gravel. The air sings danger and the air sings wrong and every step closer brings a ringing scream of away away go away that dances like static electricity against their skin.
Puffy follows, cutlass strapped to her hip and hair tucked messily beneath the rim of her cornet as the group advances - someone had alerted over comms about seeing the escaped prisoner in this direction, and they’d all jumped forward in the hopes that the weeks-long manhunt could finally be ended. Sapnap leads the way, headband whipping behind him as he strides forward, jaw clenched in fierce determination; George brings up the rear, bow in hand, a full quiver of arrows strapped to his back. Puffy’s running alongside Sam, who has been strangely tight-lipped the entire time Dream has been gone, firm in his insistence that the prisoner be detained but saying little else - it’s something that she would pry at, usually, but her head is filled with half-formed regrets and fears and a bubbling undercurrent of anger she’s afraid will come loose if she opens her mouth, so she stays silent as they run ever forward.
Sapnap yells, and her head snaps up - there, in the tall grass of a plains biome lies a flash of orange that must be Dream. The hunters around her speed up and she strains to follow; the other three are clearly experienced, easily falling into step with each other as she scrambles to keep up. Dream’s head snaps over towards them and he begins to sprint, cutting a line through the yellow field as they race to follow. She’s not seen him since the prison break, has only heard the whispers- an orange clothed monster, all bones and skin and uncaged fury, a diamond axe heaved in his arms slamming against anything that comes too close. It’s hard to rationalize this untamed, unrefined dash to the unwavering calm that she had always associated with his style of fighting, his movements much more like the life-or-death escape of a hunted rabbit than any hunter’s dog. It’s hard to rationalize this Dream with the one she knows- but well, she’s gotten used to that.
It took her far too long to admit, but she’s come to realize that she doesn’t quite know Dream at all.
He leads them forward to the shorter grass and harsher dips and planes of a savannah, the sun beating down in slanting heat against the backs of their necks. The ground they’re standing on begins to shatter into steep cliffs and jagged mountains, rough edges of stone climbing into the sky all around them. Sapnap curses, shading his eyes against the sun.
“He’s going up there,” he says, and George sends arrows flying towards the orange dot blurring across the steep face of a nearby mountain. Sam grumbles as Puffy strains to catch sight of him, watching his scrambling movements up the cliff face to the top.
“Then we follow,” he says, pulling a stack of ender pearls from his inventory. “Each person take a few. We’re too close to lose him now.”
The climb is anything but pleasant, the sun right overhead and making sweat gather at her hairline and drip down her face. Even as a sheep hybrid, she struggles to keep pace with the other hunters as they race over thin paths of granite and clamber up near-vertical faces of stone with little problem, clearly practiced as they follow Dream without breaking their sprint. The rock gives way to dirt and tufts of short-shorn grass and Sapnap’s eyes flash.
“Be careful,” he says, looking straight at her. “He’s cornered - that’s when he does risky shit without thinking about the consequences. He knows you’re the least experienced here and there’s a good chance that he’s going to charge you. If that happens, hold your shield and just block. We’ll handle him from there.”
She swallows back the spark of indignation that rises at his words, a bitter scream that they only see her as a liability dying out as she reminds herself that these three had hunted Dream professionally before, had struggled even with two more at their sides. The caution is far from unwarranted.
“I understand.”
Sapnap nods tersely and looks to the other two with a hand movement that she doesn’t understand. The other two immediately start moving, Sam moving to the front, George nocking an arrow as he takes his place at the rear - they’re still shielding her, she realizes with a small spike of annoyance again, shaking her head and drawing her own cutlass as Sapnap leads the way for them to swing up onto the top of the mountain.
It takes her a moment to adjust; the wind, unhindered by the cliffs that had been shielding them seconds before, whips at her face and draws tears to her eyes, makes her hair fly wildly into her face. Through narrowed eyes, she watches as the figure on the other side of the mountaintop scrambles backwards, diamond axe braced in front of him as he backs to the opposite edge.
“Dream,” Sapnap calls, voice deadly calm. “You’re cornered. Stand down.”
Dream shakes his head, lips curling in a wordless snarl. The sound is desperate, almost inhuman, making Puffy’s hair stand on end. As her vision clears, she stops dead in her tracks despite herself - Dream looks awful. She’d expected him to look disheveled after his escape, hadn’t expected much comfort in his stay in the Vault, but the way he looks, now, hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks and skinny, shaking limbs that only barely seem to be able to hold up his weight, bandages covering every visible inch of skin, wrapped messily around his right arm as if done by one hand - she reaches forward unconsciously and Dream flinches back.
“Don’t-” his voice rasps, cracks, falls in on itself as he wets his lips to try and speak again. “Don’t come closer.”
“Prisoner,” Sam growls, stepping forward, and he turns those wild, fever-bright eyes towards the creeper hybrid, flailing backwards and knuckles white from the grip on his axe. His breathing visibly hitches, head whipping back and forth.
“Don’t come closer,” he hisses again, stepping back, and Puffy stills.
“Sam-” she grabs his sleeve. “Sam- don’t. He’s at the edge.”
Dream’s gaze swings to her, and her heart stutters at the uncaged, obvious fear raging in his eyes. He’s backed to the very back edge of the mountain they’re standing on, left foot halfway off, sending dirt skidding over and off of the cliff down down down to the ground hundreds of feet below. The three hunters stop, muscles tensed, and Dream bares his teeth at them but doesn’t back away further.
His shoulders sag as they stand, stagnant, each huddled on their own side of the mountaintop. His gaze is venomous, green eyes burning even in the glaring light of the sun, flicking warily between their faces as he holds the axe between them.
“So you came,” his voice is tight, a slight tremble pulling at the end despite his seeming bravado. “Here to finish the job, huh?”
Sapnap pulls back his shoulders. “I made a promise, Dream.”
Dream laughs, bitter. His left hand releases on the axe handle to come to his chest, grabbing at his right, looking almost like he’s trying to hold himself. His laughter tapers off into something weak and wrecked, and the sound makes Puffy’s heart clench uncomfortably in her chest.
“Figures you’d keep that one,” his head tips up, looking Sapnap in the eye. “What- did your fiance give up? The revive book not worth the effort anymore?”
Sapnap hisses. “Don’t bring Karl into this-”
“Karl?” Dream’s eyes flash, grip tightening on his upper arm. “No- what? Why-”
“Dream.” Sam’s voice is low, something dark buzzing behind his tone, “Don’t-”
Puffy interrupts him with a hand to his shoulder, stepping forward and freezing mid-step when Dream’s head whips to her, eyes widening and foot scraping against the edge of the cliff again.
“Sapnap, Sam, let him talk,” she levels her gaze at Dream, trying to pick out the emotions warring behind those brilliant green eyes. “Not Karl- you’re talking about Quackity then, right?”
Sam hisses, “Puffy, I don’t think this is a good idea-”
Dream laughs.
The sound is grating, awful, making her hands come to her ears. It rips through skin, wraps around bone, seeps into marrow - he’s laughing, axe disappearing into his inventory so he can clutch his face with both hands, the loose sleeves of his prison uniform falling to his elbows to reveal the bandages wrapping all the way up his forearms and disappearing further under the fabric. In front of her, Sapnap falters, grip on his sword loosening; George steps back, eyebrows wrinkled, bow lowering. Dream laughs like the world is ending, and some cold, hardened thing in her chest shatters at the sound.
“You know,” his hands claw at his hair, wrapping around the strands and pulling, “You know you know you know- you have to know. How-” He shakes his head, tugging at his hair harshly and making Puffy wince at the sight, “Don’t- don’t play stupid here.”
“Know what?” George reaches forward, hands empty, palms up like he’s approaching an injured dog. From the way Dream snaps at the sound, hackles raised and teeth bared, he might as well be one. “Dream, what are you talking about?”
Sapnap looks stricken, still, face clouded in a way that Puffy can’t decipher. “Q- don’t play your mind games here, Dream,” despite his words, he sounds uncertain. Puffy hasn’t seen Quackity around for a while, had thought that he was staying at Sapnap and Karl’s new place. From the way Sapnap’s eyes have darkened, it looks like she assumed wrong. “Quackity hasn’t even been around, what does he have to do with any of this?”
Dream shakes his head again, seemingly stuck in his own head, barely even responding to their words. “You know- you know you know you know- Sam knows- you-” His breath hitches, chest heaving, and Puffy blinks. He’s having a panic attack, a clinical, much more calm part of her says as Dream seems to collapse in on himself. “You know. You have to know he wouldn’t- nobody came if you didn’t know then why didn’t you come if you didn’t know then why did Sam let him in you know you know you know-”
“Sam?” George turns to Sam, hands curling into fists and then uncurling again and again, “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
Sam’s expression is unreadable, ignoring George as he looks back at Dream. “Prisoner,” and has he called him by his name, yet? “Come with us calmly and your punishment will be lightened. There’s nowhere to run. Give up.”
Dream keens, a high-pitched whine exiting his lungs, “I won’t- I won’t tell,” his voice cracks, tears clearly running down his cheeks, “I won’t tell you Quackity I won’t-”
“Sam,” Puffy turns to the hybrid. “I think you should go.”
“Puffy-”
“He’s having a panic attack, Sam. He’s hardly going to do anything.” She levels a glare at him, sheathing her cutlass at her side. “I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, and I’ve promised to help anyone having a mental health crisis on the server.” Something dark and traitorous whispers how she’d given up on Dream before, and she pushes it down.
“He’s a danger to everyone on the server.”
“Sam- he’s not fucking breathing right now on the edge of a cliff. He’s not a danger to anyone but himself.”
“She’s right, Sam,” Puffy’s head snaps to George. He’s looking at her, expression hidden behind his glasses, lips pressed together in a small frown. “Puffy, we’ll be waiting. You or Sapnap call if you need back-up.”
She nods tersely, watches as Sam gives in and follows George down the mountain, the hybrid’s red eyes still staring at Dream as he leaves. Sapnap seems distracted, hardly acknowledging their exchange with his eyes fixed on Dream’s crumpled form, emotions clearly warring over his face, and Puffy brushes past him to get to her patient- Dream.
“Dream,” she speaks, not moving forward when his shoulders seize. “Dream, I won’t move closer unless you want me to,” she enunciates the words clearly, watching his face for any flash of recognition or understanding. He shakes his head minutely at her words, arms trembling, but he doesn’t move closer to the edge. “Can you hear me?”
He nods jerkily, and she smooths the palms of her hands on her pants, trying to calm the race of her heart in her chest.
“Good, very good,” years of training, habit, flood her head, pushing away the buzzing unease and fear and tangled knot of dark feelings that linger every time she sees Dream’s face, “I need you to breathe for me, okay? We’re going to inhale for four- there you go,” she counts, watching the shuddering movement of his chest as he struggles to replicate her movements, “Very good, hold for four, there you go- you’ve got this-”
Slowly, painfully, the rattle of his lungs in his chest becomes something quieter, more manageable, no longer rising and falling in desperate arrhythmic wheezes that make her chest hurt in sympathy. She’s still kneeling there, hands palms-up when he looks up at her, eyes wide, a degree of lucidity having returned to them, and for a moment a flash of fear stabs through her heart.
She swallows it down, pulling forward every ounce of professionalism she can muster. “Dream,” she keeps her voice low and soft, biting her lip at the way he freezes, again, at the call of his name. “Dream, can you step away from the edge?”
His hands clutch at the line of grass and dirt that make up the sod overhang, knuckles white. His eyes keep staring in hers, wide and wet and green, and she shushes him softly under her breath.
“It’s ok, take your time,” she breathes, watching as his hand inches forward bit by bit, gaze still fixed on her face, “It’s okay, Duckling.”
She blinks, and there’s a whirl of orange flying towards her chest; Sapnap shouts behind her, and panic blooms in her head too quickly for her to pick out anything but a desperate little oh god I’m going to die-
The blow never comes.
Instead, she looks down, heart in her throat, at a sobbing, shaking lump pressed against her chest, head buried in the crook over her neck as dirty, tangled hair falls in waves over her shoulder. She freezes, watching as his shoulders shake, hands tangled in her shirt sleeve, barely able to hear the words he’s saying over his wails and her heart thudding in her ears.
“Please don’t bring me back,” he pleads, voice cracking, “Please- please I don’t wanna go back please tell Sapnap to make it quick please I can’t go through another Quackity visit please Puffy don’t let them send me back-”
“Dream-”
“I’ll- I won’t fight, I pr’mise, Sapnap can keep his promise it’s okay I won’t fight anymore I’m-” he keens, high-pitched and mangled, into her shoulder, “I’m so tired Puffy.”
“Duckling,”
“Don’ make me go back, please.”
Puffy pulls him back, presses her hand on his cheek, murmuring softly. And- maybe she shouldn’t be doing this, maybe Dream’s a danger just like Sam said, maybe she’ll come to regret helping him the same way she had before - but right now he’s in pain and he’s crying and he’s closer than he’s been in so, so long and all she can see is her duckling, hurting, her duckling, home.
“Dream,” she brushes her thumb against his cheek, smooths a lock of hair behind his ear. “What happened in there?”
And he begins to speak.
#tw torture#tw abuse#c!quackity critical#c!sam critical#not really for either but they are portrayed dark#tw suicide#tw suicidal thoughts#tw panic attack#tw emotional distress#tw emotional instability#tw death threats#tw violence#tw flashbacks#long post#my writing :D#my asks !!
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Quarantine kink conversations
Henry Catches you watching porn and quickly discovers you both share many kinks.
Masterlist
Warnings: Adult situations +18 ,Smut, Daddy kink, Bondage, Overstimulation
A/n So I haven't been posting much as I've been struggling sorting things out over this stupid virus but I'm back but will post a little slower then I have been, even if Im not posting I'm writing. And as a side note Diamond Blackfan Aneamia is not made up, its a very rare form of Aplatsic Anaemia that basically means your bone marrow does not make enough haemoglobin (red blood cells) in some cases none at all its a horrible condition that I was born with and the reason that I am now confined to my house for a minimum of twelve weeks as the treatment destroys your immune system. Hence why I have been away trying to sort out food and medications ect which has been hell!! Any way enough of that I hope you enjoy xx
Taglist: @thatgirly81 @two-unbeatable-beaters
"Oh darling...look at all of that hm? Its dripping on the covers, such a messy girl" he said shaking his head a little tutting you watched embarrassed as he let it drop to the bed your arousal forming a small wet puddle beneath it. He crawled up the bed stretching out beside you and snatched your tablet from you.
This was hell..you decided..absolute hell you were stuck indoors on lock-down, now usually you didn't mind being stuck home with Henry ,honestly you preferd it but you normally found yourself tangled between the sheets or watching tv. Then again normally when Henry was home it was a break from filming and he had nothing to do but this time Henry had been down in the gym everyday keeping up his work out routine making use of his new glute drive or as you had dubbed it 'teasing thrust machine'. You could understand in some ways he wanted to make sure that he was still in shape for season two of the witcher when ever that was going to start.
But you were bored Henry had chuckled saying he would play with you after his work out....which you knew would last most of the day, you had been watching him earlier but got kicked out for 'pOuTiNg LiKe A SpOiLt BrAt'..you had bristled at him when he called you that..you wasn't a brat..you were a good girl, most of the time. Ok so you'll admit you had been sulking a little jealous of the equipment I mean the only thing that man should be thrusting was you and he had brushed you off then the little shit started teasing you with unnecessary grunts groans and a wink as he worked out.Bastard. You huffed kicking at the mattress below you growling and pouting in a small tantrum 'twelve weeks, twelve fucking weeks of staying inside what the fuck are you supposed to do for twelve weeks? that's like quarter of the year!' you was one of the 1.5 million who had to stay indoors for twelve weeks due to your diamond blackfan anaemia which is basically anaemia caused by bone marrow failure as a result you was on a corticosteroid that surpressed your immune system...Yay you just hoped that your blood count doesn't drop to far it'd just be your luck to need a transfusion and catch this fucking thing in hospital.
Tv was a no go every channel reminding you of the virus with the latest bullshit statistics and politicians giving the same ' we followed expert advice' reply to every question disregarding state that the nhs has found itself in. But this was driving you crazy just the idea of being stuck here for three months didn't sit well with you. You sighed rolling over on your back on the bed spread eagle in one of Henry's tshirts tho tight on him you drowned in it. You could hardly believe how bored you was there was so much you could do in this house yet you just stayed there staring at the ceiling.
You huffed again looking around the room your eyes locked on your little red bag stuffed haphazardly between the bed and side table, you smiled slyly you knew he wouldn't be pleased but he was preoccupied and wouldn't even know, its not like he was going to be finished anytime soon and you could always have a shower afterwards. Slowly you crept up the bed towards your naughty little bag of goodies. You had made full use of the valentines day sales in February and bought some new toys online intending on using them whilst Henry was away filming, however there was still a few you hadn't yet tried.
You pulled the 'makeup' bag from beside the bed dumping it on the pillow on your side of the bed and got up closing the door grabbing your tablet from the dresser. If you was going to do it might as well do it properly already knowing what you was going to watch opening an incognito tab going straight to your favorite video which wasn't actually a video, it was an 'erotic audio for women' you didn't really want to see some women ooing and ahing rolling their eyes to the back of their head like some fucking exorcism video as they got plowed by some stick figure 'stud'. You settled on the bed near the head board unzipping your little treat bag pulling out your new fully charged mini vibrator with tiny flicking rabbit ears sprouting from it .
Quickly getting to work you dragged it softly between your folds laying back with your knees up spread, letting yourself get lost in your fantasy one that you hadn't dared let Henry know, it was too early in your relationship to be going into kinks yet especially yours , you was still coming to terms with them yourself let alone letting him know ,hell he would probably run for the hills. No instead you let your mind wander images of Henry teasing you,praising you how he'd call you a good girl before caging you underneath his huge form asking if you was going to be still for daddy. Fuck. You twitched hips jerking lightly you bit your lip and lowered a hand to your lips pulling them apart running the toy to your opening teasing yourself into wetting the toy with your arousal then bringing it back towards your clit as the deep voice on the audio spoke low commands ordering his babygirl what to do.
You shivered as you fell into a slow rhythm of circles on your clit before flicking on the vibrator gasping loud as the ears came to life trapping your swollen clit between them. Oh yes this was money well spent you summarized when you unconsciously curled your toes digging your feet into the bed below trying to keep yourself still determined not to pull the toy away from your throbbing clit as your pussy came to life ,muscles rippling and clenching begging to be filled,you gyrated moaning out as your legs tensed turning up the vibrator you bucked as the voice on the audio praised you growling out just what they were going to forced your body into. You threw your head back as you slowly inserted the small length into you a tiny stretch nothing like Henry but still pleasurable with the tip angled slightly towards your gspot lightly grazing it , you cried out as you rocked the toy side to side within you rubbing it harshly across your gspot forcing shock waves of pleasure through you as your tummy tightened.
So lost in your own fantasies you fail to notice the door open quietly. You moaned loud finding that perfect rhythm obeying the audios instructions. Flicking it up a notch determined to force yourself to cum you let out a sharp squeal as the new intensity almost burned your clit, the little pain sent you over the edge your whole body shuddered as your back almost cramped as it arched your hips wriggling into the small powerful device ,you bit your lip trying to be quiet as your hand let go of the toy hovering uselessly between your legs as you jerked against it still having waves of your climax wash over you as the toy abused your almost raw clit.
Not able to take anymore you swore as your fingers searched blindly for the toy wanting to turn it off before you got to tender. You screamed snapping open your eyes as you grabbed a hot wrist instead. Mortified you stared at Henry making to move away Your squeak of surprise became a high keen as the vibrator shifted when you tried jerking away throwing your head back as another onslaught of pleasure overcame you, some how your humiliation of being caught made it more intense as you release over the still vibrating toy swearing loud. You couldn't believe he had caught you,he was hovering over your form one hand moved grasping the toy between your still quivering thighs twisting it slowly forcing you to buck you clit twitching as the flicking ears moved slightly. His eyes were dark and he had a wicked grin.
"I thought I'd told you to wait? I wasn't going to be long" his deep voice brought you out of your shock. You quickly made a move for the vibrator wanting to pull it out and hide under the covers.You mewled as he batted your hand away holding down the button stopping the assault on your clit, having sex with him was one thing but this was the first time he'd caught you masturbating and you was extremely embarrassed thankful that the short video had finished, thank god for small mercies. Your eyes widened and you quickly flipped the tablet cover shut putting it to sleep desperate to hide your kink. You flushed as he raised an eyebrow at you still amused then without warning he pulled out your new vibrator making a fuss over the now soaked rubber.
"Oh my god Henry no!" you slapped your hand on it trying to tug it back panicked desperate to hide the video from him not ready to explain to him, he chuckled prying your fingers off and easily wrestled your arms into one hand holding them away from himself pinning you with his body weight ready to snoop at your open tab.
"You know I have always wondered what little kinks you have babe" he said flipping it open, you struggled against him
"Henry love please don't!" but it was to lat he had already begun to scroll threw the page clicking back a page looking at exactly what you had searched tucked your head into your chest feeling even worse then you did before. He was quiet for a moment ,you held your breath waiting for him to make fun of you but he didn't instead he closed the tablet again sliding it across the bed and tugged you beneath him growling.
"Fuck I should have known, shit babe you might just be the perfect woman for me" he grunted pushing his bulge against your still sensitive clit ignoring the damp patch you made on his bottoms you yelped jumping away only to be dragged back down onto him he found your neck quickly suckling at it kissing and biting.
"So tell me what other little secrets does my baby girl have?" You shivered relishing in being called his baby girl he groaned rocking into you.
"Hm? You know if you don't tell daddy what you want he cant provide it,come on baby girl tell me, I want to know everything" he grunted you moaned out as he tugged his tshirt off of you leaving you bare below him.
"P-pleease please I want you" you made to wriggle your hands out of his grasp but he just pulled them to his mouth laying a delicate kiss on your palm. Whimpering you pouted at his devilish smile.
"Ah ah you should ask daddy nicely" you flushed gasping at him "I-I but you and I'm not sure-are you sure Henry I don't want to force anything if your not comfortable-" he smirked at you enjoying just how cute you was stuttering over your words, it was so unlike you normally you were blunt and to the point, his grin widened and he leant in close running his nose along the new bite mark adorning your neck before whispering hotly into your ear
"Now now baby girl this is perfect i always fantasized about you being daddies little girl, letting me take care of you..why don't you tell daddy what you want ask nicely and I might just reward you" you trembled feeling your inner walls clamp tight you let out a breathy moan still uncertain of yourself he encouraged you again
"come on baby, if you don't ask you wont get tell me.. tell daddy what you want"
"I-I want t-to play daddy please? Please play with me I'v been a good girl" he chuckled sucking your earlobe into his mouth running his teeth across it then pulled back looking you in the eye
"Good? Oh baby I dont think so" you whined at him pouting tugging on your hands grinding your his on his bulge making him hiss he just squinted stareing down at you as you argued in a high whining voice
"Yes I haaaave I left you alone when you told me tooo don't be mean" he tutted tilting his head looking at you from the top of his eyes unconvinced
"And why did daddy have to make you leave the gym hm?" You stuck out your bottom lip pouting kicking your little feet at the bed he smiled at that knowing full well you was giving into one of your fantasies, unknowingly giving him one of his he felt excitement bubble in his chest knowing that he was going to enjoy himself, brat taming it seems was something you both had in common. He struck your hip lightly making you gasp and squirm beneath him
"Don’t be such a brat" he growled out at you, his stern voice made you pause a little before you grunted at him facing away from him nose in the air.
"Im not a brat" He chuckled sitting up using his thick thighs to keep your legs spread for him releasing your hands crossing his arms at you unconvinced.
"Oh really? So you wasn't pouting down stairs? And I didn't just find you up here trying to fuck yourself silly out of spite? because daddy told you to wait? And you didn't just kick your legs at me? Hm? if you were standing I'd bet you would have stomped a tiny foot Oh no baby girl you are definitely being a little brat" you blinked at him innocently he just tilted his head at you. The reached over you grasping your small bag you gasped he wouldn't...he fucking would"No henRY- ouch!" He fixed you with a small spank to your inner thigh holding your embarrassing private bag up in one hand.
"Oh no little girl you dont say no to me.... now lets see what we have hear.... oh my I knew you had some toys stashed somewhere but baby theres quite a bit in here isn't there" he shook the bag slightly making the contents rattle a little you flushed panicking a little not wanting him to judge you, but so far he had seemed to be on board. He unzipped the bag going still at what laid inside, you cringed covering your face with your hands hiding feeling him stare at the top of your head you refused to look at him, in doing so you missed the grin that had formed as he noted what was inside.
Slowly one by one he began removing things his grin getting wider with each toy as he place them on the bed beside you, You snuck peaks at him as he pulled them out. First was a set of four pink leather cuffs with frills on each a big lobster claw on each to connect them as you see fit at the moment they was connected in a pair designed to cuff your wrists to your ankles holding your knees bent and spread they looked secure, you doubted they would actually hold you properly then was your wand vibrator a pastel blue this was followed by two more vibrators one just some rabbit ears on their own the other a red dildo that was a little larger than the one Henry had caught you with he held it up to you looking sympathetic
"Henry what are-" he gave you a heated look making you clench and whimper shrinking into your shoulders a bit.
"oh baby no wonder your so desperate when i come home...this is the biggest you have? my poor baby don't worry daddy will think of something to help you when he is away" you blushed as he spoke he gave you a smug smile then continued routing threw the bag, an o ring gag and ball gag then what you had really dreaded him seeing your new paci-gag the pink leather was decorated with small jewles here and there, it was something you'd always wanted to try and in the sale you'd thought what the hell and got one. he held the paci-gag in his hand blinking at you
"now this is very cute, but I’m not sure if we should play with this today, maybe you can ware it tomorrow for me in the gym when I’m working out" you closed your eyes groaning but at the same time you shivered in anticipation the thought of him gagging you and forcing you to sit and watch him work out was both cruel and delicious. He placed it back and unbuckled the cuffs with deft fingers stroking the soft padded insides making sure they would be soft enough running his thumb across it. Your eyes snapped open flinching as you felt him slip one around your ankle buckling it tight before slipping the top of his pinky underneath it
"Ah ah don't start young lady, its daddys turn to play and he want's to play with your new toys now stay still" you squirmed a little still uncomfortable but you let him carry on until your arms were pulled down your sides attached to your ankles knees bent high and pulled apart you quivered thrilled and frightened all in one, he sat back again admiring his work also wanting you to get used to it.....He could defiantly get used to you like this his mind already creating a shopping list... tho he wasn't sure if a sex shop was considered as essential but fuck if he wasn't going to check online to see if anything could be delivered,he was ecstatic that you was a secret baby girl and couldn't wait to treat you like one, he smiled as you tested your new bonds uncertain eyes darting back to him every so often finally you pouted a little huffing.. you didn't look impressed and he regarded you carefully
"I can't get out of 'em" he through his head back laughing loud so that was the problem? you thought you'd wriggle free and it turns out you really was at his mercy, it was clear that you thought you would be topping from the bottom Henry on the other hand had other ideas
"I think that's the point baby girl" he said running a large hands along your thighs pressing them apart slightly his heated skin warmed you casting goosebumps on your flesh you wriggled again
"I thought I could get out...but I really don't think I can" he leant over between your spread thighs meeting your lips sucking them lightly before kissing you encouraging you to open your mouth for him you did letting him in, his tongue licked at yours coaxing it out to play twisting and tasting passionately tilting his head kissing you rougher and deeper making you moan melting into him then he pulled back you tried to follow lifting your hands to catch him, to bring him back you whined trying to fight the cuffs wanting to touch him. He chuckled at that placing a hand on each thigh massaging the insides slowly kneading the muscles with his fingers.
"I think they will work perfectly don't you? I didn't do them to tight did I?" You shook your head before trying to twist your hand free again growling now realizing the down side to the small restraints you wanted to touch him, kiss lick and bite at him... especially bite in that moment when he was sitting back watching you in a smug amusement. You felt giddy with excitement just laying here spread open knowing that there really was nothing you could do to stop him made your tummy flutter feeling your clit throb erratically at the mere thought of being at his mercy. You relaxed a little you couldn't help wriggling now and then trying to free your wrists on impulse he shook his head at you.
"Oh honey your not getting out of those until I say but before we move on your word is going to be cherries you know what that means?" You blinked at him and nodded slowly he looked at you waiting for you to agree verbally
"S-safe word?" He nodded eyes lighting up knowing now that you knew more about this then you was letting on, he turned his gaze back to your half empty bag
"Now lets see what else should we play with today? I don't think we will use gags today...will make use of them tomorrow I think" He said moving the remaining items in your bag about he smiled then you watched as his hand pulled out a slim jeweled butt plug still in its packaging he quickly rid it of the bag twisting it to the light letting the gem catch the light making it flicker onto the ceiling
"Oh look princess isn't this pretty? Don’t you think it would look cute in your little bottom? I know I do and you haven't used it yet" he stated happily you squirmed pulling at your cuffs again feeling nervous
"Have you ever used one before baby girl?" he asked noting your unsure expression you shook your head a little . you had never used one before you tried to convince yourself you got it on a whim but you was actually curious he brought the slim purple plug to your pussy coating it in your arousal you flinched as he directed it down to your pucker
"D-daddy?" unconsciously trying to wiggle away making him hold you still with one hand on your tummy
"Don't worry baby I'll take care of you I promise now take a deep breath baby its ok that's it good girl, your being so good for me, my special little princess" you did as you was told on auto pilot warmth bubbled in your chest at his praise. Taking a deep breath in when he bent over your vulnerable form again this time kissing your cheek one hand between your legs tweaking your clit then rubbing your opening tracing circles with your wetness the other holding the plug firm against you he rested his head next to yours whispering
"Now out and push with your bottom good girl, so good for daddy hm?" you tried breathing slow pushing with your bottom but you hissed out your breath sharply when he pressed the plug into you stretching,you whined a little as it stung when the largest part pushed past the ring of tight muscle you tried to push it back out yelping as he pushed past finally then you felt a small popping feeling as your ass hugged the plug tightly holding it securly in your bottom
"Ah! Fuck...Oohh shit that's weird" you panted feeling full as the plug pressed against your insides in a strange pressure he kissed you again tapping the jewel on the small plug
"Such a good girl look at how pretty you are! you took that much better than I thought especially for your first time,I must warn you that I will be getting a set of these for you some will be for play like now and others will be for a naughty little girl who needs to remember to mind her daddy" you twitched moaning imagining being punished with a larger plug when he was unhappy with you
"Oh you like the idea of that I see? the idea of me putting you in the corner with a well spanked plugged bottom? even better if the pug is keeping it full of daddies cum?" gasped at the thought twitching you had no idea just where all this dirty talk was coming from but it was driving you crazy you rocked a little feeling your throbbing walls contracting left disappointed when you was left empty you winced trying not to move so much as your ass felt... strange, tight you wasn't sure clenching and unclenching you moaned tilting your hips down almost trying to escape the uncomfortable yet fulfilling stretch. You whined withering still tugging your wrists. He moved closer fingers grazing your pussy lightly tapping and flicking at your clit toying with the red sensitive bud, you arched as high as you could trying to rock into him gasping feeling the plug touch something deep with in you
"Ah! ohnonono! I don't-daddy? Whats going-ugh!" You squeezed your eyes shut at the feeling your pussy weep onto him he pinched your clit at the base before rolling it around in his fingers tightly, you cried out feeling the warmth of his skin tugging and twisting at you panting shallow breaths
"Ah oh GOD da-daddy please I'm sorry I FUCK! I didn't mean to be a brat Ple-please!"you begged squirming around as much as you could. Feeling your body shiver as your pussy wept onto the bed below wetting your ass as it ran down in a steady stream he continued toying with you building you up towards a slow but incredible climax, being so vulnerable was giving you a brand new high feeling yourself get hotter as liquid heat raced through you rocking lightly against his fingers chasing your orgasm wanting him to hurry up... you wasn’t one for edging you wanted to get this show on the road, wanting to feel him brutalize your insides with his cock whilst calling you his good girl, wanting him to choke you whilst praising you for be so sweet for him. Your thoughts were cut off as he began growling into your ear as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge
"I know.... I know baby.... you just cant help it can you? So needy and wet for me... but you should have waited for me shouldn't you? You should have waited for daddy but no you wanted to be a brat, you wanted me to find you up here with your toys Didn't you? Well what ever my princess wants she gets you want to cum?...I can tell by your little whimpers..don't worry baby daddy will make you cum heh..I'm going to make you cum until you cry and even then I might not stop, no I might just carry on and fuck you until I think you've got exactly what you deserve for being a horny little brat, fuck you until your little pink pussy is red ,sore, swollen and messy with daddies cum" You whimpered as he growled out his words and placed one thick finger at your entrance before plunging it in rubbing around your walls you yelped as he pushed down massaging the thin wall separating him from the plug wedged in your ass you bucked crying out loud widening your thighs as his large digit ran across the bulge of rubber, you cried rearing up shaking as you came over him panting trying to kick your bound legs he chuckled still knuckle deep
"Oh baby that was quick.... you know good girls say thank you we shouldn't forget our manners now should we?" you groaned feebly
"Th-thank you daddy....Thank you oh god no no more please" he tutted shaking his head a little and pulled back starting a slow rhythm finger fucking you curling down to run the tip of his finger around the plug. He slid to the side slightly trapping on of your knees between his thrusting vigorously into you using his strength to rock your body along the bed adding a second finger as he went. You grunted and yelped at him as he began moving faster scissoring the fingers stretching your still shaking muscles as he went deeper trying to massage every spot he could find. You froze tensing as he lifted his thumb rolling it around your clit in harsh strokes, your breath caught in your throat clenching and squeezing his fingers you moaned throwing your head back mouth open letting out loud lewd noises the sound of his fingers dragging in and out of you with wet slapping sounds.
"Oh god that's it baby, yes good girl are you gonna cum? Huh? you want to cum for daddy? Don’t you? Fuck that's it good girl are you ready princess daddy wants you to cum all over his fingers again baby can you do that for daddy?" You body trembled and you shook violently as you felt yourself try to grind down on him reaching your third orgasm of the night quicker than the ones before, a slight twist of his wrist was all it took hitting that soft spot inside of you making you cum screaming arching and withering below him you tried closing your leg on impulse it was too much! but the cuffs held strong making you wail as you was still held open for him unable to avoid him, he didn't let up pressing his fingers harder against your spot forcing your pussy to spasm again flooding over his fingers once more so intense it was almost painful you tightened around his fingers forcing them still enduring the longest orgasm of your life, you could barely breath through your moaning and panting.
"No nononono! I cant please I need a break PLEASE PLEASE!" He pulled his hand back showing some mercy and watched you go lax humming as your body trembled in the aftermath, dazed looking through half lidded eyes at him. You was greeted with a cheeky smile
"Oh princess that was so cute...but you did forget to say thank you I suppose I could let you off for the way you were whimpering and trying to rock onto my fingers so sweetly, heh you didn't know of you wanted more or wanted me to stop did you? tho that only makes three tonight and your not crying yet" He teased licking his lips taking in just how flushed and sated you looked. It wasn't enough. You just laid there panting trying to calm down completely exhausted, and you hadn't even had sex yet he was still just playing enjoying himself.
"I-I need a nap, or a break something fuck" he grinned showing off his prefect teeth reaching slowly for your wand
"Oh baby girl no what did I say?" You lifted your head not trusting his sly voice, your eyes widened and you wriggled desperately to get away shaking your head as he brought the wand towards your tender clit your insides still contracting from the powerful climax's he had pulled form you
"No nono daddy not yet please Im not ready-I cant daddy noOOAH!" you tried to plead with him but to no avail squealing when he flicked on the wand powerful vibrations tickled your engorged clit and labia making you tense fighting your bonds having the opposite effect as the tugging on your wrists just widened your leg revealing more of your sore clit to the offending rubber
"Ohh yes baby girl I told you your going to cum until you cry and I meant it" he growled as you screamed out, still far to sensitive to handle the torturous wand yelping when he laughed flicking it higher. Unable to hold back as another climax tore through you this time was different you felt a strong gush of wetness leave you for a second you though you'd pissed yourself but no you had infact just squirted for the first time in your life you looked at him gobsmacked weeping as one last stream of cum gushed from you making you wail twitching and rocking against the wand shaking your head vigorously embarrassed by what had happened wanting him to stop but at the same time wanting more. He pulled it away leaving you to heave deep breaths weeping quietly
"Fucking hell baby I didn't know you could do that.....again I want to see it again" he grunted looking like a man possessed caging you below him as he reattached the wand to your pussy this time rolling it in tight small circles pupils blown wide as he watched you intent on getting you to squirt a second time you withered arching and tensing your stomach clenched tight and you jolted as he flicked up another setting
"No no I cant FUCK!" You cried low and loud
"That’s it baby one more, just one more and then I will fuck you, doesn't that sound nice? I will fuck you nice and deep and full" you moaned grunting out protests biting your lip trying to keep quiet, he wasn't having that quickly moving his hand to your opening rubbing it lightly forcing you to clench you cried fat tears rolling down your face you blinked sniffling trying to arch away from him crying out in a hoarse
"Open your eyes little one...look at me that's it oh such a good girl you want it? You want to cum again for daddy?of course you do now cum!" You looked at him watching threw blurry eyes as he praised you, screeching and thrashing around as he forced that rubber band to snap again as you released again one long stream of hot cum washing over the evil toy. You panted gasping aching a tired he put the wand back in your bag. He returned between your legs tugging on your plug lightly then eased it from you, hissing sharply as it stung as it breached your pucker again he placed that back in your bag opting to wipe them down later. You whimpered tears still streaming down your face as he slowly unbuckled your wrists and ankles pulling your legs to lie flat against the bed rubbing away the ache you sighed as his hot hands massaged the ache away watching as he pulled his clothes off slowly winking at you teasing as he revealed himself to you slowly stripping down to nothing before kneeling on the bed kissing his way up from your ankle swapping legs lathering them with soothing licks and sweet kisses.
"God I love you woman, your just to perfect, I'm so proud of you love" he muttered running his hands in soothing circles on your tummy moving them down to your knees pulling you down the bed you cringed as your embarrassingly huge wet patch was now at your back. You blushed as he kissed you again slow and hot this time wrapping your arms around his neck deepening it he grunted hoisting your heat to his erection, skimming it across your slit teasingly before settling it at your opening you pulled back quivering "Fuck your so hot baby girl" you moaned at him tilting your hips trying to engulf him smiling sweetly at his gasp. Without wasting anymore time he pushed forward embedding himself fully you gasped swearing as he grit his teeth no matter how many times he fucked you open he was always amazed at how tight you was. You hissed enjoying the slight pain that always came with him.
"Sh-shit Henry fuck, that's so good hah fuck" he placed his forehead against yours closing his eyes tight locking his jaw loosing himself ,this has got to be what heaven felt like nothing could compare to your hot walls coiling tightly around him he pulled back before plowing back into you his cock rubbing across your insides teasing every nerve inside of you caressing your depths unlike any toy ever could you moaned trying to rock with him groaning in frustration when you couldn't quite match his movements, he chuckled tilting his head kissing you again sweetly before raising himself on his arms above you
"Aw baby your just to tired aren't you? stay still let me do it" you nodded balling your hands into fists hugging him feeling his back muscles work as he started a fast deep pace hitting your cervix with every thrust of his hips you mewled widening your legs lifting them high on his hips opening your eyes looking down watching as his perfect abs contracted with each brutal pound of his hips, he foĺlowed your gaze smirking smugly feeling the way your body tensed below him.
"That’s it baby look at how well your taking me, how hungry that little pussy is swallowing me whole even when it hurts" he thrust harder holding still a few seconds against your cervix making you grunt uncomfortably before he resumed his pace holding below your knees pushing them beside your torso tilting you up the new angle meant he was dragging the tip of his cock along your most sensitive spot inside of you you kicked your legs out a little squealing high as he continued to batter your insides.
"Ah oh fuck ‘Im gonna cum again, shit Henry fuck I cant stop it" he grunted loud with each thrust growling low in his chest as your pussy tried to trap him inside with all its might trying to milk him for all his worth he lost him self hanging his head fucking you harder then ever before unable to hold back as he chased his own end
"Good I don’t want you to now cum one last time NOW!. AH AH FUCK OH SHIT YES" you cried out as his hips stuttered forcing you to release around him as he fucked his cum into you, painting your insides with his seed groaning loud trying to prolong your orgasms by thrusting against your twitching walls grinding on your sore clit then gasping for breath he chuckled low making you twitch around him. Collapsing on top of you leaving open mouthed kisses and soft bites on your neck.
"I love you so much...so so much" It wasn't long before he rolled off of you knowing he was to heavy for you swapping positions holding you on top of him feeling his cum leaking from you he smiled kissing your damp hair.
"So I think its safe to say that we both enjoyed that,I never thought you’d be a baby girl tho, but the signs were all there I should have known the way you keep yourself fully bare, your lama teddy on the bed, don't think I haven't caught you cuddling them and your collection of cute oneies, it all makes sens" you grunted softly going a little red
"Y-you don't think its weird do you?"
"I think its just about the sexiest thing I've ever fantasized about, now that I've fucked my very own baby girl I don't see my self stopping anytime soon. What else are you into, ever thought of pet play always wanted to try that." You lifted your head shocked
"Really? You don't think I’m a freak?" He laughed hugging you tight kissing your head
"No not at all in case you didn't notice I may have a slight daddy kink and size kink and spanking kink fuck I just about want to try everything with you, now like I was saying pet play? Yes or no?" You blushed pulling away from him opening your bed side draw his jaw dropped when you showed him your fluffy kitty ear hair clips and small choker with a bell on it. He smiled wide before pouncing on you pinning you beneath him kissing you
"Fuck my very own sex kitten, here all this time? You sneaky little girl what else have you been hiding?" You giggled at him shrugging
"Nothing that's it, I-I like other things to but haven't got anything for it. I thought you'd be put off so I couldn't risk you finding it and didn't want to talk about it I was embarrassed." He tilted his head at you
"There’s nothing to be embarrassed about love, you enjoy kinky sex so what your not the only one I do to, I enjoy dominating my partner pet play daddy kink, slave and master you name it anything like that, anything where Im in control, I love being bigger and stronger than you being able to just man handle you." you tilted your head a little
"Soo roleplay? like teacher student or boss and sectary....in the study or something.... and maybe spanking me when I'm bad? I mean just saying now you can spank me anytime" you twiddled your thumbs as you asked blushing letting out a few more of your fantasies
"Defiantly all of the above but I think you may regret telling me I can put you over my knee when you deserve it..but no being naughty just to get one you hear me little girl? you don't have to bad be to get a spanking if you want one you can just ask.... but in all honestly one of my biggest kinks is squirting I found that embarrassing but when you did....oh fuck knowing I did that to you I couldn't get enough, just wanted to see it again and again.... but honestly my most embarrassing kink is well... I've always...shit this is quite difficult actually" he stuttered rolling off of you sitting up smoothing over his hair you sat up placing the ears and collar on the bed before placing a hand on his thigh.
"You can tell me, we can try anything once to see if it fits us both" you encouraged lightly he sighed blushing a little before continuing.
"well I've always kind of wanted to fuck someone in character" you blinked at him slowly not really seeing the problem
"Hold on... you mean to tell me that I've fantasied about getting railed by August walker and all I had to do was ask? How fucking dare you keep that from me you little shit" you scolded slapping his chest lightly his face was comical it was very rare to catch him off guard but by the look of shock on his face you knew you'd done just that.
"S-seriously? You wont mind doing that? you wont find it strange or anything?" You scoffed
"Fuck no, why the hell do you think I'm on tumblr?! ninety percent of the time Im reading about you in some way shape or form. I do have two conditions tho ,first you can fuck me in what ever character you want when ever you want just give me a little heads up so I know if I'm dealing with a scary Marshall or sweet Clark and two when you finish filming witcher get your ass home as Geralt and fuck the living day lights out of me deal?" You held out a hand he looked at it then saluted"Yes mam" before throwing himself at you
"GOD I knew you was the one for me" you squealed giggling as he tickled you with kisses soon you both got up stripping the damp bed you blushed seeing just how much mess you had made
"Don’t worry babe I will get some towels specifically for this type of thing, maybe microfiber they might not chafe when I’m fucking you, after all now I know your a little squirter its my new goal in sex, orgasms are good but I wont be happy until you’ve gushed all over our bed, hell I’m gonna find a way to make you squirt on my cock" you groaned covering your hot cheeks making him laugh.
"Lets not and say we did?" You answered he shook his head lowering his face to your ear grunting into it
"Well kitten we have got twelve weeks together lets not waste them might as well learn a few new tricks any way where did you get all of that stuff?" You groaned smiling as you got up again ready to tidy up.
"Bondara I think"
"Are they still delivering through this pandemic" you pulled on Henry's tshirt bundling the sheets in the laundry basket
"I’m not sure I will have to check-hey what are you doing?" you quickly stepped up behind him as he sat on your tablet going on to bondara
"Holy shit they are!? ok babe lets do this so plugs, yep oh look this set has heart jewels on them add to cart... oh here look if I spend forty five pounds I get a free dildo worth one hundred pounds now lets see paddles oh I wonder if they have that clone a willy kit that would be good for you when I’m away..... what type of paddle to you want babe? never mind it doesn't matter you wont like it anyway it will be for when your naughty anyway" you froze watching as an amused Henry sat on the bed happily scrolling through the site maybe this quarantine shit wont be so bad after all.
#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill fic#henry cavill smut#henry cavill#quarantine writing
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hi! i thought id do a little intro to me and my blog
please take a moment to read if you can :)
about me:
im astro/solstice/winter! you can call me sol if you want to. im nonbinary/genderfluid and currently use they/xe/it pronouns (tho im okay with any other neo pronouns, these are the ones i preffer). im pan oriented aroace. im 15, which means im a minor and you should treat me like one. also heres a list of labels i go by
i am extremely s*x averse and anything slightly s*xual makes me very uncomfortable at best. if you make any s*xual comment towards me you will be blocked.
i have ehlers danlos syndrome and pots, and mental illnesses, one of them possibly being DID/OSDD. im the host of a system, and from time to time youll see my headmates around.
i like history, musicals, cinema, music, books and animations. my favourite musical is watt, my favourite series are the owl house and shera, my favourite books are sick kids in love and aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe. my current favourite bands are sleeping at last and waterparks, and my favourite singers are dodie and cavetown.
i have a very song related memory and thinking, i associate things, memories, feelings and people with songs, so if we chatted for a bit ill probably end up associating you with a song. if you wanna know what it is just send me an ask!
im pagan, brazilian, white and im fluent in portuguese (native language) and english (second language)
i have a discord server! join if you want to, id love to have you there! but please be patient if all channels dont automatically show up, i have to verify you in order for that to happen.
my profile picture is a picrew that can be found here! amazing picrew, really recomend it, gave me a lot of gender euphoria. also it has cute animals so thats a plus, and pride flags! i always love pride flags in picrews
(i tend to ramble. a lot. sorry about that.)
dni:
anti blm, anti vax/anti mask, transmed/transcum, terfs, are/support p*dophiles/whatever theyre calling themselves today, lgbtqia+ phobic, anti mogai, anti neopronouns, pro life, exclusionist, climate change denier, prejudist agaisnt any religion, pro ana/ed, anti-anti, xenophobic, over 18 (unless i interact first), make content of/is/says anything on my triggers list (but the christian thing, i dont mind if youre christian just dont talk shit about other religions)
tag system:
posts that are okay to reblog unless stated otherwise in the tags: #astro rambles, #astros covers, #astros art, #theo writes
posts that you have to check the tags before rebloging: #astro rants
posts that are not okay to reblog unless stated otherwise in the tags: #*stress ball gets more stressed*, #astro vents
extra tags: #astro being soft n gay (usually my interactions with my qpp), #cute lil reptiles, #cute lil animals
extra info: i tag triggers "[trigger] tw"; my mutuals get their own tags based on their personality/inside jokes, if you want one, tell me; ask me to tag triggers if i forget to
my triggers:
(general tag is "geckos dni" or "dragon system don't look")
the phrases "you're faking it", "its all in your head", "its just anxiety", "you just have to have faith", "faith heals" and variations; someone being told they dont have an illness they do have; christianity/catholicism (especially saying theyre the "only right religion" or that they are persecuted); parent figts and divorce; money problems; any kind of abuse; nsfw and s#x; mentions of fathers/parents (specially if they are being bad parents); the song "every breath you take" by the police; the movie "the truman show"; conspiracy theories/mandela effect; bone marrow transplants; calling me (astro) a pet name when i dont let you, altho somethings/nicknames are okay; bitmojis; food/ed/weight/calories stuff; breaking promises, loud noises/yelling; being watched; having people we dont know/trust invading our space/privacy; "adults doing bad things"; repetitive pings; passive agressivness; maroon 5 songs from before 2016 (all but she will be loved and payphone); the words papai/papa/pai/variants; glasses with a half frame and strings holding it up; any mentions including jokes about dictatorships, specially taking peoples rights and people going missing; the A.I.5 and similar stuff; the military abusing power; elections being interrupted/blocked; nightmares/fantasy dreams (meeting fairies, flying, etc); being called s*xy or anything of sorts.
side blogs:
@maybeatiger - fandom blog
@theos-writing - writing blog
@our-welkin-world - system blog
@solsgalaxy - thoughts/aesthetic blog
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hello!! i just went thru your history of exandria post and im confused by the dates of the even of crimson midnight and the moleasmyr accident- in De'Leth's bio it says that he is one of those escaped elves and was also the founder of the assembly (ergo, was there for the Eve) so I think something is amiss... I also checked the dates, and Ludinus is an original member of the assembly. So how could he have fled Moleasmyr AFTER he'd already established the Assembly in Rexxentrum?
Hi!
Short, Doylist answer: Matthew Mercer is not superhuman and made a very understandable mistake.
Extremely long answer: Matthew Mercer is still not superhuman and still made a very understandable mistake (my guess is either he meant to put in 565 instead of 585 for the fall of Molaesmyr, or “not a half-century” for the date of the Eve of Crimson Midnight), but this, one of the the two biggest discrepancies in the history of Exandria* can both be handwaved (Watsonianed, if you will permit me turning that into a verb, and if you don’t I fully understand and probably deserve it) with a little bit of headcanon. Here is my headcanon which you are welcome to adopt, with dates, citations, and reasoning, below the jump.
Reasoning for the Date for the Eve of Crimson Midnight
So: the exact phrasing (Matthew Mercer, The Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount (Renton, WA: Wizards of the Coast, 2020), 16) for the Eve of Crimson Midnight is “Not a quarter century after the Marrow War ended....” blah blah, wizards fought, got captured and brought to the king, “After days of deliberation, an agreement was drawn up that would absolve those involved of the usual punishment in exchange for direct subservience to the Crown and the goals of the empire. Establishing themselves as the Cerberus Assembly, this council of mages became an powerful tool for the empire to maintain its position as the dominant force of Wildemount.”
“Not a quarter century” is something I’d personally interpret as “slightly less than 25 years later”; this is also the typical interpretation of that phrasing for most native English speakers, certainly native speakers of American English, which both I and the author of the book are, so we’re going with that.
The Marrow War has an explicit date given; the Admonition (execution of rebellious priests who were in turn spurred on by Julous Dominion interests) was in 544 PD (Mercer, p. 15) and later that year Emperor Manfried (the title of King rather than Emperor comes later) attacked the Julous Dominion, starting the Marrow War. It lasted “over sixteen months” which again I’d interpret as “more than 16 months, but probably not more than 17 otherwise you’d say that”, so depending on when the Admonition was, it ended in either late 545 PD, or early 546 PD. Not quite 25 years later would therefore put us in roughly 570 PD for the Eve of Crimson Midnight.
Reasoning for the Date of the Fall of Molaesmyr
This is much simpler! Per Mercer, p. 42: “What is known is that in the year 585 PD, suddenly and without warning, a wave of purple-gray shadow rapidly crept from the center of Molaesmyr to engulf the entire city.” It then goes on to describe that the elves fled, some “eventually” to settle Bysaes Tyl, some to Uthodurn.
Ludinus Da’leth’s personal history
Mercer, p. 42: “Ludinus is the oldest and only original member of the assembly...He was one of the mages who survived the destruction of Molaesmyr and fled to Bysaes Tyl, but he saw the opportunity to achieve greatness within the empire and left his culture behind to continue his arcane pursuits.”
A note on Bysaes Tyl
Per Mercer, p. 96, it took several years to build up the city, but for the sake of argument I am treating the region to which the elves of Molaesmyr originally fled as also Bysaes Tyl, thus indicating Ludinus may have only been there very briefly.
Here’s How Ludinus Can Still Be A Founding Member Of The Assembly
While the Eve of Crimson Midnight occurred circa 570 PD, as did the initial agreement that those involved would be directly subservient to the crown, it doesn’t actually indicate how long it took for those people to establish themselves as the Cerberus Assembly.
I would absolutely believe that a bunch of wizard academics who all tried to kill each other so hard they created collateral damage in the streets of Rexxentrum would absolutely take 15 years or more to consolidate a formal council and give it a cool name. In fact, can’t you just imagine it? Ludinus Da’leth, a promising young elven mage living in “the height of reborn civilization on Wildemount” (Mercer, p. 18) sees his home, his laboratories, everything he’s worked on, all destroyed. Perhaps it’s by his hand; perhaps by that of a colleague. He flees to a bitter cold forest with absolutely nothing. To the south, Rexxentrum stands as now the major site of arcane talent. Perhaps there’s been communication between the wizards of the Empire and those of Molaesmyr. Perhaps he’s heard that they are sworn in service to the king, but have been in disarray because they can’t elect a leader-after all, they’re in this position because “A number of noble houses with a strong history of studying arcane pursuits began to compete with other high-born magic practitioners from the Julous Dominion”. They can’t openly fight anymore, but the political games continue and neither those from within the pre-Marrow War boundaries of the Empire nor those from the recently-incorporated Julous Dominion can agree on council representation, and they’ve been deadlocked for over a decade. They have been serving the king, but he is becoming displeased.
Enter a neutral** third party: Ludinus Da’leth, formerly of Molaesmyr. A suitable compromise who just happened to make his way south - a gifted mage, eager to prove his allegiance to the Dwendalian crown and share what he knows. And so: the founding of the Cerberus Assembly, 15-20 years after the Eve of Crimson Midnight and shortly after the fall of Molaesmyr, following an uneasy interim period of mages in slightly disorganized service to the crown. And scene.
*the other big discrepancy is that the Chroma Conclave was stated to be in the year 815 PD on page 20 of the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount, but in Campaign 1 episode 103 a minor NPC when asked for the date says the year is 812, which would instead put the Chroma Conclave in the last few days 810 PD per the dates given. However, since the month and day that NPC gives also don’t line up internally even with the other stated events of Campaign 1, and since using a date of late 810 for the Chroma Conclave would make Allura pretty young when she sealed away Thordak and conflicts with a bunch of dates mentioned since, including Delilah Briarwood’s expulsion from the Cerberus Assembly, Vilya’s time on Rumblecusp, and The Darrington Brigade’s stand against Quackthulu, I’m personally inclined to say “Matt probably didn’t have the date written down when asked, because it was episode 103 and the exact year had not been relevant so far, and/or misread 817 for 812 when looking down at his notes.” The headcanon to fix this is of course that the NPC got the date wrong and Vox Machina either didn’t realize due to *gestures vaguely at the events of episode 102* or was like wait are we in the past? seems fake and then asked someone else offscreen and got the right date, which is way less fun but much easier.
**technically, lawful, although who knows what his alignment was then. If you also buy into theories that Ludinus was in some way responsible for the fall of Molaesmyr you get some fascinating parallels to one similarly opportunistic and ambitious Hot Boi, and yes I did make a really stupid alignment joke just to make this point.
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Could you talk a little more about Kobra's codependency? i would LOVE to project onto kobra more
anon this is the best way to phrase this question NO WORRIES IM HERE TO HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING EMOTIONS ABOUT FICTIONAL SIBLINGS
the context of how poison and kobra operate is both obvious and not because, yknow, theyre family. and while the rest of the four are family too i think theres something to be said about the fact that they have been together for the longest out of the four. they were born together, raised together, and i write them as having broken out of the city together though i know not everyone does. either way though the bottom line is that they know each other and have known each other from a very young age.
family is weird. siblings are weird. there is no one easier to hate in the world than your sibling, particularly if you grew up close. you know all the ways to hit them hardest. you know all their lowest moments. you know what theyre most afraid of, what they hate more than anything. you know the precise ways to get on their nerves. and that goes both ways. youll fuck each other up for a wifi password but youll fuck up whoever thinks they can do the same. no one gets to fuck with them but you. no one gets you the way they do. its the most frustrating and infuriating and comforting and scary thing in the world. losing them will carve a hole in your soul. you know it. you both know it.
poison is the older of the two and the bossier and more assertive of the two and kobra doesnt resent that. he doesnt resent that poison makes these difficult decisions; it spares kobra from having to make them. but while kobra doesnt have to shoulder those decisions, he has to shoulder the weight of poison shouldering those decisions. party poison is a prickly motherfucker, cagey at the best of times, and difficult to comfort. comfort so easily gets conflated with pity and theres no quicker way to piss off party poison than pitying them. so kobra cant sympathize, cant tell them that its okay that they made x decision or that they made a tactical call that went poorly. and he knows that. they both have to sit locked up in their own separate misery-buckets because they know each other too well to reach out to one another and expect that to go over well.
here is the thing with kobra and poison and their codependency: they would burn down the world for each other and they would die for each other but the moment one of them dies it will gut the other like nothing else could. they are marrow-deep loyalty. poison would sacrifice everything for their brother and is terrified of him doing the same for them. kobra would give his life without question for party poison and is equally terrified that they would do the same for him. it is so easy for this kind of mutual codependency to become mired in self-destruction and thats exactly what happened for the both of them even if it manifests differently. they both know how to lacquer a front over their bottomless self-hatred but they love each other so fucking much that its terrifying how easy it would be to take them out if anyone figured that out. it would be so easy to feed into that. the easiest way to ruin either of them would be to catch one to leave as bait for the other because no matter how obvious the trap, how apparent the set-up, no part of either poison or kobra would walk away from that. they can and will walk into a waiting pit of stakes if it means the slightest chance that the other might walk away free.
there are lines that they can cross with each other that nobody else can cross. there is a tiny smile that forms in the corner of kobra’s mouth sometimes when poison is on their bullshit and they dont know that they do this subconscious thing, this thing where they check to see if that microexpression is there because thats the line they use to gauge when theyve gone too far and, once they have, how far they can keep pushing. party poison has a locked-down stillness to them that makes them hard to read but kobra knows there are degrees to that stiffness to their posture and hes the only one who can read when that means theyre surprised or when theyre scared or when theyre fucking incandescent with rage and about to explode.
i try not to use terminology from other fandoms but “drift compatible” has surpassed the fandom of origin so ill use it here lol. poison and kobra are drift compatible in an absolutely batfuck destructive sense. when they synchronize in a fight, theyre fucking beautiful. theyre fucking unstoppable. they work with a seamlessness thats almost fucking psychic.
when theyre not in sync, the destructive feedback loop they create with each other is so limitless that it could catch everyone else in the blast radius when they detonate.
#danger days#kobra kid#party poison#ask#anon#*fabrication#i grew up with two brothers but we grew outta that codependency pretty quick#kobra and poison alas did not#when its just you two against the world its hard not to#i honest to god cannot wait to get to kobras history
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suavemente, bebita
Pairing; LV20 Cross/Dream
Rating; MA/E/not safe
WC; 1487
Notes; size difference, bit of cumflation, soul sex, praise kink, ordering around, but very very soft overall
im. love @withtheworms‘s LV20 cross...... i... love he... ..... so much ..... so what i do is throw a headcanon at him
AO3 mirror
Dream was enamored.
Not that he wasn’t enamored with Cross at all times, but call him sentimental, there was something about having a monster like Cross underneath him — big, strong, beautiful and so, so utterly at his mercy. He ground down, their cocks grinding together so smoothly, like they were made for it.
He held Cross’ SOUL in his hand, the one that wasn’t busy running fingers across the magic that adorned his head. Each brush of a phalange through the purple stream had Cross’ eyesockets fluttering, his own hands tightening on Dream’s hips. Their bedsheets would be ruined after this; not that either cared.
“Stay still,” Dream said, leaning up to press a kiss to Cross’ teeth, a simple peck. And oh, was he good at following orders. Dream scooted further against him, to line himself up with his cock. Aside from the fingers digging indents into his ecto and the full-body shivers, Cross stayed still as a statue. And Dream wasn’t embarrassed to tell his lover how proud he was. “Good job,” he exhaled, entrance stretching around each inch of Cross’ length. “You are so good for me, Cross.”
Halfway, he had to let go of the pseudo-horn he’d taken to gripping in favor of leaning back, holding himself upright against Cross’ femurs. The further down he went, the more his ecto-body distended. A blur of purple could be seen through his stomach, almost magenta in its hue. Dream’s knees shook on either side of Cross’ hips.
“You did so good,” he praised, cradling his face with a palm. He wiped the trail of tears leaking from his right socket, only for them to be replaced a moment later. Cross gazed at him with undiluted love. Dream smiled at him, hoping he was mirroring the look in any capacity. “You can move now.”
It was like opening floodgates. It always was. Cross’ grip tightened even further and Dream was sure there’d be marks on his iliac crests later. He looked forward to it. Cross lifted him like he weighed nothing at all and before Dream could even feel empty, he was slammed back down. Cross’ cock hit the back of his passage, Dream’s head lolling back as pleasure raced up his spine.
“Love you,” Cross all but growled, voice husky. He still had to lean down to press kisses along the column of Dream’s neck. Dream always felt so small next to him — so safe, so protected. It was a heady feeling. He craned his head to the side to give him more space and was rewarded with a bite to his clavicle. Cross lapped up the marrow that seeped from the tiny intents of his teeth, each lick of his tongue sparking through Dream like firecrackers.
He got lost in the sensations for a moment, feeling almost boneless as he was bounced on Cross’ lap, cock dribbling down between them. A particularly hard thrust jolted him out of his little reverie and he remembered what he was going to do.
He was still holding Cross’ SOUL, the organ heavy in his hand. It was almost the size of Dream’s skull, overfilled with LV. He brought it to his own chest to hold with both hands. They barely encircled the whole thing.
Usually, the surface of a SOUL was thin, a shell to protect the magic within, but Dream discovered LV made the SOUL swell with its power, and the shell would continually break and remend to accommodate it. He ran a phalange across the crack-riddled surface, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he had been holding on the next thrust. Cross was watching him with curiosity sparkling in his eyelights.
Oh, that wouldn’t do.
“Stop moving,” Dream said, through the authoritative tone he’d gone for came out as a groan, almost.
Cross let out an honest-to-stars whine, high-pitched and desperate, but he stilled, almost as soon as the words left Dream’s mouth. His hips gave a tiny twitch, barely moving his length inside of Dream, but even that was enough to pull a groan from him.
“Good boy,” Dream mumbled in-between pants.
Cross’ SOUL was beating wildly in his hands, but unless one knew what to look for, they’d miss it. But not Dream, not when he was holding it so tightly.
“Dream…” Cross groaned out his name like something precious.
“Hush now. I want you to… watch this closely, okay?”
Cross nodded, the motions making some of his tears drip from his chin to add to the mess between them. It was obvious how much effort it was taking him to stay still. Dream was so, so proud, and he’d reward him handsomely.
His thumbs ran down the length of the SOUL. The thick shell made it hard to feel the touches, he noted. So, when he got to the lower half, he pressed.
Cross’ breath hitched, whole body going rigid before jolting, along with Dream. He didn’t have it in him to chastise the disrespect of orders. Instead, he himself started to move, feet digging into the mattress for leverage.
Without the help of his hands to steady himself, Dream couldn’t rise more than a couple inches each time, but he made up for it by squeezing down on Cross every time their pelvises met. It seemed to do the trick, if Cross’ panting and groans against his neck were to be trusted. With a steady rhythm going, he started pressing his thumbs against the SOUL again.
The shell was thick and he was almost surprised to find out just how much strength it took to even start to crack it. Little by little, it creaked in his hold, until it gave way and his fingers slid in, into the swirl of magic within.
Cross keened, then, back arching and arms coming to wrap around Dream, to clutch him close.
“Dream!” he cried, shaking all over as he looked down with wide sockets, eyelights barely fuzzy pinpricks in a sea of dark. He was breathless, each gasp punched out of him in a slew of moans.
Liquid, molten magic leaked from the twin holes in his SOUL as Dream all but fingered them, bones gliding through. The magic molded around his phalanges almost like ecto would. It was mesmerizing to watch; Dream didn’t know where to look, between it and the kaleidoscope of expressions crossing his partner’s face.
“You can move,” he said. The speed and force of Cross’ next thrust would’ve startled him, if he wasn’t expecting it.
Cross clung to him like a drowning man would to a piece of driftwood in a waterfall, Dream’s name falling from his tongue like a mantra, a litany, progressively more and more jumbled and slurred. Dream’s fingers kept teasing his SOUL, hold tightening when the organ kept trying to slip from his grasp from all the slick dripping out of it.
It took all of a dozen more thrusts, not that Dream counted, to have Cross coming. He threw his head back with a soundless scream, but Dream could see his mouth trying to shape itself into his name again. He was only slightly glad that Cross’ eyelights sputtered out, because his smile must’ve been way too dopey at that moment.
Cum filled his already stretched ecto-body, cock bobbing as it distended further with more purple. He was so, so close, he could feel the sparks in his joints. But Cross slumped against him, lax and oh-so-softly purring, and Dream couldn’t move anymore.
He mercifully pulled his fingers out of Cross’ SOUL, making him shudder once more, and gently rubbed along the edges of where he’d broken through the shell to soothe the cracks. They were already mending, magic solidifying to protect the sensitive core.
Cross came to himself after a few minutes and started peppering butterfly-soft kisses along Dream’s neck again. Dream let the SOUL float its way back into his ribcage.
“I love you,” Cross whispered against a bone, like he was telling a secret only worthy of Dream’s acoustic meatus. His voice was hoarse from all his moaning. His never-ending tears ran down Dream’s sternum.
“I love you too,” he whispered back, with a kiss to the side of Cross’ skull, the only place he could reach.
Cross nuzzled him, one hand rubbing along Dream’s vertebrae almost idly. Then he startled and pulled away. “You didn’t come,” he stated more than asked, a guilty expression where there had been content moments ago.
Dream shushed him with another kiss, this time to his nasal bridge. “It’s okay. I got what I wanted. You felt good.”
And then Cross’ face set itself into the determination that Dream loved so much. It also meant Cross was dead set on something. “Oh no,” he said, “You don’t get to make me feel that good without getting back what you gave.”
And then he started thrusting again, and Dream saw stars even through closed sockets.
#undertale#undertale au#lv20 cross#dream sans#.ut#.1k#.nsfw fic#dont. dont look at me.#i am respectfully not looking
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Bringing Down Eden: Prologue
Pairing: Lucifer!Hoseok x Angel!Reader
Summary: On the shores of Brighton Beach, Hoseok stands alone to watch the sunrise. This is his hour, his time, and no one in a millennia has interrupted him. Until, of course, you, a newly appointed guardian angel, decide to risk it all for your charge. | please see series masterlist for full description
Genre: 7 Princes of Hell AU; romance; smut; drama; angst; horror
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings (this chapter): angst; themes of death and mortality; religious themes (like...honestly i will be going to hell for this fic im so sorry)
Word Count: 2.5K
It sounds better on the rocky shores of Brighton.
He does not know why this is, but it is always brighter, closer, tangible somehow; only here, bare feet pressing uncomfortably into the earth, can he recall all the beautiful, all the melancholic details with a clarity that goes beyond fondness, beyond ardor. The stones of the beach, he thinks, suit him, or perhaps it is he who suits the stones. The irregularity of their texture causes the soles of his feet to ache, the balls of his feet stinging with the weight, and he thinks this kind of pain is apt.
Really, he likes that he can stand in complete stillness without sinking into sand, into the deep rooted sensation that the earth is trying to swallow him whole, all at once and all over again.
His fingers twitch as he languidly outstretches his arm to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. With this sudden movement, a hundred pairs of eyes find him. These eyes and these bodies keep their distance, watching with only a hollow sort of sympathy, the kind that is only passively felt without a true purpose. Eyes trained on the sea, the wind carries sounds of fluttering feathers, the joints of too many wings tense and frozen in wait, and he can feel them - their apprehension and their hunger, roaming over his person in expectation. On this breeze, the silk of their feathers grazes his fingers in a phantom touch, a memory born out of his skin.
Expression placid, he tenses his fingers and balls his hand into a fist, joints cracking as he imagines the glory of their wings is osmosed back into his bones. Would they reel back from the intimacy of such cruelty? Would they gasp, abject shock marring their elegant, resplendent features? It’s unlikely.
To them, he is a time bomb, a volatile and violent thing, and they keep their distance in an effort to prepare for the blast.
No, in the end and for all time, they will not touch him and he will not touch them. He is used to this, to a loneliness that is now only implied after being studied from afar for so long. Lately, he finds he does not have it in him to care. Today, the hollowness of these unfelt touches has him pressing his tongue against his teeth, bored by the lack of creativity in their attempts to make him feel.
And besides, it is starting soon.
Shutting his eyes with a pregnant sigh, he waits for the first tickles of warmth against his skin, the bleeding light already staining the midnight black of night a deep purple. The anticipation of dawn is the only thing worthy of pulling corners of his mouth curl into a smile. If he could step outside himself, he hopes the beauty of bliss would kiss at his cheeks, his smile languid and pure, yet he is sure it looks as though his smile has mated with a grimace. Really, this pained expression of pleasure is all he can manage anymore, the pleasures of joy stolen long ago from the cavern of his heart.
Beside him, a light flutter of feathers shifts the air, minute and barely perceptible, but this small change in atmosphere is enough to warp his smile into a scowl. Someone has crossed a boundary, is feeling bold, is attempting a daring sort of recklessness found only in the ignorance of youth and, truthfully, they are being impolite. This is his hour, his brief moment of solitude. This is a known fact and it is always respected, even if it is not understood.
‘You're thirty-two years too early.’
Your words fall heavy, weighted, and dripping with disdain, souring your holiness. Wrath is absent, so too is pride, traits you are barred from learning, but he can hear the fear. Through his closed eyes, he can sense you are staring straight ahead, trying terribly hard not to look at him or let him too close to your wings.
‘Believe it or not,’ he begins cooly, his own words tasting and bitter, ‘my presence here has nothing to do with you, or a human, or any of them.’ He nods his head back towards throng of angels waiting and watching, and he keeps his gesture small, refusing to give them the satisfaction of his acknowledgement.
‘He is my charge,’ you press, blithely ignoring him, ‘and I won’t let you take him early.’
On this you are adamant, firm in your convictions. It’s clear you have come to stand beside him with a purpose, chest full of intent and mouth full of words you likely rehearsed over and over as soon as you felt him on this beach. Exasperated, he expands his consciousness, wondering to whom you could be referring. Latching onto your energy, almost immediately he finds the heartbeat your spirit clings to. It’s frail, small, newly born and new learning to thunder, finding strength with every unpracticed beat, and it is so wonderfully sweet.
If he wanted to, he could latch on and tear it asunder. If he wanted to, he could cleave to this soul just as ardently as you, waiting and waiting through the swift passing of three decades, claiming what was never meant to be neither yours nor his, simply because he could.
But he does not. He lets it go, releases it back to you with the hope he will never hear it again.
‘I’m not a reaper,’ he hisses through grit teeth, frustrated to still be conversing so soon before dawn.
‘But you’ve done it before,’ comes your biting reply. There’s so much more you want to say, so many words you swallow, and he can hear them all even if you don’t want him to.
Furrowing his brow, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter in irritation. ‘Only in extreme cases.’
Awkwardly, you shift your weight beside him, sending some stones tumbling away from your feet. ‘Then why did you come here?’
He groans, annoyed. This is a question he hasn’t been asked in a very long time. Everyone knows the story; they all have seen the proof - for centuries, it has felt like even the humans know, even if they don’t know the right version. At best he is a thing in a zoo, the perimeter of the sea his cage. This early in the morning, at this sublime hour, he is rarely seen anywhere else. You, for all your fierce intonations and verbal assaults, are either a newborn or a recently appointed guardian. These days, he has little patience for either of those traits.
‘It sounds better here,’ he says simply, tone reverent in its efforts of finding peace.
‘It's not like you can hear it,’ you say softly, inherently apologetic yet still the words sound remarkably cruel for a creature so innocent.
At this, he opens his eyes with a tense frown. Turning his head, he glares at you. It pains him to see you as you are, so bright and young and whole - a pure, sweet thing. Head to toe in crisp white, beautiful, and new, you are perfect and he envies you or, perhaps, he envies your innocence. There is a poetic magnificence to how wonderfully in contrast you are to each other: he, standing tall and imperious in his pitch black suit and shirt, blood red tie dripping with regret, standing beside you, a whole angel, clean, bright, and glowing.
He remembers his own days in white, a white so much brighter than the rest - blinding. In those days, he was incandescent, every beam of light pressed together and contained in a singular existence. He doesn’t know if it is the shade he misses or the symbolism, the rank. Briefly, he thinks it is a combination of both.
He assumes it is the speed with which he does these things - taking you in, seeing you, reading you, maybe even swallowing you - that makes you move gently backwards, apprehension stretching into the pout of your bottom lip. Curiously, he cocks one eyebrow at your expression, remaining mute and milking his power before he is reduced once more to an old broken relic.
‘But I can still remember.’
This, it seems, is enough. You don’t press him for any further explanation.
And then, through the corner of his eye, he sees it, the tiny shadow of his snapped and withered wing gently touching the supple fabric of your linen trousers. He stares at it, not because this is the closest he has come to touching one of his brethren since his fall, but because he can almost feel the ache of his bones in the shadow.
All at once, he remembers the gold and the gleam of his feathers, iridescent and glimmering, burning like fire. He remembers the full length of his impossible wingspan, all the freedom in the universe kissing and holding him in flight. Now he is left with exposed marrow, bones scorched to a miserable brown and gangrenous black, trapped as he is in an endless and eternal state of decay.
You follow his line of sight and see how careless you have been to fall into such a shadow as this, quickly stepping away as though the soft sinew of your flesh has been burned. You are wide eyed when you look at him again, wide eyed and waiting to have your grace stolen through the pores of your skin by either his greedy fingers or his hungry tongue.
Instead, he simply studies you.
He gazes at you impassively for a few moments, admiring the poise and ease with which you move. In a previous life, he was faster than you, even more glorious and transcendent. In a previous life, he would have taught you how to stun the world into silence just by existing, by breathing.
Now, with no companion to mourn his fallen beauty, he turns back to the shore. The sky is starting to change, the dull hues of night starting to bleed as light imbues the crevices between the stars. Again, he shuts his eyes and lets himself become consumed.
The first ray of dawn caresses his face with a gentleness reserved only for him, the same way it always does, these first touches a profound daily reunion. The sea reflects the sun’s beams, throws them around the earth in search of his flesh and his lips, desperate to kiss him and to love him. As if on cue, his skin begins to glow beneath the light, seems to turn him into the light itself as it illuminates his weary body. This was a trait he could never quite be rid of, a habit that, after the fall, only makes him hurt.
Inside, he burns and he aches, and, to everyone else, he is magnificent.
It is his mind which brings the music forth, the hymn washing over the emptiness of his soul as though the waves of the ocean have come too far and mean to drown him. Like this, he hears everything: the prayer, the voices, the love found within the golden smears dawn.
Still, his eyes remain closed for there is no need to see the colours of morning, even though they are always painted for him - only for him. He’s grown accustomed to remembering the shades in accordance with the notes of the hymn, a thing written and created simply because he was born, made for the heavens and made for the sun, and because he was once exalted. Opening his eyes, now, means losing the trick, means breaking the spell, means accepting that where there once was majesty now there is nothing at all.
Because that’s all there truly is. Nothing. Now, there is only the sound of the waves crashing onto shore before receding back, successful in their mission of kissing the land. Now, for him at least, there is only the pain of memory. His fall, his true punishment, means that he is cut off entirely from his personal symphony, removed entirely from the magic of dawn. The music that once belonged to him will never again reach his ears, while all his brothers and sisters can listen. They can listen, they can feel, and they will always remember who he once was.
And when it is over, when he finally opens his eyes to stare at the shore, the sun, his sun, now shines above the sea.
Majestic. Marvelous. A phantom limb.
‘Son of Morning.’
It is a whispered statement, one of slow realization and startled compassion. These are words he hasn’t heard in millennia, and it is somewhat miraculous to hear the phrase from a tongue other than his own. Turning to face you, he finds himself grimacing. He didn’t expect to see you weeping, and he knows you are not weeping for him.
‘That was your first time hearing the hymn, wasn’t it?’ he asks, proud of the beauty even though it is no longer his.
‘Lucifer, I –’
Furious, he cuts you off.
“Don’t,’ he snaps. ‘Just don’t. It’s Hoseok, now. It has been for a while.”
‘Why do you come here if you can’t hear it? Isn’t that torture?’ A tear rolls down your cheek, hot and brutal in its trail, and you lift a delicate hand to wipe it away.
‘I come because it is mine,’ he explains, somehow managing to sound wildly passionate even though he feels dead. ‘I come because it is no more painful than what has already happened to me.’
With that, he turns from you, posture rigid and movements purposeful as he starts to walk away.
‘Lucifer!’ you call after him, and he is unsure what more you could possibly have to say - least of all to him.
‘See you in thirty-two years,’ he tosses at you, careless, reckless, disinterested. Yet, he recalls the heartbeat, the steady rhythm of life and hope and pur, uncorrupted virtue. It changes, he knows. Over time, they always change, but you. So steadfast in your fight, your optimism. Perhaps, he thinks, it would be worth to see, to be proven wrong.
‘Maybe,’ he amends, not bothering to cease his footsteps.
A hundred pairs of eyes watch him stalk down the shore, fists clenched at his side and wings of bone cutting jagged lines into the stones as he passes.
#hoseok x reader#jhope x reader#kpopwonderlandtag#prettyboysnetwork#bts jhope x reader#bts hoseok x reader#jhope scenario#hoseok scenario#jhope angst#jhope au#jhope romance#jhope fanfiction#hoseok fanfiction#hoseok au#hoseok angst#bts scenario#bts fanfiction#bts angst#jung hoseok
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RWBY V8E4 LiveThoughts
And were back at it again, this week with turkey and Italian preserved sausage as a snack! Lets see what RT has for us this week.
Oh, 20 minutes. Are they normally this long?
Oh, wait, the openings almost 2 minutes long. Thats more like it.
And now to Robyn and Qrow. Seems Robyns actually liking Qrow a little bit now.
Guess the cells aren’t secured if a fly got into Schnee’s. This a “Fly on Mike Pence’s face” reference?
Qrow sounds more growly again. Did he get smacked back two seasons by Clover dying?
If by “darkness” you mean “Tyrian” then, yes. Also dude, its Clover. He was shit anyway. All the Aces are shit. Dont feel too bad about him.
And he’s got a point too. If Clover had thought with his head instead of his dick (yes, Im sure they were gonna fuck, Fair Games totally a thing), he probably wouldnt be dead now, and Tyrian would be the one with the sword through his chest.
But of course this is RWBY and V7/8 so things cant go their ways.
Ouch. Deep thoughts of Qrow. And some interesting stuff from Robyn too. I still think I’d prefer hopeandharmonizing’s Briar, though.
Marrows glare gives me life. Hare’s just a moron right now though, but thats no real surprise. She’s immature emotionally.
Honestly, shes...kind of like a less bad version of our current President. Always has to be the best at everything, fastest, leader, whatever.
Thats probably why this is grating on her so much. Even though shes TECHNICALLY the Ace’s leader now (I think? Seemed like she was Clovers lieutenant, so by rate of succession she’s in command now)
A glance at the little floating control pad...
“Clerance access only”. Okay, that...seems weird. Shouldnt it say something like authorized personell only? Maybe it means access by clerance only or something.
Then Robyn’s name, and then process ID 4591-27. No idea what thats useful for but its there.
Also Marrow seems to be the only competent member of the Aces rn.
Ah now we get to see some of the hills around Atlas. For those of you who have seen my headcanons on the Hunter-Killers and their base of operations, Fortress Academy, its out in these hills somewhere.
The music sounds like a boss fight.
The screen on Ren’s hoverbike reads “HVB Rhino” and “HD5800″
I can only assume HVB stands for “hoverbike” and Rhino must be its name, like how the dropships are Mantas. No clue what the number is.
Also apparently the cold in Solitas is so bad it corrupts machinery?
Ahh, good, some action. Lets see what we get now.
Ohh, teamwork. And again, signs that aura allows you to move faster and farther than a normal human
Heh, it really is like a boss fight, like the chase scene at the end of the first Viking level in For Honor.
Oh, and it can call for reenforcements literally out of nowhere? Or is the whole tundra of Solitas just CRAWLING with Grimm?
Yes, yes it did just call for backup, Yang.
Maybe these are all forward scouts and ambush units from the Grimmstorm. They did say its the biggest...
Another banger from Casey Lee Williams...
What the hell happened in Solitas to cause this geography? Seriously, its a line of bridges over a gap in two cliffs...that cant be natrual, not that equal in distance.
Man, those bikes didnt even last half an episode...I guess thats fair, they are facing obsurd odds. Or maybe they just want Yang to be the only one with a bike.
And there goes the dropwall. Woops.
Also you can just kinda see it but they bounce off the rock and thats why they slow down. Useful.
Also this part with them falling off the edge reminds me of the ending cutscene of Halo 4s Forerunner level, where Chief flies out of a portal and almost goes sailing off a cliff in a Ghost.
Except here, the bike stays on the land and THEY go off the cliff.
I paused at just the right time cause YANGS FACE XD
Holy shit what are Ren’s weapons cables MADE OF? The one atop him is holding him AND the weight of his two teammates. And the one below has both Jaune and Yang. No sign of slippage or breackage at all.
Ahhh there’s the whaleship (Monstra? Fuck it Im gonna keep calling it the whaleship). So yeah my headcanon now is the mountain its right next too is Menachite, where Fortress is.
Oh hey back to the Schnee manor of all things! Does...this mean military invasion of the Schnee grounds.
Hey Whitley. Lesbians are here.
Someone make a video cut of Weiss banging on the door to the “Knock knock open up the door its real!” part of that one song.
Hehehehhe. Nice Weiss.
Also convenient about the house staff. Good thing RT doesnt need to animate them or Willow now...
I hope the staff took some of the silverware and some paintings on the way out.
Why is MAY the one carrying Nora.
Ah so now they’re stuck out there with no cell service. Hehe.
Ah okay so the cold in Solitas DOES eat aura. Good, my headcanon still kind of stands.
I wonder, does wearing proper cold weather clothing (like bundled up stuff) help? Or does it cut right through...
Why is JAUNE the one hauling the bike? Isnt Yang the strongest? Or maybe they take turns.
Ahhh inter-team talking. Also, outpost. Hmm. Atlas one? Overrun if I had to guess. Unless he saw Fortress. Which I doubt.
I do love the circling shot here, with the light on Yang’s hair and the shadows on Ren. Its...really artistic and emotional. GREAT WORK RT.
Rens got points. And hes saying stuff I myself have been saying for ages, which is good. I wonder why this is how Ren is now...working with the Ace Ops? Being afraid of loosing Nora? No one tell him what happened last episode.
Also, Jaune’s hair seems to have gotten less crazy in recent episodes. It looks less like a banana and more like a close tactical cut.
Yangs got a point.
Ahhh and now we get to see the inside of the whale.
SALEM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP SHOWING THE FUCK OFF. SERIOUSLY. WE GET IT.
...this is gonna be a really criingy torture section, isnt it.
Someones gonna take that “hound didnt break you” line in the WRONG direction
It is amusing the only thing holding Oscar down is the Hound actually.
Ah so they’re still searching the remains of Beacon.
Also I like how Salem calls them “her forces” as if its anything but a random bunch of expendable monsters. Like, bruh, you cant search anything with THAT.
Ignoring the boring chat between these two, notice how the Hound’s shoulder literally flexes and shifts when Salem touched it. I dont think this thing is solid at all aside from the head and the bone claws...the whole thing is just amorphous Grimm material that can adapt to whatever situation it requires. A specialist unit. A...Hunter hunter.
Yo what the fuck was that. Magic? Huh. Did we actually SEE magic for once in the show? Only took us 8 FUCKING SEASONS...
Doesnt seem to be anything but an energy blast/pain never firing though. I assume his auras still gone, cause its completely singed his shirt, but it didnt do much else.
...Im not impressed.
She really needs to stop touching his face, its creeping me out.
HAHA SHE CANT DO IT HERSELF SHE HAS TO RELY ON HAZEL BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF HIM. I think we know where she stands now, doesnt she...say what you will about her letting Hazel have his vengeance (which is very valid, even he admits hit), but me? I think she A) cant actually beat up on Ozma herself because she still cares and B) shes almost out of magic too. Its weakened as the Gods have been gone and shes been forced to rely on the Grimm and on pawns. Basically, once she and Oz are both gone? That’s it for magic. Remnant will belong to the Grimm...and to technology.
At which point without Oz around to hold them back Atlas is going to go fucking BONKERS and basically ensure the Grimm get pushed back into a corner and then finally permenantly STAMPED OUT.
More Whale insides. Seems like most of its empty grandious spaces. Or possibly muscle? Hard to tell. Either way theres a lot of open air in there...with tight corridors.
If you fired a thermobaric warehead into one of the chambers the resulting blastc could possibly blow the doors off and send a raging fireball through the entire thing...Hmm. Filing that away for later.
NEO IS SO SHORT ITS FUNNY TO ME. I know its just positioning BUT SHE LOOKS EVEN SHORTER IN THIS SHOT THAN USUAL.
More note on the Hound; the “flesh” around its right shoulder spike actually sinks down when it stops moving. Its neck shifts and moves too, like the material isnt solid, but recirculating.
I also dont see any eyes. And it looks like it has some kind of...forehead mouth? Def looks like teeth down the ridge of its spine.
Oh boy yeah that...whole thing is basically melting in on itself.
I wont lie; hearing Cinder get berated by CORTANA (and yes, I still hear Cortana in Salem, espeically now that the two characters are kind of one and the same, both megalomaniacal leaders of giant armies, bar the fact that one of them is about a TRILLION times more dangerous than the other because one of them has access to Guardian Custodies and the other one is...well kind of lame and has to have beefy dudes beat up on small children etc) is pleasing to me.
Get fucked, Cinder.
And THERE is Cortana again too.
Neo Marry Popins’s Ya’lling is fucking CUTE. And I love her little smirk.
Wait the whale’s that close?
..oh my...hold on.
...thats it. THATS ATLAS’S AIR FLEET!?!
12 AIRSHIPS? 12? EXCUSE ME!?
ARE YOU LEGITAMETLY TELLING ME THE BIGGEST MILITARY ON REMNANT HAS FEWER AIRSHIPS THAN THE SMALLEST NAVY ON EARTH HAS FRIGATES? YOUR FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT? THERE HAS TO BE MORE SOMEWHERE. THIS IS A JOKE, A STRAIGHT UP FUCKING JOKE.
...
No, thats...thats it. Thats Atlas’s airfleet. 12 tiny vessels. I swear it was bigger last season...
...HA! HAHA! HA! Oh, Ironwood, and Atlas as a whole...you deserve everything your about to get. I hope you die SCREAMING, and that when your bodies fall bleeding and shattered to Mantle, the people down there will realize that, no. You cant just assume Hunters will do all the work for you
THIS IS REMNANT. ITS KILL OR BE KILLED. YOU EITHER MAKE A FORCE POWERFUL ENOUGH THAT THE GRIMM RUN FROM YOU OR YOU DIE INSTEAD. ATLAS FAILED. NOW THEY SUFFER.
Emerald stop simpin.
Also that is...the SHITTEST outpost...I have ever seen in my life.
My overall thought process of Atlas is...sinking even LOWER than before.
Though it seems more like a waystation. Bed, Dust, some dudes coat on it. Dead heater. Its probably a rest spot for Specialists out in the tundra.
Ren does the emo sit. Lol. Yang even says it. Brood himself to death.
Alright whats this now...something forcing itself out of the tundra?
And thats it for today! Cool ass concept art at the end there too.
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Saorsa, Chapter 16
A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. Jamie’s on a mission, and Ned Gowan makes his first appearance. He keeps poking his head up in this story, like a marmot with a law degree.
Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.
Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.
For a man who couldn’t walk more than fifty yards without getting winded, Jamie Fraser was still a force to be reckoned with when he set his mind to a task. In the two days since she’d confessed her dual secrets to him, he had directed labourers to a nearby bog to cut peat to burn through the winter instead of wood; suggested they mill the estate’s abundant acorns for flour, rather than letting the wild boar eat them all; shown Murtagh what was needed to repair the old grist mill; and sent the field hands out to collect the season’s last thornapples, so that Cook could stew them as preserves and dry them as fruit leather. He deferred publicly to her position as Lady of Lallybroch in all matters, but it was clear that he knew a great deal more than she about the running of the estate in hard times. How that came to be was a question she grew increasingly focused on answering.
With supper eaten and cleared away, they were now at opposite ends of the long couch in the great room. Claire sat with her legs curled by her side, a novel resting on her thighs. Jamie's feet were extended on an ottoman as he listened attentively to BBC Radio broadcast the latest news of the war.
Her guest treated the war with odd disassociation. Unlike most every other man she knew, he neither gloried in Britain’s triumphs nor seemed overly moved by her defeats. He asked strange questions about the location of Pearl Harbor and the size and nature of a Panzer division, but otherwise absorbed the news in silence. The Duke of Sandringham’s comment about the dubious dedication of the Scots to the war effort came to mind. In truth, she barely knew Jamie, but she was certain he was not a coward nor a draft dodger. As usual, all her suppositions about his motivations led her to barred doors that she did not feel entitled to open.
The news ended with the usual orchestral flourish and was replaced by quiet jazz.
Jamie stirred and looked her way. “I’ve been thinking, Sassenach...”
She smirked, both at the now-familiar nickname and the fact that Jamie always seemed to be thinking. He was often silent, as though over-awed by the simplest of daily occurrences, but it was clear that he was a man who reasoned deeply, yet preferred action to words. It was a practical intelligence, when contrasted with Frank’s cerebral style. If her late husband had been a florid adjective, James Fraser was all verb.
“I ken tis yer decision but would it no’ be wise tae consult the law about yer… situation?” he finished delicately. She’d yet to tell anyone else about Frank’s death or her pregnancy, and she appreciated Jamie’s discretion.
“I thought of that, Jamie. But I’m worried about what will happen if word gets back to the Duke of Sandringham before I’m ready. He’s connected to every High Street lawyer in Scotland, I’m certain of it.”
Jamie grinned what she’d come to consider his piratical grin before suggesting, “Aye. Where’er in Scotland could we find a man of the law who wouldna go blethering tae an English laird about keepin’ Lallybroch out of ‘is clutches?”
She couldn’t help smiling back at him, despite the seriousness of her situation. Their eyes clutched and held for a long moment, before she broke the hold and looked down at her lap, smile fading.
“If you could make some discreet inquiries…” she murmured.
“Consider it done.” He rose carefully from the couch and came to stand before her.
“It’s time fer me tae be beddin’ down wi’ Murtagh in the croft, Mistress Beauchamp.”
The switch from the familiar to the formal was not lost of her, and she rebelled against it instinctively.
“Absolutely not! You’re still healing. And you are not a labourer. You’re my guest.”
“I’ve strayed in yer bed too long already,” he protested, and then blushed as he realized what he’d just said. He plowed ahead anyway. “Yer a widowed woman, and tis no’ right for me tae… weel, ye ken what I mean.”
“I most certainly do not. I’ve been a widow for as long as you’ve known me. Nothing about that has changed. I will not hear of it, Jamie. If you feel badly for depriving me of my bed, we can switch bedchambers. You aren’t sleeping in that damp croft, and that’s final.” She rose to stand in front of him, her fists resting against her hips and her chin thrown back in defiance.
“Did no-one e’er tell ye that yer as stubborn as a whole team o’ oxen, Sassenach?” he said with resigned affection.
“Let there be no mistake, Mister Fraser. I’m far more stubborn than a whole team of oxen.”
**
Ned Gowan looked every bit the part of a disreputable lawyer. His long hair was pulled back into a greasy pigtail, and he had the narrow, canny eyes of a larcenist. Jamie would not divulge where he’d located the man, but he begged Claire to listen with an open mind as he set forth his argument.
The royal grant that saw Lallybroch pass from a family of Jacobite traitors into the hands of Frank Randall’s ancestors was clear. Lallybroch would be held in perpetuity by successive generations of Randalls until there was no direct heir, at which time it would pass to the current Duke of Sandringham, to whose line protectorship of the estate had been given. As long as the customary payment of a hundred pounds was made twice a year and a Randall resided at the estate, Lallybroch was theirs.
There could be no question in anyone’s mind that the child Claire bore was the lawful heir of Captain Frank Randall, conceived after their marriage and before his death.
Therefore, once born her child would be the natural inheritor of Lallybroch. During the child’s minority, Claire would hold the estate in trust and be responsible for its management.
“Even though I’m a woman? Even though I’m… not a Scot?” Claire asked, her hand unconsciously touching her still-flat belly.
“Oh, yes, my dear. British history is full of examples of foreign women wielding power in the absence of their native husbands. On that subject, the law is very clear,” the lawyer responded with a twinkle in his eye. “I’m not saying the Duke will not try to contest it, but the child you carry is the future Lord or Lady of Lallybroch.”
She was totally engrossed in what Ned Gowan was saying, so she missed the look of mute agony that travelled over Jamie’s face.
**
The relief she felt after Ned Gowan’s visit put her in a playful mood. She ribbed Jamie good-naturedly about his peculiar fondness for Cook’s cock-a-leekie soup at the supper table.
“Tis almost as good as my mam’s recipe, Sassenach. She would make it when’er I was ill, or when I strayed too long in the dreich and came home frozen tae the marrow, which was often.”
She opened her mouth to ask about his mother, but he forestalled her question with his own.
“Where’abouts are yer people, Sassenach? I ken they’re no’ here in Scotland, but do they visit ye?”
The smile fled from her face, and Jamie immediately looked contrite.
“Claire, I dinna mean to…”
“It’s alright. It’s just that, well… I don’t have any ‘people’. Not really. Not the way you mean.”
He emitted a soft sigh and reached for her hand where it rested on the table.
“My, err… my parents died when I was quite young. In the influenza epidemic that followed the Great War. My uncle, Lambert, raised me until I was old enough to attend boarding school. It was quite the unconventional upbringing, visiting all manner of places, wherever his work took him. He was an archaeologist, you see.”
Jamie nodded absently.
“Lamb died before the war. Cancer. It’s been just me since then. Well, and Frank.”
“How long were ye marrit tae ‘im?”
“Less than a year. Love during wartime, I suppose. We met last June, were married by October, and he was deployed only weeks later. We last saw each other in August, and then…” Her free hand unconsciously strayed to her flat tummy.
“I’m sae sorry, Sassenach.” She was grateful there wasn’t an ounce of pity in his tone, only sincere regret.
“No, it’s alright. It sounds cold, but we weren’t together long enough for me to truly miss him. Anyway, you asked after my people, but all I have are memories.”
A pained noise burst from Jamie’s throat.
“Ye ken that isna true, Claire. Afore ye know it, ye’ll have yer wee bairn tae raise. And the men and women of this estate care for ye, truly.”
“Do they?” she asked, glancing at him sideways.
“Aye.” Jamie nodded, but said no more.
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Murder in paris
Pt3
♡~~~~~~~♡
Spy Walked hastily down the streets, where was that shop with the dress where is It.
He makes a beeline for it,and quickly enters as they are about to close.
Somehow he convinced the owners to sell him that black dress he saw earlier, and sighed in relief once he left the store with the bag.
Once back he left the dress besides jerico, and Walked outside to use the hotels phone.
Jer woke up, sitting on the bed still sleepy, she looks at the clock...its half past eight
She sees the bag just besides her, and a note in an incredibly done cursive"put this on,ill be back at quarter to nine...~spy".
Oh god.
She quickly ran into the bathroom and quickly showered.
Fifteen minutes later spy softly opened the door, stopping when he heard someone singing
-- " Marrow made a wife of Eve
But no one gave up a rib for me
And mine
My heart did expose to the elements
Calloused and untouched by a man's design
Oh, my ugly organs
How lucky we are
Brick and mortar between my bones
Built a kingdom fierce and fortified
My name fading from the yellow page
Stones are laid upon the mountainside
Oh, my savage empire
How lucky we are
Never to be moved by the words of a liar
The dark doesn't frighten me
I chose to close my eyes; it is mine
The night doesn't frighten me
I chose to let it ride; it is mine"
When he peeks at the door he sees jerico, wrapped in a towel while brushing her wet hair.
-- "Time has changed the metaphor
Now, dust is not the origin of bone
Little girl, don't let them sell you any armor
All your ribs are still your own
Oh, my precious child
How lucky you are
Handed down a shield for your tender parts
The dark doesn't frighten me
I chose to close my eyes; it is mine
The night doesn't frighten me
I chose to let it ride; it is mine
The dark doesn't frighten me
I chose to close my eyes; it is mine
The night doesn't frighten me
I chose to let it ride; it is mine...."
He coos softly,she had a truly beautiful voice.
He decided to give her some privacy and wait by the door.
Though as soon a jerico saw the dress she gasped softly.
--That damn snake--she whispered in a chuckle--i knew it
After changing she opens the door, weird of him leaving it unlocked, as soon as she steps out shes stopped by no-one but spy himself.
--Going somewhere,mon ami?
--i knew you were going to buy it,I knew it!
The Man rolls his eyes with soft smile on his lips,offering his arm, wich she takes as both walk down to the reception and then out of the hotel.
They take a cab, and in the ride,jerico scoots closer to him clinging to his arm--spy...where are we going?
--Youll soon see
Needless to say she was a bit confused, but it did clear when she saw the restaurants big letters, she chuckled.
Her frenchman companion went out the car and held the door Open for her.
She stepped out as he payed the taxist, he then put a hand ghosting her Lower back,softly pushing her to walk forward.
--Terran food?never took you for a fan of it --jer said as they enter the very luxurious place.
--well, some of it its very good--he answers playfully
--some?-- she elbows him softly on the ribs, and he snorts.
A waiter stops them, asking them if they had a reservation.
----Oui
- Sous quel nom?
--gerard surnois
-Suivez-moi monsieur et madame
It was unsual for him to use his Real name to book things,but this time it was special.
Jerico felt right at home when the food arrived,though he did hear her complain a bit about the way it tasted...but she did like it,wich was a relief to the frenchman.
After paying,they left again.
--where Will you take me now, mister fancypants
--cant you just wait and enjoy the secret?
--darling I am a Spy I do hate secrets being kept from me
--as all spies do
Jer rolls her eyes and takes his hand.
She almost screamed when she saw the eiffel tower right infront of her, and even more so, as spy took her inside of it, to the very top.
--i was going to ask how did you managed this but I think I already know the answer...--jer said looking down at the city--its even more beautiful from here
Spy leans on the handrail and nodds--yes it is...--he then puts a hand on her Lower back, and looks at her,with a smile.
Jer turns her gaze to him and scoots closer,his free hand runs up her arm, up her shoulder, stopping on her cheek,caressing it.
--i dont usually get zhese feelings...to be zhis strong...you jerico..make a different Man come out of me, at first I thought it was appreciation,but zhese few days,spend togheter...and zhe years ive known you,made me realize zhat is something even more strong...zrusting is somezhing very...hard for me,given my work...but with you is different...and all im zrying zo say is zhat...jerico I am in love with you...
Jer stands there in silence...then a smile creeps up her face and kisses him, hugging his neck.
His hands rest on her waist and pulls her closer to his chest.
As they pull appart,jerico sighs,and smiles,ghosting her lips on his.
--I love you...jerico..
--and I love you spy...
--its Gerard...
--Wh what?
--my names Gerard surnois...
--have I told you you have a beautiful name?
--just now yes...
She starts to laugh hugging him tightly--you dork
He joins in the laughter--but you love me like zhis
--of course I do
♡~~BONUS~~♡
The plane back to teufort was way more enjoyable now that they could be more affectionate with eachother.
--About time he confessed--heavy said patting jericos back--i hope he makes you happy, sister if not ill break his bones
Jer laughs nervously-- alright misha maybe not so much!
--Are you freakin kidding me right now?!--scout screamed at the top of his lungs--first my ma and now my best friend....I hate you spy
Spy just rolls his eyes taking a drag from his cigarrette.
Jer looks at heavy with a playful smile, taking advantadge of the fact that she had to to into town to retrive the mail they couldnt Grab since they were in france-- Anyway I should get going..
Jer takes her bag and walks over to spy, she grabd his tie yanking Him to Her,kissing Him--love ya,bye!
And so she ran for her dear life as the mix of spy chasing after her and the groans of annoyance from the rest of the team are heard as she flees for her dear life.
This sure was going to be fun.
#self insert#self ship#my f/os#self shipping#f/o x s/i#romantic f/o#f/o#f/o community#f/o fic#🖤🔪the quickest spy🔪🖤#💛stab me in the back (and steal my heart)💛
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ive bought harrow the ninth and am now attempting to reread act 1 so that i may understand it better
ianthe clearly proposes that Harrow not get herself killed trying to bring Gideon back - reading it over again. instead to take the future and somehow?? be really powerful together and forget about their cavaliers. but harrow says no
im once again struck with how offhand this book introduces the concept that the empire goes out to deliberately kill planets over a couple of generations
now im not sure....there also seems to be an implication that there’s no aliens - because they say only humanity has a soul - but client planets were said to rebel - i guess the human colonisers rebel against central solar system command sometimes? but then what enemy does the Cohort fight? possibly it’s just bigotry that they think aliens dont have a soul
but like - they find LIVING PLANETS and then - kill them slowly. to the extent that they need to move the entire population. WHAT? why do they do that??? just so they can do some bone tricks???!
what the fuk
so how did the planets get murdered again? and which solar system planets could really have been said to have had enough life to have a soul?? cos like, only one of them is really known for that
why did God give Harrow the choice to go back home TWICE if he was never going to let her?
once again, why mess with the Hand candidates if God was always gonna come for Cytherea? just to mess with him more?
yeah - harrow keeps hearing and saying ortus ninegad but the rest of the world remembers gideon.
Harrow truly is totally mentally shattered AND time is totally fucked up
but sometimes in the fake-ish timeline Harrow remembers but doesn’t remember Gideon - like how she notes that there were two womb-bearing members of the Ninth who were the right age...but only elaborates on herself
for some reason - Harrowhark remembers Ianthe’s arm ripped from her by Cytherea - but now it’s whole. for some reason
that letter is still so what the fuck
‘like you did the last time’ - hm harrowhark sewed Ianthe’s lips shut? how did she come by the power?
is ianthe - calling Harrowhark God?
throughout the first act, they keep referring to time, having too much time, or not mastering time, or not having enough time, ‘this time’ etc.
the eggs you gave me all died - that’s DIRECTED at Harrow, is my theory
ok but the planet revenants come after Lyctors and also God (- God became God when? at the Resurrection) before the Lyctors happened - God was still at Canaan House - despite the Revenants already coming right...
is Teacher criticising god and lyctors for leaving Canaan House lol?
ok so yeah Canaan House WAS part of a ‘last sacrifice’
ok so - Harrowhark is a little resurrection miracle. This implies that God killed a lot to resurrect the Houses.
wow God is being a very dad to Harrow
Blood of Eden - BOE - they turned their back on the solar system. now they hate necromancy. in other words - when the solar system died, God resurrected it - but before that point some humans had fled - lived. and they can see what absolute fuckin horror necromancy is ACTUALLY
so what im getting is...maybe...god resurrected humanity by killing the planets...?
i just realised that Ianthe has taken Gideon’s place as the smartass in the room - the counterweight to Harrow’s portentousness
what the fuck do augustine’s comments to Mercy mean???? why is she unloveable? why would he say that God doesn’t need her? and why is it obscene that Augstine calls God John? What is the dangerous game she’s playing? What was the foul implication??
‘Then that is your downfall’ OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Harrow BURN!!!
what i don’t get is - the Cohort is an army - when they land they die because they’re being killed by an enemy at the front - NOT in pure sacrifice for thanergy. so why does only the death of humans and planets produce thanergy. why is the death of the enemy not good enough? they don’t have fuckin souls?? they MUST be complex life. and doesn’t a planet produce a constant stream of thanergy? but i guess it’s not dying enough - generally its life maintains itself in ecosystems.....unless a fuckin lyctor ‘makes the juice flow’ i guess!
sometime in the next book there IS gonna be a ‘are we the baddies’ meme. muir loves memes and she stuck skulls on absolutely EVERYTHIGN. Like WHY THE FUCK would you colonise planets if you gotta kill them for it? LOL????
huh? augustine just said that they can’t use necromancy when in the river - but mercy mocked harrow for having hypothermia ? implying her fundamental failure was not being able to necro while in the river? Harrow’s inability was what was wrong partly right?? oh no ok it’s how Harrow tried to compensate for her body going lights out while in the river. alright. that was written confusingly
how and why is this a completely different story???
The Sleeper.......is Harrowhark? the suit is too close to what she was wearing killing the asteroid. and the sleeper is lying on ‘something’. oh they just straight up say it lololol
ortus got into trouble 19 years ago...hhmmmmm wasn’t Gideon 19??? huh? which is why Mercy started at Harrow’s peculiar YELLOW eyes that Harrow can’t see herself i think
‘i do things face to face’ ortus says after stabbing harrow. HUH? why go for a stab if decapitating would have done the job? just to give her a small chance to fight back? (face to face?)
why not tell God that ‘his’ attack dog is trying to kill you?
why does Ortus the First want me dead? ‘who?’ ---uh. has she forgotten him completely (time shit) or is she saying the wrong name? mercy wouldnt reply like that then right?
she told him and he’s like - oh well guess you gotta just get through repeated almost-successful attacks on your life. ???? THANKS GOD!!!
‘you, with your unfortunate memory for poetry’ HA! i love how we are reminded that she knew all the fuckin damn books nearly by heart which is insane!
Teacher suggests his dying at least three times a day?? hahaha what?.........................is this purely a meme reference. is that meme the mental image im supposed to have of Teacher??????????? is this trying to say that this meme was preserved in the amalgamation of human life that is Teacher?? oh my god....
no.....palamedus and camilla....did old Harrow really kill them.....
seems like all the murders were consensual maybe?
it’s probably too straightforward that Harrow created and alternate timeline and made for a Harrow Lyctor without Gideon dying and kicked her to the original? maybe she took Ianthe and Coronabeth with her bc she needed Ianthe’s help
is this Cytherea or Dulcinea? Pro seems real this time. why does Dulcie call Pal and Cam strands and cords?
did muir put in a fuckin secondary school S - muir’s just like - im gonna put in all the memes as a nod to ancient human culture
still no idea what the messages are that Harrow is getting
This Harrow is so goddamn sick. I mean she was sick before, but at least she had Gideon. Really do feel that that helped her. now she didn’t have that -- AND she’s getting slapped with trauma another five times
if ortus can undo the thanergy of her own bone then why not simply crumble HARROW into dust? cos there’s a core of thanergy fusion in her that he can’t undo?
FLKJDFKLJSDLFSD fucking IANTHE ‘Wow! Not how I imagined this happening, at all.’ FUCKIN HELL
Harrow with her fucking fucked up dramatic inner monologues about weakness and Ianthe comes in with this shit. she really is doing Gideon proud here.
Did love Harrow’s musings about how only a truly idiotically obedient Cavalier would be the only one to keep to a vow of silence. HAH! nice one muir
‘have you taken the time to rest lately?’ asks God, YOUR FUCKING SAINT IS TRYING TO KILL HER IN THE FUCKING BATH YOU IDIOT AHAHAHAHA
JEZUS FUCKING CHRIST - try and be normal Harrow! try and make some soup and read a book! Harrow: *does and then hyperventilates hidden under her bed after 86 hours of zero sleep*
she was trying to remember what cutlery did. why is this so goddamn funny hahahaa. this book has ONLY been Harrow being in extreme states of misery ALL THE TIME both mentally and physically to the point of death
GOD IS HAPPY THAT SHE MADE SOUP AND DOESNT EVEN FUCKIN NOTICE SHE’S NOT SLEPT FOR A WEEK SOMEHOW THIS IS THE MOST HILARIOUS SHIT
thats what you fucking GET you piece of shit god! you push a prodigy teen to the brink and she fuckin explodes your lyctor and feeds you her fuckin marrow. maybe you shouldn’t have ignored her goddamn fucking understandable distress
SHE FUCKIN HITS HIM WITH THE FUCKIN TRUTH what an IDIOT of a God. he truly doesn’t understand mortality anymore huh
I LOVE HOW MERCYMORN CONTINUES TO MAKE HARROW YOUNGER IN HER HEAD AHAHAHAHAHAHA she’s only nine years old!!!hahahaha
naturally God focuses on how - wait- actually harrow is truly an INSANE necromancer - INSANE
still no idea what the fuck is going on in the not-past
aww. ianthe’s scent soothes harrow now. begrudgingly of course.
i thought this was gonna be lovely angsty harrow/gideon but naturally that did not happen
harrow is comfortable! first time in the whole book! one moment of comfort!!!
‘love my twin, also murder’ tridentarius pffjlfjdljf
‘how i crave your honeyed words’ hah
wow this scene sure is weirdly sexual with these similes lol ‘as though she had shyly undressed for you’ ok there Harrow you about to chop her arm off calm it probably sex repulsed thirsty teen
i do love how....there is this theme again that’s everybody underestimating the main character - who is actually a prodigy. Gideon had that with the sword and Harrow also has it with being a Lyctor now
it’s so telling that these Saints would rather be shits to these babies than help Ianthe grow a new fuckin arm
i dont see why Ianthe can’t work off this bone construct which is her own stuff and put some flesh on it since SHES A FLESH NECRO?
Ianthe that’s super gay
wow muir really never delivers on full gay does she??? i dont mind but i think it’s so striking hahaa
how are Harrow and Ianthe still hung up on the Saint of Duty? i mean, if they dont have him against the RB they’re dead anyway
why is the First going through rain and ice?
Harrow haunted? naawwww
i cant help but like mercymorn though - she cares. it’s soured ages ago but she cares.
awww Harrow needs Ianthe to sleep
Ianthe constantly poking Harrow for her prudishness is so goddamn funny.
‘It’s the type of energy i wish to take into my future’ AHAHAHAHAHAAH IANTHE MY GOD
‘i always forget you were an honest to go nun ... and six years old to boot if you listen to mercymorn’ HAHAHAHAHAHA
‘you look good enough that im proud of my handiwork but not so good that i’ll be consumed with lust and ravish you over the nut bowl’ fpdfjsdfkjsd this is what harrow means with crude japery and yet....
mercymorn has started to call harrow three years old. i will NEVER tire of this gag
all of the blood of eden stuff happened in the past 25 years??? god was on the erebos, but he also remembers ortus kicking the commander out of an airlock? that was in the last 25 years??
Ianthe‘s carressing the nape of Harrow’s neck. hmmhm
its honestly super weird if you think about it for more than 10 seconds that theyre talking about their cavaliers whom they murdered (im still not sure if all consensually) ten thousand years ago (!) and how hot they were that just seems.....fucked up
Harrow is like WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! basically all the time but especially now. yep well that was to be expected i guess lololol
Harrow being painfully frozenly fascinated by (god having) sex and deeply repulsed is very Harrow
oh nooooo well that was a perfect kiss between them really
the funny thing about Harrow is that though she is so completely fucked up - just like Gideon - she is fundamentally a helper.
why wouldn’t Harrow have thought of blood wards! she knew he could only bleed thanergy! it;s the first thing i thought - just use not bone wards then!
ortus thinks anastasia is in Harrow - which makes me think - why does he think that’s possible?
mercymorn now calls Harrow a two-year-old. i am waiting for embryonic genius
so did they use the river to get to the planets theyre killing?
Harrow feels the peace and pleasure of a stroll through nature that she has come to kill
oh my god - Harrow somehow saved Cam and Pal is still attached to the mortal plane!!
Harrow helps Cam risking herself entirely just like that. yknow as she does
i wonder if Pal has realised that Harrow is not who he remembers
i think he realised once he realised haz mat suit was Harrow also...
ianthe xo’d harrow.....lol
im sad that original harrow is definitely dead.... :( loved her. guess gideon’s not coming back either. not sure how the second adept survived. she didn’t survive in the original timeline either. but she was ‘killed’ in the other - just like coronabeth..so that means soemthing
this whole ‘flashback’ stuff to Canaan House is Harrow being in the River the whole time. the cold temperatures, the blood, the creatures theyre fishing from the sea that apparently abominations
after all, we’ve just learned about river bubbles and a haz!harrow that can change their parameters.
all the people ‘dead’ she’d not spoken to much or at all beforehand. like they’re NOT real, in the River. the only one not like that is Dyas...
the fact that the narrative keeps calling Dulcie, Dulcie means she’s really Dulcie.
there’s giant organs falling from the ceiling. this is definitely the river
they talk about time AGAIN
the Body is the devil who let herself be used to complete the work of Teacher and the Lyctors in his mythology....hmm. and when they realised the price (AFTER? the work was done?) they wanted her dead but he buried her....SHE allowed them to become Lyctors?? I still don’t understand why the heck that was necessary
the king is dead, long live the king. hmmmm
Harrow comes onto a hallucination of the devil who was her first crush with the voice of her parental figures and the eyes of a love interest she can no longer remember - which is actually not precisely a hallucination probably - and gets summarily rejected lol OUCH (the Body didn’t mean it that way ofc)
Harrow is so repressed on every single front but definitely sexually
I love Mercy
so there is death beyond death. does everybody go into the river and become a mad horrid ghost? like - is that everybody’s fate? how awful
ok so God DID resurrect the planets also. ? but like. then why are there resurrection beasts?
what does resurrection mean? and who killed the planets in the first place?
BECOMING NONE HOUSE, LEFT GRIEF
oh.....my god.
ARE YOU AND IANTHE BEING SAFE!!?!?!?! HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA
HIS BODYGUARD IS THE DEVIL??
so the destruction of Earth somehow made God? as though it was something that simply followed from it
A.L. was destroyed in the first assault? Of an RB
so the RB’s were happily running off in the other direction until they decided to fuck around and kill their mates to become immortal and powerful - then the RB’s turned around and came towards them - which meant leaving the planets God had resurrected forever.
what the fuck god??? hahahahaa
God always seems so likeable goddamn.
Harrow is such a dramatic bitch. Affection??? JUST KILL ME!!! KILL ME!! LET ME SMASH THE GLASS SO I CAN KNEEL IN IT AND BLEED ALL OVER THE FLOOR!!!!
Harrow goes into her fun kid's game of not dying to traps.
But she instantly calls him father. OH MY GOD
HE DOESNT BELIEVE HER!!!
'then that will be your downfall' - is what Harrow said to Augustine AND IT WILL BECOME TRUE FOR THEM ALL
to be dismissed like that where it hurts most - to have God Dad dismiss her only slip of comfort her only pillar of truth in this crazy old world
'nobody had watched you leave'
SOMEBODY HAD - I love all the deliberate references to Gideon
Temporal lobe!!!! Again the temporal lobe!!!
So why was it again that Harrow refused to be locked in with the Emperor?
So isn't God gonna check out Harrow's temporal lobe? He's just gonna let that mystery go to its death?
WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKK
Muir what the fuck??!!!!!!!!
Oh it was.....a hallucination?
Always love how this dips into genuine horror sometimes
What's weird is that Lyctors seem made for the task of going into the river and killing Resurrection Beasts - instead of the other way around.
So say - that the sword somehow holds Gideon's soul (we've just learned that that's possible from Pal and also Ortus trying to get Pent to summon his grandma by his sword) - does it not make sense that Harrow 'for some reason' stabbing Cytherea's corpse with it transferred it to her? Or maybe it's SOMEHOW Anastasia if Ortus was macking on her. But Ortus thought HARROW had/was Anastasia.
IANTHE WANTS TO MARRY HARROW - HAHAHAHAAHAHAHA
Every fucking chapter doesn't make things any clearer. This is worse than Gideon the ninth
Hello???? Am I reading a canon alternate universe roleswap au??? What the FUCK is going on. This is like - if they hadn't gassed the 200 and her parents instead adopted Gideon for her clear necromantic gifts which nobody noticed somehow the other time round
I do love how Aiglamene was the sole source of slight comfort in Gideon's life. And Crux was Harrow's - apparently in any sequence of events.
Harrow is tumbling through timelines. But how can you do that just by messing with the lobe?
WHAT!! WHAT!!!
Is this...is this what I think it is??? Is thi
The fanfic roots are STRONG in this one. In fact I believe I've READ this fanfiction
Harrow's temporal fever dream (in the river?) HAD HER (Decidedly Not) VYING FOR 'HER DIVINE HIGHNESS' hand, which is either the Body or Gideon or both lololol. Seeing as the previous had Gideon as the main unnamed titled character - I bet it's Gideon ahahaaga
A fucking. COFFEESHOP AU. OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDD
We've had roleswap, 'ball' au, and coffee shop au populated by the ghosts of the dead LOLOL,
I knew it!! I knew that they were ghosts and that they were in the river!!
Ok so but when did Harrow shoddily create the bubble? When she adjusted her memories at the start? When is this. Ah Harrow has the same thought hahaa
So the stage is a - she was building her memories while sleeping?
Why is that she cannot access her lyctorhood like this...
I just realised that Harrow's mind made the party food taste like SALT based on Ianthe's cooking!!!! Hahahaha
THE NARRATOR IS GIDEON. But it doesn't sound like Gideon though
There's more to the work than simply preserving Gideon's soul though. There are next steps that Harrow prepared for that Harrow doesn't know about yet
Who was the sleeper and why was it in Harrows riverscape of memories that she ACCIDENTALLY??? made
Ok she sounds like Gideon NOW
Gideon no it's not because she didn't want you! It's because she wanted you to live!!!!!
And she succeeded....your soul is INTACT in her body!!!! You're protecting her with full consciousness!! How the fuck. And why didn't that happen before when she went to the bubble?
Are the ghosts of the contestants happy that they got pulled out of the River briefly? Or were they so briefly in there they couldn't remember?
She returned them to the RIVER???? is that really such a kind fate????
Something has gone wrong in the River - yeah because why r all these ghosts going insane and stoppering it up like slib
Do love how Muir has found a way to give these characters more screentime
I actually said 'oof' when Harrow screamed at Ortus - oof that really is embarrassing. GodDAMN Ortus you stepping up with the emotional support!
I've EVEN read the damn fanfic in which they switched bodies. My god.
A. L. apparently is thought to wander about still. I think she's the body....I do believe she's the body. That's why the Lyctors are scared of her
She thought - what. Mercy is talking about blood of Eden's commander. What is going onnnnn still!!!! Mercy is the traitor I guess. But how is blood of Eden connected to the ninth house and the body?
Why is Mercy awake on the mithraeum and not in the River anyways?
Gideon.... And the commander were in cahoots? So did A. L. and Anastasia an the body and the commander all have the same eyes?????
What the fuck is going on indeed.
Cytherea seems to have had a plan B for getting revenge on the Emperor. Or something had a plan B with her corpse as the main weapon.
If guns are so effective against people why aren't they still used.
The messages are from the commander. I.e. Gideon's mother. I.e. Anastasia? We never explicitly did learn how she met her end no? Gideon was convinced that Anastasia had taken the baby. It just seems incongruous how the Emperor spent like 80 years on the Erebos and the Lyctors were faffing about - meanwhile there was this drama going on in the last half century?
I love Abigail Pent. Love that I got to see more of her.
I'd honestly forgot that Judith was alive by the end of all of that shit
The sleeper is -the sleeper is Gideon's mother. Also. She's haunted by her mother. SOMEHOW. what the fuck? They couldn't drag her spirit back from the river they said!
'you wizards never learn' there's a whole modern regular sci fi world and culture out there! Or maybe it's just a. L.
Is it? Or is it Anastasia? Or is it the commander? Or are they the same thing?
The sleeper wants Harrow's body. Somehow invaded it - probably from the river? - which means its Anastasia or the commander. Which means that whatevers possessing Cytherea is someone else.
In retrospect - Harrow's coldness to Ianthe talking about - to what her - seemed nonsense at the time - in the very first part - doesn't quite fit.
Oh my fucking GOD Gideon is fighting Ianthe for messing around with her fucking girlfriend - who is HARROW, who actually, Ianthe wants to marry.
They just went from ramping up to a serious fight to Gideon dropping Corona's name and suddenly they're like - ah we got more important priorities actually.
Augustine's first thought at thinking a.l./the body (?) is in Harrow is John - and the Second is Joy!(mercy?)
'How I was gonna have to take showers with all your clothes on.' fuckin Gideon hahahaha
Wonder if Ianthe truly believes what she's saying - that Harrow was trying to rid hersel of Gideon. It's preposterous. It's just hurtful talk.
GIDEON REALLY THOUGHT THAT LOOK TO MEAN THAT HARROW DIDNT LOVE HER??? THIS IS A CONSTANT BARRAGE OF ALL THE ANGSTY DRAMATIC SHIT IVE BEEN YEARNING FOR
Oh my fucking god Gideon calling Ianthe out for being in love with Harrow in the most iconic way ufsojdjdodnd 'she wants the D - the D stands for dead'
Crazy brain-mutilated Harrow sure made it seem that way I can tell ya that!!
Hahahahahaha Ianthe remembering Harrows prudish Ortus/Cytherea shit. Amazing
Aw Gideon really went and fell right into the cavalier/bone mistress shit huh. And trying to shield Harrow - well as noted before - very necessary because harrow has been having a godawful miserable time - mostly because of herself.
Gideon appreciating Ianthe's pun xD
Love how neither of them position themselves as the love of Harrows life but instead as inexorably attached to her by the sheer role they play in her life - they don't dare aspire to what they think they can't get.
Muir realises this is gonna end up as a Gideon/Harrow(/theBody)/Ianthe ship right?
Oh WOW THIS IS AMAZING. nonius the legendary nonius!!! Come to protect Harrow!!!
For some reason the Sleeper can manipulate the rules of this River bubble and doesn't seem surprised about it
If all her cavaliers were this excited for death, she was definitely the problem.lololol. somehow Harrow, you inspired undying loyalty in even a person that you treated abominably
Yeah Harrow you slowpoke. If the Sleeper can adjust the rules - so can you
If the sleeper was not Harrow's invention - but planted itself - then they're very lucky it got to the ghosts that weren't actually there - first.
So it was the commander....a portrait in a shuttle of blood of eden - can only be the commander. And redhaired? There are too many red haired people in this book!!
It's nice how all these ghosts got to have lasting impact from beyond the grave
NONIUS KNEW ORTUS/GIDEON?
Ok so ....there's the bed of the River with stoma. But there might also be the other side.
Did Harrow really not account for steps beyond her plan to mutilate her brain?
Is this book really gonna go: fuck you Gideon will die anyway ?????
But.wait. the sleeper had a two-hander. Where did that go???
I don't get it. If they go into the river - won't they also go insane?
SO NYAH!!!!!???
Ok but - what? The Commander ALSO -somehow - took over Cytherea's body?
'did the ten billion give you that too' I KNEW CANAAN HOUSE HELD EVEN GRUESOMER EXPERIMENTS AND SACRIFICES THAN LYCTORHOOD. God is made of ten billion souls. I think they killed humanity on earth to spare it 'slow inexorable apocalypse' and used the power to make the Empire from the resurrected. There was an extremely vague implication by Teacher to the amount of souls violated in Canaan house in the first book.
So God knows the commander went for the ninth house? Firstly, how. I don't understand how Anastasia fits in here!!! It would explain though how the commander
So the commander found the ninth house - and she died right? They tried to call her spirit but couldn't. But she became a revenant?
Ah. God THREW the bomb.
A fuckin wake me up inside joke jskdjskdnd
So Mercy and Augustine ( not Gideon ?) had all turned against God? And they were working with the commander to -... Make a baby????? And then evacuate the houses???? (For when God dies - there being a risk that Dominicus would go out I guess)
Make a baby/body to lever the one who lies in the tomb into....?
Love how the book foreshadowed Mercy and Augustine manipulating and lying to God - and turns out they did that on much bigger scale
They....meant to kill the baby to break the blood ward?
'The woman who I was pretty sure was my mother, wearing the body of the woman I'd had a crush on, who in turn had been wearing the identity of a woman she'd murdered -' KSNFKDJDKFJJFC
So why did they want this consistently characterised as kindly and humane god dead?
GIDEON THOUGHT IT WAS HIS!!!! But he called Wake Anastasia then????
They really are the same???
Oh my god I know what they're gonna say. Gideon is the daughter of God. WHICH HARROWS FUCKIN ROYALTY AU FEVER RIVER DREAM FUCKING FORESHADOWED HAAHAHAHAHHAA
Isn't it fucking ironic that God told Harrow that - HE WANTED HER TO BE HIS??? WHILE GIDEON HIS ACTUAL DAUGHTER WAS SPINNING INSIDE HER CHEST LIKE A LITTLE NUCLEAR FUSION REACTOR
They've been trying to kill him for more than 500 years???? Did mercymorn actually genuinely learn the extremely fine knowledge of the body for THIS purpose? How many thousands of years ago did they decide to kill god?
A fucking DAD JOKE
GIDEON REMEMBERING HOW SHE USED TO TELL HARROW HOW HER OTHER PARENT MIGHT BE THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THE WORLD SO STOP PICKING ON HER
I am fucking DELIGHTED I AM SO GODDAMN OVERJOYED
It segues into a reminder of how shit their childhoods were and how their suffering had them lash out at each other endlessly and how it made Harrow suicidal and shit though - which is great
ALECTO'S EYES. THE A. FOR A. L.
A. L. The cavalier of God....but she walked. She had a body.
Ohhhhh. That's why they betrayed him. That age-old hurt. Ten thousand years old but still the bane of their existence, the seed of their madnesses. The loss of their cavaliers. Oh how did they manage to keep that from him?
I honestly thought - is Mercy saying she knows he killed humanity? But that's not what she couldn't have forgiven?
But why did he hide it? Why did he hide the perfect way? ('it would be easier' why???)
Ah. Yes. The expansion, why would the Emperor do that?
Uhhhhh. Couldn't Mercy have done that all along??????????????????????? Couldn't Mercy have killed God all along? That was both a trick and utterly sincere.
Augustine and Mercy were trying to do the right thing..... Mercy.... :'( Augustine was right. God is much less sentimental than he seems.
'im not even mad that you failed to either fix or put down Harrow' hm guess the constant kill quest HAD come from God after all. What a goddamn bitch of a man
What was the original plan? Unleash a. L. ? And then what? How would that help with the whole Dominicus going out problem?
Had God ever really thought to make up for all the bullshit he put his Lyctors through. He seems so affable and human but he's caused so much suffering. He's as good at manipulation at them - better!
The resurrection beast can't kill him, but he let his Lyctors die to them one by one anyway. So why??
Why are they punching each other in the River? They can use theorems right? God could blast Augustine to pieces same he did mercy?
Yes! It's true! Pyrrha and Gideon both exist in the same body - foreshadowed by his cavaliers build. There was something so fishy about it.
I love how Gideon has exactly the same response as me: what the fuck. Pyrrha??? Gideon??? What the fuck??? Why did they BOTH have an affair with their enemy??? So ok. Pyrrha stayed underground from Everybody for the thousand years. SOMEHOW their compartmentalisation let her pop up in his body regularly and not just when Gideon remembered her - because the hadn't fucked up his brain. But then how did THEY do that.
This absolutely galactic balsiness
The stoma thinks John is a resurrection beast. Might it be.....because he's..... A revenant. A 10 billion souled kinda- revenant ? A bit like.....Harrow is? Which is why he felt kin to her? Which is why he compared her creation to Resurrection?????I've really gotta reread those messages from commander wake.
A fucking jail for mother meme. Jail for one thousand years. Gideon how do you know this one????
I KNEW Ianthe would do that. Knew it. She doesn't want the system to die. Coronabeth is still out there. Well guess what - she's on the opposite side babe. Ok I realised that Gideon's mum apparently stuck to Gideon and then the sword? But also did Harrow manage to break the blood ward because of of her proximity to Gideon? Did Harrow uhhhh get put into a pocket in the river? But the emperor wasn't murdered!!! Fuckin chapters kept lying. They're on a hold planet. Finally - we meet the people. Alecto and Camilla and Corona? And Judith.? Did Alecto somehow do a time twisty around to come save Gideon at that moment in the river? Once again nothing much more is clear.
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more of the ghost!dream au!! still no good names for it, sorry (feel free to give me recs? maybe?) - picking off right where we left off here [x]. i’ve gotten quite a bit of this pre-written already as well as quite a bit planned - it’s definitely one of my favorite universes at the minute and something im really excited to show yall !!
tw: death, memory loss (?), grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationship, grief, emotional distress, implied torture/abuse, aftermath of prison arc/pandora’s vault, dark(ish?) portrayal of c!sam (he’s one of the main figures of this au lmao but it grapples quite a bit w/ what he did in pandora)
Sam had only met Ghostbur once.
He never knew the former president well, had been busy with his own base during the Revolution and came back to the server in chaos after an ill-fated election and the man exiled. It hadn’t mattered, much, at the time; Wilbur was an imposing man, even in others’ recollections of him, and their words left very very little to the imagination. From what he knew, Wilbur was a smart man, cunning and silver-tongued, brimming with an unending fountain of belief that he could change the world with his words and his words alone; the server, overrun with memories of scuffles and battles and wars and countries Sam had not been around to remember, only seemed to serve as proof that he could. The few glimpses of the man that he managed to catch showed dark, tired eyes, a figure that stood almost as tall as he did, lips twisted in a perpetual tight-lipped smile.
Even as he spiraled, unexplainably, whispers of madness chasing the wind and landing in choppy fragments in the Badlands meetings held over Skeppy and Bad’s dinner table, those eyes never became less piercing, never failed to seem like they were burning through whatever and whoever they looked at. Sam hadn’t been the subject of that stare many times, but he remembers the bone-deep anxiety from having those eyes on him, even now.
Ghostbur, somehow, was the complete opposite; where his eyes had once been all-too knowing, belying their owners’ intelligence, a ruthless penchant for analysis that would split bone from marrow with a single sharp-edged glance, the phantom’s eyes were completely vacant. Instead of the glossy whites and rings of brown that would flicker warm to cool and warm again without warning, there was only an empty, all-encompassing blue.
He had floated over to Sam following a particularly difficult- session, with the prisoner, greeting him with an airy call of his name as Sam set off to his base for the night. He’d startled, then, still fresh off the adrenaline that was sent coursing through his veins each time he entered those blackstone walls, and started a sort of easy, unfocused conversation as they went along the path to the nether portal.
Ghostbur was - off, for the lack of a better word, even with Sam’s lack of familiarity of either side of the man - who he’d been before and what he’d become. His memories slipped through his mind like water seeping through fingers, and his attention span didn’t seem much better. Still, Sam listened to that echoing, otherworldly voice, nodded along as he eagerly recounted his day - or what he could recall from it, at least, until his feet had brought him along the same well-worn path to the nether portal, spitting purple sparks into the night.
“I’ll have to be going, Ghostbur,” he’d said through a thin smile, muscles aching under netherite as he pulled his shoulders back. The ghost’s head had cocked to the side, watching him with empty eyes, hands outstretched in front of him, palms up.
“Sam-” the ghost blinked slowly, “Are you sad?”
Sam froze. Ghostbur stared at him, face still kept in that same blank expression, eyes still an endless blanket of blue, but something - in his stance, perhaps, in the echoes of his words as they reverberated off of nothing, felt familiar, felt like looking up expecting a window and coming face to face with a shattered mirror - before the phantom’s face broke out in a weightless smile.
“Have some blue!”
The blue was dropped unceremoniously into his hands as he fumbled the catch and nearly let it fall to the ground; the clear, glassy surface of it tainted blue by his fingertips, the color swirling and darkening in his hands. He watched it, mesmerized, as blossoms of blue bloomed beneath his skin; his feelings, sharp-edged, became sea glass tossed in its shifting waves, smoothed, numbed, slowly sucked away in a pulsing chorus of blue blue blue-
“That’s quite a lot of blue,” Ghostbur chirped, and Sam blinked at the thing in his hands - navy, the same color as the sky above their heads clinging to the last remnants of twilight - “Would you like some more?”
“...no thanks, Ghostbur,” Sam looked back up, feeling through the new, blue-tinged fog in his brain, memories blurred at the edges but lacking the same burning sting of regret, “Good night.”
“Good night, Sam!” Wilbur smiled, blank blue eyes trained on his face even as Sam stepped into the portal and the world swirled away. “See you soon!”
---
“Sammy,” Dream walked - no, floated, forwards as Sam took a step back, unresponsive, “is there something wrong?”
Sam swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.
He was a spitting image to Dream as he first knew him; the same tousled hair, freckled face, down to the ratty old jacket that he’d insisted on wearing at all times, made of a garish shade of lime-green and covered in customized patches that Bad - unable to resist his puppy eyes - had always ended up fixing the thing with. He had a gap in his teeth that had left him with a lisp for weeks back then, prompting Sapnap’s teasing much to Dream’s annoyance; his head tipped to the side, curious, familiar, and something deep inside Sam’s chest ached.
“Dream-” he tried, chest tightening further when the ghost’s face broke out into a brilliant smile, “why are you here?”
Why do you remember me?
He hadn’t talked to Ghostbur much, but he’d heard, to some degree, about how the ghost operated, how his memories were inconsistent at best, seemingly dependent on the emotions he’d attached to them while alive. How he went through the world in a state of unshakable bliss at the cost of his mind. Dream’s memories of him should’ve been anything but happy; why was he here?
“What do you mean?” Dream blinked at him, eyebrows scrunched, lips set in a small frown. His eyes, black and vacant, seemed to swallow all light, even with the sun streaming through the branches. “Where am I suppos’d to go?”
“Don’t you want to be with George and Sapnap?”
Dream’s face was blank, and the pit in Sam’s gut grew deeper. “Who’s that?”
“George?” Sam could feel his voice begin to tremble, eyes widening. “Sapnap? You know them, right?”
“No?” Dream drew out the word, looking at him like he’d grown another head. “Should I know them?”
“Should you- Dream, this isn’t funny- they’re your best friends! They were your best friends- Pandas? Do you know Pandas?”
“You mean like in the jungles? I haven’t been in a jungle before, Sam, d’you think we could visit one?”
“No- Pandas, do you-” Dream only looked at him with the same confused, uncomprehending expression, not even a flicker of recognition in his face; Sam could hear his heart thudding in his ears, a distant horror growing and wrapping around his throat, “How about Ponk? Alyssa? Calla? Bad?”
Each name did nothing to change the blankness on Dream’s face, the screaming thoughts in Sam’s head growing to a fever pitch when the ghost in front of him shook his head, hair whipping back and forth.
“Nope!” His hands tugged at his hoodie sleeves, the movement familiar in a way that had echoes of long-forgotten memories drifting to the surface, holding his heart in a chokehold and squeezing tight. “Are they your friends?”
“Dream,” he stepped forward - felt a shadow of a pickaxe held in his fists, the shape of the name in his mouth bringing forth the taste of iron and smoke and painting the inside of his eyelids red - and stopped in his tracks. The images melted away, left just a kid standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on nothing, and Sam was going to be sick.
“Who do you remember?”
Dream smiled as the question registered, directing a look of such open, unadulterated adoration his way that it stole all of the air from Sam’s lungs.
“You, dummy!” He laughed, airy and light. “Who else?”
---
He brought him to his base, because what else was he supposed to do?
Dream skipped behind him, entirely enamoured with Fran; he watched as she melted under his enthusiastic scratches at the tufts of fur at her neck. He’d always been a soft touch with animals, had brought home stray mobs more than a few times as a kid; Sam swallowed around his unease and trudged forward.
“Puppy!” He nearly screeched with laughter, and Sam looked back to see Dream with his arms wrapped around Fran’s neck, face buried in her fur as giggles made his shoulders shake. Fran gave him a sloppy lick on the cheek, making him break out into a new round of high-pitched wheezes, “Good girl! Good puppy!”
“Hurry up, Dream,” Sam turned away. “We don’t have all day.”
“Oh- m’sorry,” Dream’s voice quieted, almost seemed to wobble, and Sam bit down on his tongue as they continued to walk back. He- didn’t know what to do, not with this version of Dream, not the little kid he’d half-forgotten instead of the masked monster he’d become so accustomed to. It was so much easier to slip into the mask, let his voice drop cold and deep and empty, the role of the Warden heavy and comfortable like a set of netherite armor. He pointedly kept his eyes staring forward, looking for the edge of the forest they’d ended up stuck in so he could finally see.
A sudden, yipping bark came from behind, thoroughly startling him and sending a sword appearing in a flash of white. He huffed at Fran, looking at him with faux innocent eyes, really?
Unfortunately, both she and Dream had somehow fallen ridiculously behind, the ghost having lowered to the ground at some point as Fran sat and wagged her tail. He rolled his eyes, making his way back towards the duo, feeling irritation press in the form of a headache against the front of his skull.
“Come on,” he muttered, wincing at how clipped his words sounded, even in his own ears. Not the same Dream, Sam. You’re not in the prison anymore. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes narrowing as he came closer; Dream hadn’t just stopped because of some distraction, as he first assumed. The kid was leaning against Fran, hands twisted loosely in her fur, head tipped forward and leaning against her body.
“Dream?”
The ghost looked up at his voice, one hand going to rub at his eye. His hair seemed to be moving around less than earlier, lips twisted in a small frown.
“M’sleepy, Sammy,” he mumbled around a yawn, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He reached both hands up, palms facing the sky, as he stared expectantly. “Up.”
Aren’t you a little big to be carried? The retort came to mind as easily as breathing, echoed in his own head by his own voice, younger, exasperated but fond. His arms shook with the memory of a kid wrapping his arms around his neck and fumbling with his crown, with the feeling of a dead weight resting against the crook of his elbows, tall and lanky and far too light for its size, held in his arms one final time-
“Please?”
Sam shook his head.
“We’re walking to my base. Come on.”
#tw death#tw grief#tw torture#tw abuse#prison arc#pandora's vault#tw unhealthy coping mechanisms#tw unhealthy relationship#tw emotional distress#tw memory loss#ghost!dream au#queue <3#long post#my writing :D#my asks !!
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A Mother’s Intuition
Commission by @transdonaldduck!
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The Duck Avenger starts out as a joke.
Well, maybe not a joke so much as a way to blow off steam. Or a weird hobby, like soap carving. Maybe it’s even a byproduct of Uncle’s Scrooge’s big headedness finally rubbing off on him and deluding him into thinking he can become some sort of neo-Robin Hood.
Donald really couldn't say what led him here: to the mask and the voice modulator and the alien tech, to fighting profoundly powerful, profoundly evil beings because they’re threatening innocent lives, not because they’re hoarding treasure. To become a superhero, at least for a little while.
(That’s a lie, of course. Donald has adventure sewn into his DNA, daring sprouting from the marrow of his bones—just like Della and Scrooge. But their adventures begin and end at the front door, too fantastical, too dangerous for the likes of dreary, ordinary Duckburg. Duckburg, where the Beagles control the streets and St. Canard’ supervillains are starting to try their luck. And Donald, poor angry, orphan Donald, the jinx and constant screw up, who’s only ever been good at adventuring and wouldn’t know a normal life if it walked up and introduced itself, looks at all the mess and sees an opportunity to prove himself.
And he does. He does, and it’s wonderful and terrifying and then it’s over, it’s over and his name is ground into the dirt and spat upon and buried because nothing, nothing good in his life can last for long.)
(But he’s getting ahead of himself).
So, the Duck Avenger starts out as a joke.
At least that was Gloria Cabrera’s view of things.
He appears out of nowhere, practically falling out of the bright blue sky and into their collective laps. Gloria is a rookie detective when the prankster that will become known as the Duck Avenger first shows up in a police report for letting the air out of the tires of every vehicle owned by all of Duckburg’s billionaires.
Glomgold and Rockerduck pitch fits immediately, but McDuck has to be given a call to ascertain whether it even happened to him too, though he’s just as unlikely to inform them of an attempt on his life by one of his many, colorful enemies as he is minor vandalism. The report describes a short white duck in a mask and red and blue outfit, whom none of the victims recognize. So it gets a good laugh around the bullpen and a few uniformed officers are spared to camp outside the billionaires’ garages for a handful of nights, and the entire incident is forgotten.
Until it happens again.
Or rather, the situation escalates. The perpetrator seems to be following a theme, because on the very night the officers stop watching the garages he vandalizes the cars again. Only this time in a much more pointed fashion.
On the entirety of Rockerduck’s vintage Bentley and Glomgold’s stretch limo the masked duck spray paints “SCROOGE MCDUCK RULEZ” in fluorescent pink. Meanwhile, McDuck’s limo seems to have had an industrial-sized tub of confetti dumped on it, and spray painted in lime green across the side are the words “KISS ME IM IRISH”.
The masked duck is caught on film this time, though it helps very little. All three billionaires are properly piqued, and Rockerduck practically orders a full-scale manhunt, but again there isn’t much Duckburg’s police department can do. On the scale of Duckburg weirdness and attacks on their resident billionaires, the vandalism ranks relatively low. Practically nonexistent really, considering that same scale often includes interdimensional beings and literal supervillains.
After a week without further sightings of the masked duck, the whole situation becomes conversation fodder around the water cooler, and Gloria, who wasn’t even assigned to the case, almost forgets about it. But then one of Glomgold Industries’ subsidiaries, Glomcare Insurance, defrauds hundreds of its customers, and everything changes.
Glomgold’s lawyers are too well paid, his customers too underpaid, and the lawsuit ends before it can even begin. There’s nothing the police can do, and though it makes resentment burn low and bitter in her gut to see far too many of her neighbors be robbed by a company that doesn’t need their money, she swallows the bitter pill and reminds herself to be grateful she chose to invest in McDuck’s agency (his premiums may be higher, but at least she trusts where her money’s going).
Then the impossible happens.
Glomcare is accused of tax fraud by an anonymous whistleblower, an ordeal that’ll leave Glomgold tied up in the courts for months, possibly years. And, even more miraculously, the money that was stolen from every single one of their customers, reappears in their bank accounts overnight. Nobody knows who the source is, certainly not the police. Not until Glomgold gives a pitiable press conference in an attempt to save face, only to be egged on live television. The cameras catch a glimpse of a red and blue cape on a nearby rooftop, and the news explodes with the reveal of Duckburg’s personal Robin Hood.
Channel 00 calls him “The Duck Avenger,” and for a while he lives up to the name.
Recently Duckburg has almost started to resemble St. Canard in terms of corruption; in other words, levels of crime far above Gloria’s pay grade. Late at night, talking heads endlessly debate the cause, alternating from blaming Scrooge McDuck for paying more attention to his adventures than what’s going on in his own backyard, to citing an underfunded police force, and even accusing Mayor Bud Flood of embezzlement.
The Duck Avenger reveals all of them to be true.
A strategically placed camera records Flood having an full-fledged conversation regarding the use of public funds meant for a new municipal park to build an Olympic sized swimming pool for himself, all while clad in nothing but his boxers (Flood retreats to his hometown of St. Canard in the wake of hearings).
Scrooge McDuck returns from a two month long expedition in the Amazon to be promptly kidnapped, a feat unto itself. Notoriously, and perhaps justifiably, paranoid McDuck is not an easy mark. Gloria was still in grade school the last time such an attempt had been successful. But the culprit is one of the new villains cropping up in Duckburg, presumably foreign to McDuck, and results in the humiliation of him being tied to the side of a water tower while his captor demands a ransom.
Meanwhile, Gloria, a sergeant from her precinct, and a handful of officers loiter on the street below the building. She doesn’t have the authority to do anything but keep civilians back, and the rest of them are less than eager to screw up the rescue of the Richest Duck in the World.
It’s her first time seeing the Duck Avenger in person and not from the other side of a screen. She’s not sure what to expect, but it’s certainly not to see him swan onto the scene with all the subtlety of a thief and the gravity of a birthday clown.
The new villain calls himself “The Blot” or something, who can keep track at this point. He has some measure of control over shadows, bending them to his will. It’s how he kidnapped McDuck in the first place. Neither Gloria or the other officers can be certain whether it’s some form of technology that allows him to do this or if it’s magic, which just provides more incentive to stay out of the way. But the Duck Avenger, appearing out of nowhere, hardly lets that stop him.
With a grappling hook latched onto a nearby building, he sweeps up and delivers a flying kick to The Blot’s head, dislodging the black, sackcloth mask he’s wearing. He proceeds to lay out the villain with startling, rapid efficiency, a blur of black, red, and blue on the rooftop above them. He’s clearly here to save McDuck, but he keeps up a litany of childish barbs against both captor and captive, almost as if it’s his goal to distract from his altruistic actions.
In the end, The Blot is taken away in handcuffs and McDuck is left dangling off the roof by the same rope he was trapped by, after the Avenger’s attempt to untie him was cut short.
Gloria learns what the Duck Avenger sounds like as he laughs at the dangling, profusely swearing, multi-gajillionaire.
“Hang in there, Un—Mr. McDuck! Help’s on the way.”
“Help me yourself, you dawdling dobber!”
“Whoa, watch it! There could be children present.”
The Duck Avenger’s voice is deep and bold, with the confident tone befitting a superhero and the wry inflection of a trickster. It suits his persona, clearly carefully crafted. Which makes it all the stranger when something about it doesn't sit right with Gloria.
She isn’t given much time to dwell on the subject right then, the Duck Avenger vanishing off the roof as quickly as he appeared. But his mockery of the Richest Duck in the World, never mind that he saves McDuck’s life and leaves The Blot to the police, earns him the most scathing of reviews from Channel 00, who have controlled the Duck Avenger narrative since they gave him his name. It’s maybe the most public the Duck Avenger has ever been, or at least the most media coverage he’s ever received. Giving money back to poor people is one thing, but getting on Scrooge McDuck’s bad side? That’s what the city considers news.
Such as it is, a week following the incident Gloria comes in to work and learns that she’s been assigned to a task force with only one directive: hunting down the Duck Avenger.
While McDuck hadn’t publicly complained about his encounter with the Duck Avenger, it’s no secret that he hasn’t accepted the apology of the (new) mayor or the chief of police. Channel 00 went so far as to use it as garnish for their Duck Avenger roast on the Thursday evening news. Nevermind that McDuck has been through worse than an aborted kidnapping and a little mockery; no one’s forgetting about the wormhole that opened up over McDuck Manor anytime soon. His pride has been hurt more than anything else. But the public at large has been turned against the Duck Avenger, and it’s so much easier to create a scapegoat than address the real problem.
The criminal element in Duckburg isn’t going anywhere. Instead, it’s devolving more and more into full blown villains, and the police still needs more funds to combat the rising tide. But that problem is multilayered and complex and less likely to generate viewers for Channel 00, or drum up votes for Mayor MacBridge (or get her on McDuck’s good side). So when the end result is the mayor putting what little pocket change they have sitting around city hall into the organization of a manhunt for the one duck who’s only a criminal on paper, well, what can Gloria do but follow orders?
Orders that don’t sit right with her, she realizes later that night, in the quiet dark of her home. She’s back before Fenton’s bedtime for once and is able to tuck her son into bed herself rather than relying on Doña Ave Nueva from next door to watch him.
“Okay, pollito, es la hora de mimis,” Gloria says, once the street lights are shining especially bright through the window.
Fenton sighs, but closes Isaac Asimov’s I, Robot with no further complaints. Rather than Gloria reading a bedtime story, Fenton is often the one to pick a book to read aloud from. It’s been a nightly routine of theirs since he was six years old and skipped grades for the first time. Now Fenton is eight and in the fifth grade, and his thirst for knowledge is thus far an unquenchable reserve, barely supplemented by the science and science fiction books he begs Gloria to buy.
As Fenton sets his latest read on the nightstand and makes himself comfortable under the blankets, Gloria rises from the foot of the bed. She pulls his comforter up over his shoulders and sweeps a gentle hand through his riotous hair.
“Duerme con los angelitos, mi amor,” Gloria murmurs, bending down to kiss his forehead. She reaches over to his nightstand and twists the knob on his lamp, making the room go dark.
She hasn’t even fully turned around when Fenton pipes up, voice quiet and hesitant.
“M’ma, is the Duck Avenger a bad guy?”
Gloria resists the urge to sit down again. She compromises, gripping the door frame with jutting knuckles. Fenton is curled up on his side, bundled up in his comforter, looking back at her with wide, inquisitive eyes.
“What do you think?” she responds quietly, as if she hasn’t been asking herself the same question.
He shrugs. “The news is always saying bad things about him, that he’s hurting people. But...I think he only hurts bad people, right, M’ma? And only good people hurt bad people. Like you.”
It feels as though a fist has reached into her chest, wrapping around her heart and squeezing. Gloria can’t explain vigilante laws to her son, the intricacies of who can and cannot carry out justice against against the powerful and evil, against those who are above the law. Fenton’s logic is simple, it’s a child’s understanding, but he’s not wrong.
“That’s right, dulzura,” she murmurs, because she doesn’t lie to her son, and she won’t start now.
The Duck Avenger may not be a hero, but he isn’t bad either.
(Of course, he just has to go and prove her wrong on the first count).
Gloria doesn’t know what changes, can barely narrow down the when, but the Duck Avenger’s pranks become less common, less grandiose. He’s still egging city hall and tormenting the city’s billionaires and determined to be a headache for the task force assigned with his arrest. But they begin to receive reports of muggings, assaults in the night, that are stopped by a duck in red, black and blue. Beagle Boys and other gang members show up on the steps of the police station trussed up with rope like it’s the Wild West, with a note pinned to their shirts reading, your friendly neighborhood Avenger!
The Duck Avenger’s grown up, and the face of Duckburg starts to change.
Gloria will learn later that while Channel 00 was running an hour long “This Week’s Reason You Should Hate the Duck Avenger,” hosted by the Avenger’s biggest fan, Angus Fangus, the Avenger was saving people from a burning building.
It’s raining as flames consume an apartment building on the same street Gloria grew up on, so she heads over in her squad car even though they haven’t called her in. There are barricades and dozens of onlookers as the ten-store building burns, voluminous black smoke rising into the air that nearly vanishes into the thick dark of night. The firefighters have cleared out most of the residents who didn’t evacuate the moment the fire started, but there are still some who are trapped inside, lost in the thick of it where the firefighters could not find them.
There are people around her screaming, sobbing, on their knees and disconsolate. Like so many others, Gloria can only look on horror, sick with the realization that people are going to die in the worst way imaginable.
Above the crackling flames, above the roar of the fire hoses and the sirens, there is the tell-tale rush of air that heralds the Duck Avenger’s X-Transformer shield, long theorized by Angus Fangus to have been stolen. But now the Avenger steals onto the scene in a black and white blur, flying through the air like one of the superheroes in the cartoons Fenton watches. A cry rises at the sight of him, rippling through the crowd, and even Gloria has some trouble staunching her instinctive burst of childish hope. She doesn’t imagine there’s anything he can do to help here.
She doesn’t imagine he’d enter the burning building at the tallest floor, diving headfirst through the blasted out window, but that’s what he does. It happens in a handful of seconds, the motion a smooth arc as he rounds the buildings and finally vanishes inside the building. Screams rend the air again, because the Avenger has essentially plunged to his death before their very eyes.
Seconds pass with excruciating slowness, the world muted even as the chaos reigns on. Then, a smattering of shattering glass as the Avenger dives out of another window, with a child hanging off his back and a young teen under his free arm. His face is already soot stained, but his costume is undamaged, and he has some sort of protective mask over his eyes and beak. He leaves them with the paramedics, coughing and shaking but alive. Everyone stares at him, unsure of his presence after months of slander and mere seconds of witnessing his heroic actions.
Gloria steps out past the barricade and flashes her badge.
“Let him help you!” she demands of the firefighters, though she has absolutely no authority to do so.
But they listen; because there are at least eight more people still trapped; because they just watched the Duck Avenger risk his life to save two.
A handful of firefighters stay to fight the blaze, while others set up their ladders as high as they will go. The Duck Avenger uses that as a jumping off point, leaping through the windows on the highest floors and searching them one at a time. It takes the better part of an hour, and many of the victims he carries are already unconscious, but he does it. The Duck Avenger saves them all.
The rain grows in strength as he drops off the last person with a waiting paramedic, and his soaked cape hangs heavily on his shoulders. Firefighters and onlookers alike go to surround him the moment he’s free, shouting words of praise, of thanks. The Avenger waits to accept none of it.
He rockets up over their heads, vanishing around the edge of a building, but Gloria tracks his progress. She doesn’t even need her car to follow him two blocks down, to the roof of the bodega he’s perched upon.
There’s a ladder leading to the roof out back by the dumpsters, and Gloria scales it as quickly as she is able, the rungs slick with rain. She reaches the top and he’s still there, hunched over by the edge. His X-Transformer shield lies beside him as he unlatches the protective mask he’s been wearing, and even from two dozen feet away she can already hear his hacking coughs. Without the mask, his wheezing becomes more evident, almost alarmingly loud in the dead quiet of night. The chaos and fire could be two or twenty blocks away, it is so far removed from the fragile quiet they now inhabit.
Gloria approaches as silently as she is able as the Duck Avenger pounds on his chest, his coughing gradually losing its ferocity. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a water bottle.
“You should have let the paramedics look you over,” she says.
The Avenger stiffens, whirls around with naked surprise on his face. But his posture relaxes when he takes her in, plain clothed and alone.
From this angle she can see his face in the glow of a nearby streetlight, glistening in the drizzle. He was wearing his regular mask beneath the other one and it’s crooked now, the parts of his face the latter didn’t cover nearly black with ash.
He clears his throat, though his bold, deep voice comes out hoarser than she’s ever heard it. “Officer Cabrera,” he says.
She’s not surprised that he knows who she is. She’s one of the cops assigned to hunt him down, after all.
“Avenger,” she replies.
Gloria tosses him the water bottle.
He snatches it out of the air at a speed that astounds her, clearly down out of reflex and not recognizing what she had in her hand. When he does look down at what he’s caught, his brows raise comically.
“Smoke and cold weather aren’t good for your lungs,” she says. “In case you didn’t know that.”
He laughs, and again he sounds off to her. It’s not the rasp of a throat damaged by smoke; his voice sounds more like a scratchy record player, cutting in and out.
He opens the water bottle and swallows half of it in one go. The rest he leaves on the edge and he stands up, tipping his hat to her. He means to vanish again.
Gloria takes a step forward before she can help herself. A question that has pressed on her mind for months, ever since the Duck Avenger’s debut, rises in the back of her throat like a balloon.
“How old are you?” she asks.
The Avenger hesitates, donning his X-Transformer shield. He locks it in place, flexing his hand in his glove. When he looks over his shoulder at her, his expression is wry.
“Seventeen,” he says, and Gloria’s blood runs cold. “I’ll be eighteen next month.”
He soars off, the X-Transformer shield streaming across the sky until the darkness swallows him up.
Gloria never comes face to face with the Duck Avenger again, but she doesn’t stop thinking about their conversation on the roof.
A month comes and goes and she wonders how he spent his eighteenth birthday. Did he celebrate with family and friends or was he patrolling the city that throws his help back in his face? Was he alone, bruised and beaten from a fight? She wonders where his parents are, if they know what he does every day and night. She can’t imagine allowing Fenton to do anything even remotely that dangerous, to go through life with no one on his side.
Time passes, and her work in the task force becomes more consuming the longer they go without catching the Duck Avenger. She works late nights, organizes stakeouts, stings, earns a promotion, and still they are no closer to an arrest. She’s hardly ever home anymore, barely manages to wake herself up and make breakfast for Fenton before seeing him to the bus and going back to work to do it all over again. She knows that this can’t go on forever—her son needs his mother, and she needs her son—but she could’ve done with a less dire catalyst for this change.
On the days Gloria can’t pick Fenton up from his robotics club herself, she sends his babysitter. She’s at the station one afternoon when the babysitter calls to tell her Fenton has disappeared.
Gloria knows her son wouldn’t run off on a whim, so either he ran to protect himself or he was taken. The former is more likely—Fenton skipped grades again, and twelve year olds can be cruel—and the latter doesn’t bear thinking about. But she’s inundated by terror, even as her captain mobilizes nearly half the precinct in order to find her son.
Uniforms are sent to the school, others patrol the area between it and her home, and they consider putting out an amber alert. Frustratingly, they don’t allow Gloria to help. Her captain sends her home with the promise to call her the moment they have news.
Before she knows it four hours have gone by and her phone hasn’t rung once.
She sits on the couch as late afternoon dwindles into evening and the streetlights flicker on one by one. She turns on the television so the silence doesn’t suffocate her, and she lets her novelas play without looking at them.
It’s nearly passed the five hour mark when there’s a knock at her door. With her heart in her throat, Gloria nearly trips in her haste to answer it.
On the other side of the door is a young duck so disheveled he’s either drunk or a college student, and judging by the bags under his eyes it’s probably the latter. He’s wearing a loose plaid shirt over a black band shirt, and looks familiar in a way she can’t place. And anyway, what really arrests her attention is the much more familiar head of messy brown hair peeking over his shoulder, where Fenton has laid his head in sleep as the young man carries him piggyback style.
“Pollito,” Gloria gasps, reaching for her son.
The young duck exhales heavily in relief. “Thank God, this is the right place.” His voice is garbled and raspy, and at first she doesn’t understand him.
He turns, loosening his hold enough for Gloria gently tug Fenton into her arms. He doesn't wake, instead turns and nuzzles into her, perfectly content with the change. She looks him over closely but he seems unhurt.
“Where did you find him?” she asks, glancing back up.
The young man is setting down Fenton’s backpack, which she hadn’t realized he was also carrying.
“I was going by Coot Park when I saw him sitting alone on a bench,” he explains, “I thought that was kinda weird, so I went over to see if he needed help. Said that some kids were chasing him, so he ran away and got lost.”
Fear over what might’ve happened to Fenton courses through her, but she reassures herself with the feeling of him heavy and warm and safe in her arms.
“That was very kind of you,” she says, “I can’t...I can’t thank you enough.”
He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, averting his gaze. “I just did what anyone would’ve done.”
“I don’t think so,” she replies.
The young man shrugs, his smile self-effacing. “I’m just glad I could help.” He goes to leave, when Gloria is struck again by the sensation of déjà vu.
“Wait! I know you,” she exclaims.
He stiffens, shoulders going straight with shock. “What?” he says, voice carefully composed.
“You’re Scrooge McDuck’s nephew,” she says, “I recognize you from the news.”
He visibly relaxes. “Uh, yeah. Yeah that’s me. Have a good night, ma’am.”
He hurries down the steps and swiftly turns the corner, but Gloria closes the front door with her foot before she can watch him disappear from sight. As she sets Fenton down in his bed, something not unlike easiness settles in her gut. He might be Scrooge McDuck’s nephew, but she’s certain that isn’t the reason she recognized him.
But she doesn’t know what other reason there could be.
Years go by.
Fenton graduates high school at fourteen.
The task force is shut down.
The Duck Avenger’s name is run into the ground, but he doesn’t stop saving people, pranking Scrooge McDuck, or exposing corruption in the city.
The face of Duckburg changes. The supervillains return to St. Canard and the crime in Duckburg becomes manageable again.
If his name being literal mud didn’t deter him, if every officer in the city having arrest on sight orders didn’t make him change his tune, Gloria doesn’t think anything will stop the Duck Avenger’s avenging.
But seven years after she speaks to the Avenger, several strange things happen in quick succession.
Scrooge McDuck retires from adventuring, and disappears from the public eye entirely.
Then the Duck Avenger vanishes.
And she means vanishes. Reported sightings go from a hundred to none in single day, and stay that way, for weeks and months and then years.
At the beginning, Gloria spends long nights agonizing over what might have happened to him. He would’ve only been twenty-five when he disappeared, barely a young man. He dedicated so much of his life to the city, to being the Avenger. She almost doesn’t want to know what horrible event made him have to leave all of that behind.
Five years after his disappearance a group of very stubborn lobbyists finally get the city to change its stance on vigilante laws, using the Avenger’s impact on the city’s crime rate as evidence of its success. It’s thirteen years too late, would’ve saved the Avenger eight years of grief, but something in Gloria eases all the same. If another young hero wants to take up the mantle he’ll receive support rather than vitriol and ridicule.
Of course, Gloria doesn’t expect her son to be that hero.
Fenton is Gizmoduck, and Gloria feigns ignorance. `
It’s almost cute that he thinks she doesn’t know. She may not have seen him don the suit but she would recognize her son’s voice anywhere, any place, even with a billboard poised to crush her. Por Dios, she’s the one who dragged him off the dock and into an ambulance.
She lets him continue to think he’s pulled the wool over her eyes, because Fenton can be painfully obvious when he thinks he’s successfully tricked someone. When he’s called away suddenly at odd hours of the night for “emergency lab work” she gives the station a call and tells them to keep a lookout for any supervillain activity. She has té de manzanilla waiting for him when he gets home, beside aspirin and an ice pack, and hopes that one day he’ll be honest with her before she has to reveal what she already knows.
But after that first awful incident with Mark Beaks, Gloria is lucky in that she doesn’t have to worry too much about Fenton, not like she did the Duck Avenger. The Avenger was so much younger, for starters, still just a child when he first donned the cape and cowl. He wore no protective armor beside the X-Transformer shield and he fought supervillains, real supervillains, St. Canard supervillains, on a near daily basis. He almost died more times that Gloria could count.
In contrast, Fenton has the Gizmosuit. It’s hardly infallible—she’ll never forget it exploding with her son still inside—but it protects him better than anything ever could. He fights weather villains, who are more of a public nuisance than a threat, and the occasional bank robber, and even more rarely threats like living shadows. If her son had to go and become a superhero, these are the best circumstances she could ask for.
Of course, that’s when aliens have to go and invade Duckburg.
The actual invasion is rather brief and unremarkable for being the Earth’s introduction to extraterrestrial life. There isn’t even much fighting involved when it’s all said and done. But it’s what comes of the invasion that changes everything.
All of a sudden, Fenton isn’t the only superhero around.
St. Canard has its own Darkwing Duck, the genuine article this time, who’s very quickly and almost aggressively building as big a name for himself as Gizmoduck’s.
Another hero sweeps in on the tail of the shining, alien ships, trading fists and trailing cosmic dust and while his beak may be latched shut, his eyes burn with the fury of thousands. He arrives clothed in gleaming gold that at first renders him unrecognizable, but then the entire city watches him soar across the sky in an X-Transformer shield made of cobbled together engine parts, and they know they their first protector has returned to them.
“I mean, he’s just sneaky!”
“His tactics are underhanded, we knew that going in. We need to get better at anticipating him, and not letting him goad us. You especially.”
“Me? If I remember correctly, you were the one who got offended when he asked which one of us was the sidekick!”
Gloria breezes back into the living room when the voices begin to increase in volume, three mugs held artfully in her hands.
“Indoor voices, please,” she bids simply as the two men on the couch immediately fall silent in her presence.
Fenton’s friend, muscled and lean where her son is gangly, with a profile very similar to St. Canard’s resident hero, makes a face like he’s eaten a lemon. Beside him, Fenton looks as though he would very much like the ground to swallow him up. Neither of them seems very happy to be overheard, and she wonders what deep, dark secrets they think she’s gleaned.
Stamping down the urge to laugh, because honestly how dense do they think she is, Gloria goes to set the three mugs down on the coffee table—coffee for herself and Drake, tea for Fenton who, bless him, handles caffeine with the metabolism of a ten-year-old.
“It’s so nice to finally meet some of pollito’s friends,” she enthuses cheerfully for maximum effect and Fenton slouches into the couch accordingly, as if trying to bury himself in the cushions. “It’s Drake, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, ma’am,” Drake replies, standing to take his mug from her before she can put it down in front of him. “But you didn’t need to trouble yourself on my account. I meant to leave before you got back from work; I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Gloria takes a seat in the armchair across from the couch, crossing one bent knee over the other and making herself comfortable. “No, no apologies necessary,” she says, waving a hand, “any friend of Fenton’s is welcome here.”
She takes a long sip of her coffee, and watches Drake and Fenton do the same with their own drinks.
“What do you boys think of the Duck Avenger coming back?” she asks before they’ve finished.
Drake chokes, covering his beak so he doesn’t spray coffee everywhere.
Fenton nearly upends his mug of tea before clumsily setting it down and hurrying to pat Drake on the back.
“Why would we think anything?” Fenton says, almost too hastily to be understood, “I mean, he’s a superhero, M’ma, and more of those is always a good thing.”
Drake just nods, still coughing too much to offer any additional response.
Gloria shrugs innocently. “You probably don’t remember, but you used to be a big fan of the Duck Avenger when you were little,” she replies, “even back when vigilantes were still illegal. You’d sneak out of your room to watch him on the news.”
Fenton blushes to the roots of his feathers and Drake manages a muffled laugh at his expense.
“What about you?” Gloria asks sharply, locking eyes with Drake. “Launchpad tells me you’re quite the superhero fan. There are a lot of people who say the Duck Avenger paved the way for all the new heroes who’ve been showing up.”
Drake’s voice is still a bit hoarse when he responds, speaking slowly and guardedly. “I’m not denying the Avenger’s positive impact on superhero society. But the fact is that he started as little more than a prankster that concerns me. How can anyone trust him when he does all of his work from the shadows, disappears before he can be questioned, and refuses to work with anyone?”
Gloria doesn’t look away as she calmly retorts, “you mean like Darkwing Duck?”
He looks taken aback for a brief second before a more neutral expression takes its place. But Gloria has been interrogating suspects for the better part of a decade, and she knows what she saw.
“I actually agree with Drake,” Fenton pipes up, always eager to throw himself upon someone else’s sword. “How do we know this is even the same Duck Avenger? That was over ten years ago, who knows how old the guy even is by now.”
Gloria knows all too well how old the Duck Avenger would be. But all the same, she acquiesces with a nod. “I suppose that’s true,” she says, standing back up with her coffee. “But lately I’ve had more faith in these new heroes. They’re tontos, but they’re tontos trying to do the right thing.”
Fenton looks back up at her with wide eyes. “I-I guess so, M’ma.”
She hums lightly, stepping forward kiss Fenton’s forehead briefly. “You two can go back to whatever you were talking about, but do it in your room. I need the couch to watch Patos.”
A month later, Gloria is awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of a jet landing on her front lawn.
It’s been storming heavily the past two days, and this night is no exception. Rain plummets against the roof in a thunderous deluge, and it’s a miracle she hears anything at all. But as Gloria is roused from bed and sits up in the muffled dark of her room, taking in the steady patter of raindrops, she wonders if she’s perhaps imagining things.
Then her front door bangs open, and Fenton’s voice pierces the sanctity of night, strident and strained, “M’ma!”
Gloria rushes out of her bedroom, her robe scarcely slung over one shoulder by the time she bursts into the living room. None of the lights are on and it’s still black as pitch inside, save for the porchlight, whose glow alights on the group clustered near the front door. Gloria fumbles turning on the nearby light, her heart in her throat, already drowning in nightmarish scenarios of her son coming to harm.
The light clicks on with disconcerting mundanity, revealing the identities of the assemblage.
She seeks out Fenton’s face first and breathes a sigh of relief when she finds him standing, paler than she’d like, blood crusted at his temple, but otherwise unharmed. Drake is there too, grim-faced, and Launchpad behind the pair of them, looking uncertain and anxious. They’re all soaked to the bone.
Supported between the three of them is the Duck Avenger’s limp body.
“M’ma,” Fenton begins shakily, “I can’t explain right now, but-but he’s hurt, and before he passed out he insisted that we couldn’t take him to the hospital—”
“Put him on the couch,” Gloria orders briskly, her shock already fading. “On his side, vamonos! Fenton, get my first aid kit.”
Fenton shuts his beak with a snap. With movements more self-assured than before, he helps Drake and Launchpad maneuver the Duck Avenger before dashing off to her bathroom where she keeps the industrial-sized first aid kit.
“What happened?” Gloria demands of the other two men as she walks around to the front of the couch. This close, she can see Launchpad’s bruised knuckles and the purple mask tails hanging out of the front pocket of Drake’s shirt, and she can imagine him barely remembering to yank it off as he stepped through her doorway.
“He took a bad hit,” Drake says at length.
Gloria kneels in front of the couch, scrutinizing the Avenger. It’s been a decade, but she still recognizes the teenager she first met. There are lines and shadows on his face now, even when slackened in unresponsiveness, and there’s some bruises visible on his cheekbone where his mask is slipping.
“How long has he been unconscious?” she asks, making short work of checking his pulse and airways.
“He kept waking up and passing out again on the Thunder—on the way here,” Launchpad says quickly.
Gloria frowns. “That sounds like blood loss. You didn’t find any injuries?”
“No, Mrs. Fenton’s Mom.”
Fenton returns with the first aid kit. “Here, M’ma.”
“Thank you, pollito.” She pulls out the scissors to cut through the Avenger’s costume so she can look him over for injuries, but the blades bend comically against the deceptively thin-looking material when she attempts to make an incision.
“Tijeras chafas,” she grouses.
Fenton leaves her side for a moment, only to return with his laser cutter.
Gloria gives him a grateful look before resuming her previous actions and cutting open the Avenger’s costume. She’s so focused on keeping her hand still and not burning him as she leans over the couch that she doesn’t notice that the Avenger has opened his eyes with a start until he’s sitting up so abruptly that their foreheads collide with a loud, painful thwok!
Gloria bites off curses in Spanish as she falls back on her heels, clutching at her head with the hand that isn’t holding the laser cutter (now deactivated).
The Duck Avenger stays sitting up, pupils blown wide in the way of concussion sufferers, but it’s clearly an effort for him to do so, judging by the trembling, jutting knuckles of the hand he has wrapped around the back of the couch.
“What are you trying to do, fricassée me?” he demands in a sonorous bass, that sits ill with Gloria as much as his old voice used to.
“More like trying to save your life, idiota!” Gloria snapped, “these boys had me thinking you were bleeding out.”
“It’s only a little bit of head hurt,” the Avenger grumbles, blinking hard. His head lolls forward for a moment before jerking back up.
“Maybe it’s his brain that’s bleeding out,” Drake mutters uncharitably.
“Enough,” Gloria says forcefully. “Fenton, show your friends to your room, you can all camp out there. Launchpad, that plane of yours better not be crushing any of my roses. Park it on my neighbor’s geraniums if you must.”
“Sí, M’ma.”
“Yessir, ma’am!”
In short order, Gloria has been left alone with the Duck Avenger for the first time in a decade. The silence between them stretches, as Gloria remains kneeling where she is and the Avenger clenches his eyes shut as though in pain (which he likely is).
“Should I ask if you know what day it is? Your name? Birthday?” she asks wryly.
The Avenger huffs a laugh, propping himself up against the couch cushions with careful movements. “I don’t think I could remember any of those even without the concussion.”
The rain hasn’t stopped, has perhaps grown in intensity. She heards the whir of Darkwing Duck’s plane takeoff, and the thud of it landing again. Launchpad shuffles back inside, dripping more water than before, and Gloria wordlessly points him in the direction of the bathroom.
She retrieves the Avenger a blanket and a spare pillow and some pain reliever before telling him, “I wanted to thank you, again, for saving my son.”
He snorts, and immediately clutches his head in pain. “Ugh. Cat’s out of the bag where Gizmoduck’s concerned, huh? I told him that I was the one who pushed him out of the way of Steelbeak’s catapult, but—”
“No,” Gloria says shortly, but gently, “I wanted to thank you for bringing him home to me when you found him alone in Coot Park when he was nine years old.”
The Avenger blinks hard, though this time she doesn’t think it’s on account of the concussion. “You—Fenton told you!” he blurts.
Gloria can’t help but laugh. “Fenton can’t keep a secret. If he knew, half the city would too.”
“Then how?”
Gloria gives him an amused look. “There aren’t many ducks who have to go to such lengths to disguise their voices.”
He groans. “Great. So I just made my identity even more obvious.”
“Only to someone who knows where to look,” Gloria replies simply. She pushes herself to her feet. “Now if you don’t mind, I was sleeping very comfortably before the three of you showed up at my door, and I’d like to go back to that.”
“There are four of us,” the Avenger replies in confusion.
“Launchpad is the politest out of all of you, he doesn’t count.”
The Avenger’s laugh is a quiet thing, but the smile on his face is one of the brightest she’s seen.
Gloria crosses the room to switch off the lamp. But she looks at the back of the couch for a brief moment first and says, if no one else will, “I’m glad you’re back, Avenger.”
She tugs the cord on the lamp, and the living room immediately darkens. Without even the porchlight on, the only available illumination is the moon, casting a pale rectangular glow through the windows.
Out of the dark arises a voice she hasn’t heard in a decade, not since its scruffy owner appeared on her doorstep and delivered her son back to her.
“You’re welcome,” Donald Duck breathes into the quiet of the room.
#ant writes#ant commissions#duck avenger#ducktales 2017#officer cabrera#m'ma cabrera#donald duck#darkwing duck#fenton crackshell cabrera#justice ducks???#justice ducks
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WE NEED A VALENTINES DAY SPECIAL FOR JURDAN!!!!!!!❤️
okay first of all i’m dumb as fuck and i’ve been single for what, like 3 years now and i’ve never been a particularly romantic soul anyways so pls overlook my lack of romanticness but here’s a Jurdan “whoops i got pregnant on valentines day” HC
neither Jude nor Cardan were aware of the fact
that Jude indeed can
get
pregnant
but you can’t even actually blame them
Cardan’s never been with a mortal before, and he already got used to fucking everything and everyone without a second thought
faeries get pregnant so very rarely that they are often don’t even aware of the fact that pregnancy...
exists ?
and Jude, well, she’s never been with anyone at all
and Madoc wasn’t a very informative resource on this subject
so all her knowledge about sex and pregnancy comes from Vivi
Vivi, who is famous for not giving a shit
when Cardan and Jude started hooking up, neither of them realized that accidents might happen sooner or later
and considering the fact that they were fucking like bunnies, twice a day on average
accidents did happen
miraculously
it was actually Valentine’s Day, which is just a lame mortal term for the Heart Hunter’s Day in Faerie
Jude and Cardan were having a last-minute audience just before the Heart Hunter revel, where horny faeries can shoot at each other with blunt arrows
the petitioner was no other than Mother Marrow, looking up at the royal couple in the same ragged, smoky outfit they met her in for the first time
“I needed to see you, Your Majesty,” she said, seemingly talking to Cardan
but her gaze constantly went to Jude
“I have felt, and I have heard and I have seen.”
“What do you mean?” Cardan sighed, his fingers impatiently drumming on the armrest
“I have seen a prophecy, kingling,” the hag replied with her chin held high. “Of your son.”
Cardan choked on his wine and coughed until the drink was spilling out of his nose
Jude, though, didn’t seem to be affected in any way
she sat on her own throne, like a majestic marble statue, like the Queen she was, raising an eyebrow at the hag
“Yet another prophecy. Wonderful. What does it say?”
Mother Marrow trembled and bowed to the ground before her Queen
“It says... that your son is going to be the king who wakes the beast, the one who hatches its eggs, and traps it, and tames it and sees its heart. And he will see the world's heart in it, the boy whom you are carrying.”
there was a long silence, and it just didn’t seem to stop stretching out
Cardan was the one who finally broke it
“Excuse me?”
the hag didn’t reply, she just stared at them with a strange, ancient gleam in her eyes
Jude cleared her throat
“Are you implying that you believe I’m pregnant?”
“Oh, no,” she shook her head “I don’t believe it, not a single bit. In fact, I know it for certain. You are carrying a child, Your Majesty. Stars and guts never lie.”
Cardan made a little, awkward laugh, and started getting up
Jude could see the panic in his dark eyes
“This was a very fascinating audience, but I feel quite sick, and I shall retire with my Queen now.”
when they were finally back in their chambers they both lost the remainings of their composure
Jude threw herself onto the bed and screamed into her pillow for three minutes straight
Cardan was walking back and forth, shifting between weird peals of laughter and observing Jude’s flat stomach with childish curiosity
“She is lying. She is wrong. Her stupid guts and stars are lying and are wrong,” Jude muttered to herself while blankly staring at the ceiling
“Our son is like a little egg, and you are like a hen and he lives inside of you,” Cardan whispered excitedly and gently put his hand on her belly. “HE IS MOVING! JUDE, I JUST FELT HIM MOVING!”
“No, for fuck’s sake, that was just—”
“HE TRIES TO TALK TO ME!”
“Cardan, that was just my stomach gurgling because I’m hungry and stressed out, and I’m just about to pass out for the next nine months, so don’t make it any harder, thanks.”
“What could he be saying...?” Cardan murmured under his breath, pressing his ear against Jude’s stomach
Jude sighed, buried her face into a pillow and let him do it
she started slowly drifting off into a restless, superficial sleep
she was exhausted
Cardan snuggled closer to her, one hand still caressing her belly
they laid there for hours, finding comfort in each other’s touch
they both were to still process the thought that their Valentine’s Day gift
is a new little Prince
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Other than an Olicity baby and Maya being their daughter in FF, what would you like to see for Olicity in 7b and for them individually? Fingers crossed for a baby and Smoak Tech! It would be great to see Oliver being more honest and open with Felicity, including the deal with the Monitor, but you sound skeptical on that point. Do you think the "what is love without respect and trust?" discussion in the xo was to excuse this behavior or set it up for a change in the future? Tx!
It’s a good question Nonnie, but I have to be honest - I don’t really watch Arrow with a lot of expectations or a laundry list of things I want to see. Honestly, I feel like that’s setting myself up for disappointment if the list doesn’t get checked off ya know? I like to cook up theories about what’s going to happen based of what Arrow has shown us, but I don’t really come up many storylines on my own. I genuinely enjoy just receiving the Arrow writers’ vision and responding to it that way. It’s more of a passive approach I guess.
Sure! I would love a baby and I’ll be thrilled if we get one, but if we don’t that’s okay. William has really fulfilled the child storyline for me in a lot of ways, so I’m already pretty happy.
As far as Smoak Tech, my investment in that particular storyline has waned over the years. I know this probably makes me a traitor to my people, but I’d rather just see it up and running. I think the writers explored the creation of it a little bit in Season 5, but it felt kind of stagnant once they came up with a name and something to sell. I’m not really interested in seeing Felicity pitch to investors. I also don’t like that they involved Curtis so it’d be nice to see him disentangled.
Honestly, the Smoak Tech appearance in the flash forward made me really happy. I know Felicity creates her empire, it’s HER empire, and that’s mostly what I wanted. Hopefully, we get to see that empire flourish but at the end of the day the real meat and potatoes of this show is Team Arrow. I’m always more invested in Felicity being a focus there because it will always be the A storyline. If they can build Smoak Tech and fold it into Team Arrow similar to how Queen Consolidated and Palmer Tech were in Season 1-3, I’ll be thrilled. But again, if it doesn’t happen I doubt I’ll be changing the channel.
Am I expecting Oliver to tell Felicity about the deal he made with the Monitor right away? Eh. Not really. Every time I think Oliver is going be honest with Felicity he isn’t, so I’m going at this another way. Reverse psychology time!
I don’t think the “What’s love without respect and trust?” line was intended to excuse any behavior or future lies, but on the flip side I have to be realistic about the world Oliver and Felicity live in. Being a hero requires sacrifice and that’s who Oliver Queen is. This means Oliver will constantly be sacrificing his happy life with Felicity. This is the life they both chose, which is exactly what Felicity explained to William in 6x11.
There is no world where Felicity would be okay with Oliver going to jail for life. There is no world where Felicity would sign off on Oliver giving up his life for Barry and Kara (if that’s what he agreed to do). Ultimately, I think the realization Oliver and Felicity came to at the end of this prison arc was they will make sacrifices because they are heroes, but they won’t judge each other for it. Nor will they judge the choices they each make as a result of those sacrifices.
Let me put it another way - Oliver is going to do what he has to do and Felicity is going to do what she has to do. That’s what they signed up for. They will never belong only to each other as long as they are fighting for Star City and the world. There will always be some crisis that comes before their marriage and happiness. I think Oliver and Felicity have decided instead of arguing and resenting each other for the sacrifices they make they will simply love each other unconditionally through it.
I don’t blame Oliver for not picking up the cell phone and calling the wife while he negotiated in space with an all powerful Whathaveyou to make sure she was cool with him trading his life for the lives of Barry, Kara and the entire world. Sometimes Oliver just has to make the call and this was one of those times. What’s done is done. It wasn’t about disrespecting Felicity or not trusting her. It was about making a choice no regular person would make. That’s why Oliver is a hero. And nobody knows that better than his wife.
That’s not a free pass for Oliver to lie or make decisions without Felicity. I think he should tell her about the deal he made with the Monitor, I’m just not expecting it on my time table, but rather Oliver’s. If he tells her later rather than sooner I’ll disagree with his choice. But I’ll just add it to the laundry list of decisions Oliver has made over the course of this show that I’ve disagreed with.
Is it a lack of character growth? Is Oliver constantly making the same mistakes over and over again? Sure. That’s absolutely a fair lens to view it through. But we are moving along a spectrum here. Oliver’s lies are for increasingly selfless reasons, so that’s some progress I guess.
“Selfless reasons? Are you nuts Jen?” Probably, but a real big piece of this for me is intent. Oliver’s intent is always intensely and innately good. It’s very hard for me to stay angry with the guy who is willing to sacrifice his freedom to secure his teammates’ and wife’s freedom. It’s very hard for me not to forgive Oliver for hesitating to tell his wife he offered his life in exchange for Barry and Kara’s (if that’s what he did) because he offered his life in exchange! Here’s the kicker - when Oliver is making these types of decisions he’s doing all the things that made Felicity fall in love with him in the first place.
There is an exceptionally great scene in Grey’s Anatomy that explains what I’m talking about. Meredith has done something awful, but her intent was good. Still the consequences of her decision are pretty disastrous for Derek. I really encourage you to watch the scene because it drills to the marrow of what it means to be married. But my favorite exchange is always this:
Derek: I know you took her to protect her. I know you altered the trial for Adele and for Richard. You stood in front of a bullet for me. I know why you do all of it. It’s what I love about you.
Meredith: And what you hate about me.
Derek: Yeah.
Felicity has made many similar speeches about Oliver.
Oliver and Felicity loving each other even when they hate each other is the reality of the commitment they’ve made. The things we love most in our partners can also become the things we hate most. But marriage is also a lot about acceptance. Oliver and Felicity bring out the best in each other, they challenge each other to be better, but they also accept one another. There are simply aspects of Oliver Queen that are never going to change. He will always be the put-it-all-on-the-line-fall-on-the-sword-sacrifice-everything-for-everyone guy. And as maddening as this may be, Oliver is not always going to ask Felicity’s permission before he does it. But the flip is- Felicity is the same kind of hero. If she was put in the same position as Oliver she would make the same choice. And she has.
That’s one of the reasons I’ve sort of stopped applying real world expectations on Olicity’s marriage. I certainly expect my husband to discuss life altering decisions with me, but he’s also not responsible for saving the world. In many ways Olicity is just a regular couple living in an insane world. But they are also an extraordinary couple living in an insane world. That requires a different set of expectations, which I believe is the realization they both came to.
So, Oliver gets to sacrifice himself for the world and Felicity accepts it. But Oliver doesn’t get to put on his judgey pants over the person Felicity becomes while she’s dealing with the ramifications of all Oliver’s sacrifices. This is an unusual, out of this world, extraordinary compromise, but it is a compromise nonetheless. Can I relate to Oliver and Felicity entirely? No, but then again I’m not a hero.
What do Oliver and Felicity get from their extraordinary sacrifices? An extraordinary love.
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