#original fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

portlandrowismyhome · 11 months

Text

Borrowed Time: Chapter Two

part two of the serial killer Lockwood and co AU. Warnings for severe angst, mentions of torture, non graphic injury descriptions, minor language, fear, ANGST no comfort unless you count the horrific sadness of memory. Short chapter but more soon!!

please note this is a sideblog and all replies will come from @waitingforthesunrise. I truly appreciate comments and thoughts!!

tag list: @neewtmas @lemonsharks @givemea-dam-break @teaandtoastandthyme @givemea-dam-break @cordelia-street @paysomeonetopaysomeone @malteevars-kee-devi @the-biscuit-agreement @krash-and-co @oceanspray5 @smol-being-of-light @skies-of-gray @ikeasupremacy @wellgoslowly @oblivious-idiot @jesslockwood @tangledinlove @superpositvecloudshipper @peachesanddandelions @charmquarkstrangequark @pathetic-atthedisco @ladygrayish @saelterlude @carlyleandco @carlyleons @naivedaydreamer

CHAPTER TWO

Lucy awoke to the golden afternoon sun and the heavy weight of a cat on her chest.

She lay there, blinking at the blank ceiling; Miss Younge’s cat patted a heavy paw on her cheek.

“Took you long enough,” a disgruntled voice said from the floor, and with a burst of cold awareness Lucy knew where she was.

She was in Lockwood’s bedroom.

More correctly: she was in Lockwood’s bed.

It felt so familiar because it was the second time. It felt so strange because this time there was no messy-haired boy asleep beside her.

“Hello, Skull,” she said quietly. There was a leaden weight inside her ribcage; words felt heavy and forced, like slow molasses.

Lucy closed her eyes against the warm sunlight and tried to remember what had happened earlier. What day was it? Had the trip to Barnes and that awful, horrific phone call only been this morning? And Lockwood’s voice on the phone, that pleading note in his voice —

The cat meowed protestingly as she sat up and swung her legs over the bed.

“Did Holly bring you up?” She asked the Skull. It was all a blur in her head: staring at the phone in her hand, the burst of pain in her chest, and the sudden tip and swing of the room.

“Holly put me in a bag — a very smelly and disgusting bag, if you even care,” the Skull complained loudly. “And you could barely walk in a straight line. George had to practically fight you into bed. Holly asked if I would smell up the kitchen — as though that blond boy isn’t a worse health hazard! And—“

Lucy picked up the pillow from Lockwood’s side of the bed and held it to her chest. She had clutched it tightly against her in sleep, and she hoped desperately that the Skull had not noticed. It still smelled like him….a faint hint of citrus, something like the dusty books of the library…the first morning she had woken up beside him, his arm still draped over her waist and her leg over his….she opened her eyes and studied the faint worry lines traced across his forehead….Anthony Lockwood. He looked tired even in sleep.

“Are you crying?” The Skull demanded loudly. “Are those tears? What kind of independent agent are you?”

Lucy set the pillow down. “I’m not crying,” she snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She wished she could cry, but her eyes were dry as a bone and just as heavy. She slid off the bed and crossed to the window, peering out into the bright afternoon. People crossed the street below, wrapped in coats and colorful scarves. The winter sun glinted off the taxicabs and the shiny rapiers of a pair of Fittes agents climbing into a car down the block.

That other morning, waking up beside Lockwood, she had left, too.

She had stared at his dark lashes and purple signs of sleeplessness, and wanted. What, she didn’t know.

She had stumbled into his room that night, gasping, unable to breath, the panic choking her words, barely able to make it through the door. And then his arms were around her, and his scent and his voice…

Do you ever think about dying? She asked later, lying beside him in the darkness, his hand tracing slow circles on her waist.

His fingers paused. Yes, he said quietly. But not with the same love.

She clutched Lockwood’s hand, choking on the words she wanted to say. Don’t leave. Take me with you. Sometimes I want to go, too. I see the way you look at the ghosts. You’d trust me, wouldn’t you? You’d stumble through my door if you couldn’t breathe? Or would you let it take you away?

But she only said, I’m glad you’re here.

I’m with you, he said, and drew her closer.

And then the morning had broken and she had slid out of the warm bed and into the cold dawn because she couldn’t breathe, and it was all the fault of the sleeping boy. She had stumbled through Arif’s empty aisles and something within her wanted to run and never look back.

If he dies —

She hadn’t wanted to finish the sentence. She had stood in the doorway in Portland Row and looked at Lockwood’s panicked face as he tumbled down the stairs and felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

“Luce!” He had said, fear gasping through his nonchanlent tone. “I thought maybe…I woke up and you were…”

She held up the box. “Just donuts. That’s all.”

He nodded, trying to catch his breath, and Lucy had tried to drown her fears in icing. But, like ghosts, they returned in the night.

The Skull interrupted her thoughts. “Do you really think that boy is worth all this, Lucy? If you ask me, it’s a handy way to end it. And look! Maybe he left you the house! I can see it now: Skull and Co, in gold letters….”

Lucy studied the bedroom. It was a shambled sort of tidiness: half-hearted attempts had been made at cleaning up, but clothes still lurked on the seat of the armchair and books gathered dust beside the bed.

“Compared to that hole of a garbage disaster you call an apartment, Lockwood was a cleaning maniac,” the Skull remarked.

“He didn’t change the flowers.” Lucy pointed to the vase of flowers beside the bed in the ugly vase she had given him their first Portland Row Christmas. It was meant to be a joke, but Lockwood had solemnly replaced the flowers every week and refused to acknowledge the hilarity. The flowers were wispy and rotting.

She closed her eyes. “They’ve been there for weeks.”

“So? Maybe he had better things to do with his life than stuff flowers into the vase some girl gave him.”

“He wasn’t…”

“Doing well? Applause! Brilliance! Someone give her a prize, the girl’s a genius!” The skull smirked from the green jar. “You’ve been convincing yourself that your leaving would solve everything. It just made more problems, and Lucy Caryle doesn’t like that. How dare her brilliant plan not work?”

“Shut up,” Lucy snapped. She tried to smooth her crumpled blue shirt over her waist, doing her best not to glance at Lockwood’s closet door.

“You’d wear his sweatshirt if you weren’t such a coward,” the Skull said. “Oh wait! You couldn’t bear anyone knowing you have feelings. I bet you’d smell better, though.”

“You’re in a jar! You can’t smell.”

“I can detect the aura,” the Skull remarked with satisfaction. “That god-awful cat is scratching at the door again, Lucy. Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Just put it on and let’s go downstairs, I’m bored silly.”

Lucy slid her hand over the hanging shirts, Lockwood’s one concession to proper organization. She knew he kept a gray sweatshirt hanging somewhere…and really, it was just because she couldn’t go and change at her old apartment, could she? And Holly’s clothes wouldn’t fit her….she swept her hand across the top shelf and knocked something heavy to the floor.

A blue notebook stared back, tumbling open to reveal closely-written pages.

“Lucy!” The skull said. “The cat is looking at me. Lucy—”

Lucy knelt and picked up the notebook, smoothing the pages. There was a date in careful ink at the top….With a jolt of recognition, she knew what it was.

“It’s Lockwood’s diary,” she said quietly.

The Skull groaned loudly. “Of course he kept a diary. I bet he went to that gloomy graveyard and sat on his parents graves to write in it. But only on windy days so he could mess up his hair and feel something. Oh, Lucy looked at me today,” the Skull moaned, “and I’m such an stupid idiot I just looked back with my mouth hanging open.”

Lucy barely heard. She sat back on her heels, feeling the weight of the notebook in her hands. “What if Lockwood knew something?” She asked. “What if he wrote what cases he was working on? What if it wasn’t a kidnapping? Our cases could have been crossing.”

She tried not to think about all the ways the caller could have abducted him. An invitation to a single case….a note signed in her name, asking to meet privately…

He would have walked into the trap singing.

Lockwood, she thought desperately, Lockwood, you’re such an idiot…

There was a sudden knock on the door, and Lucy jumped to her feet. She felt off-balence without the rapier attached to her hip.

Holly peered around the door. Her eyes were shy underneath the long, dark eyelashes, and Lucy wondered disgruntledly when she’d had time to do make-up and her hair.

“Good morning, Lucy,” Holly said hopefully. “I just wanted to…check on you. There’s food downstairs, if you’d like? You should really eat something. I’ll get you a drink.I—”

“Holly.” Lucy held out the notebook, her voice cracking. “Have you seen this notebook before?”

“It’s Lockwood’s, I think. He carried it around sometimes.” Holly crossed the floor and touched Lucy’s arm gently. “Lucy…we’ll find him. We’ll try everything…”

Lucy looked into Holly’s eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance. She wanted to push the other girl away, she wanted to scream, she wanted to hug her tightly. She wanted things to go back to the way they were; but when was that? There had been good moments, she was sure of it, but all she could remember was standing on the doorstep and looking at Lockwood’s sleep-dazed face and thinking if he dies now I’ve killed him. If he dies now I couldn’t save him or I could and didn’t and —

And so it was better to go while there was time.

But, Lucy thought, what if the time had already almost run out?

Across the city, same time

“Is that really all you’ve got?” Lockwood asked mockingly. “Pitiful.”

His skull snapped back against the wall with the force of the blow. He sighed, letting himself crumple to the floor and steadying himself against the concrete. His head was spinning badly enough he almost could forget there awful pain in his ribs and the pooling blood beneath him. He thought of Lucy’s smile. Lucy! He should have told her. Something, anything. That he was sorry for loving her like he did; so broken, so painful, in so many pieces. It hasn’t always been like that. He had thought, for a few months, he wasn’t so unfixable after all…That one night she had come to him, running from the darkness, and he had woken with her in his arms in the small hours of the morning. He had felt whole, then. And now —

A hand twisted his face upwards. “You’re thinking of her,” the voice snarled. “She’ll come.”

“She won’t,” Lockwood said with all the strength he could.

“She will. She has to save you, after all.”

Lockwood sighed, his breath burning his ribs. “She doesn’t have to save me…”

“Maybe not. But she thinks she does. That’s all that’s needed.” The figure chuckled and crouched on the ground. “Do you recognize me, Anthony Lockwood?”

Lockwood stared into the hollow, burning eyes of a man that had changed little in four years. He leaned back and waited for the pain to come.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

to be continued ~

#lockwood and co fanfiction #original fanfic #original fanfiction #Anthony Lockwood fanfiction #Lucy Carlyle fanfiction #Lockwood and co fanfic

52 notes · View notes

mymauvemaude · 6 months

Text

SOME UNHOLY WAR BY MMAUVEMAUDE002

WORK IN PROGRESS! (COMING SOON)

29 notes · View notes

rotationalsymmetry · 9 months

Text

Destiny and Ashes

(ATLA fanfic, angst, Iroh. Gen. Canon-compliant. 1k words.)

Imagine you’re Iroh, son and heir of Firelord Azulon, Dragon of the West. Imagine, for the sake of argument, that you’ve been inducted into the White Lotus, organization dedicated to being prepared for the Avatar’s return (the Avatar, who will restore balance to the world) and that along with that, you do in fact think the world is out of balance and that some things that the Fire Nation have been doing in the last century are maybe not that great? But also, that it’s not really your destiny to fix them.

Especially not while you’re still heir. When you’re Firelord, you’ll have the authority to make things better, and the responsibility to. But you’re not Firelord yet. So as far as you can tell — as far as the wise people like Piandao can tell you — your duty is to be patient and obedient. To wait, and to do (…more or less, as much as your conscience allows) what your father and your Firelord and your nation demand of you.

Sometimes that means pretending to kill a dragon. Sometimes that means pretending that you’re trying to win a siege.

You’re good at pretending. You figure you’ve got everyone fooled. And Ba Sing Se is a notoriously well-defended city, surely no one thinks it’s strange that the attempt to take the city has been taking so long, even for one as notoriously skilled in firebending (and in leading an army, if you do say so yourself) as the Dragon of the West. It would be devastating for the Earth Kingdom if Ba Sing Se fell. It would be devastating for your status as the heir if you admitted defeat too easily. So here you are.

And then your son, your only son, your entire life, dies.

The grief hits you as though Ba Sing Se’s walls have fallen onto you.

One thought comes through the wreckage clearly, surely if I call off the siege now, my father couldn’t blame me.

(It is a huge emotional blow. But it’s also a huge pragmatic concern. You only had one child. You only had one heir. This is a problem.)

(Presumably you will be expected to remarry, an idea that has no appeal to you whatsoever. But you’ll be allowed a mourning period first, so you don’t have to think about that now. For now, you can just go home. Without dishonor. Or so you think.)

You get home, and it is not what you expected. A second loss — your father is dead. Before he died, he announced your brother would inherit. Or that’s what people say. It sounds like that is specifically what your brother says. Also his wife is gone, and no one is willing to talk about it. You are not sure exactly what happened (and thinking feels like wading through waste-deep mud right now) but you figure the chance things happened the way the official story tells it are about zero, and you figure most people at court are going to be just as clear on that.

And yet. What can you do?

Are you going to challenge your brother’s claim? You’d have to fight him. Sure, you have an army with you, but they’re tired and they just lost a year-long siege. Morale is bad. You’ve been away from the capitol for a year and your aren't sure which nobles would back you if you called on them. And even if you won a contest for the throne, there would be a shadow over your rule, a cloud of uncertainty, and whenever there’s uncertainty in who should be the rightful heir, well, a lot of the times the aristocracy will side with whoever’s policies they prefer. You couldn’t win and then roll out something likely to be extremely unpopular, like retreating from the Earth Kingdom colonies. Not if you wanted to stay Firelord. Or alive.

There is a pai sho board laid out in front of you, pieces arranged in an end game configuration. Your only moves are losing ones.

You stumble around the palace, a cinder of your former self. You justified your role as general with the idea that it was your destiny and that if you waited, your actions would be justified in the end, that you would end up being able to direct the hot-burning fire of your nation towards creation and life, and away from destruction. But now it was for nothing, you burned and you destroyed and you brought death and fear with you and it was for no end other than more destruction. You do not trust your own ability to make decisions. You do not trust your sense of destiny. You know, in the hot core of your being, that the Avatar is not coming back.

You watch Zuko practice firebending. He is still not very good. His tutor is also not very good, which annoys you. Zuko is a prince, he should have the best tutors. The tutor is also not very patient, and Zuko is not very patient either, and you think that is not a good combination. You think about how you’ve seen your brother treat Zuko, when you’ve been home. You think you make a better father than he does, which is too bad, because you can’t be a father any more.

Zuko’s stance is all wrong and the tutor isn’t saying anything about it.

You grind your teeth at the incompetence. You start to stand up, intending to walk away so at least you won’t have to watch such a travesty of both the art of firebending and the art of teaching.

Then, as sometimes a fire that appears to have died out will suddenly spark to life again, an idea occurs to you. Your brother has not so far attempted to kill you, arrest you, exile you, or otherwise revoke your status as a member of the royal family. As far as the court is concerned, you are somewhat disgraced from the failed siege, but you’ve still got a fair bit of status, as a general, as a firebender, as a member of the royal family. Surely, surely if you stepped forward and told this half-baked tutor that you’d be handling Zuko’s firebending education from now on, surely no one could object?

So you do that. Being a halfway decent firebending teacher and mentor to your nephew is not the goal you’d intended to have in your life, and it’s certainly not as dramatic as turning the Fire Nation away from its course of conquest and domination, but it gives you focus, meaning, purpose. And maybe this time, it’s a thing you can do right.

Things go well enough for a while, although your nephew’s firebending is still quite bad. Then one day there’s a war counsel, and Zuko asks to be let in, and you let him.

#in which I learn that my impression of how siege is spelled is incorrect #original fanfic #atla fanfic #iroh #angst

26 notes · View notes

bat-stuff · 11 months

Text

Give him liberty or Give me death

A Starwars Story

Story follows Y/n, a nearly 15 year old girl who recently ran away from Jedi training to start a new life. But what happens when the Force catches up to her in the form of a recovering Sith Lord?

Disclaimer: I don't own the Starwars Franchise

ok now that's out of the way, the real disclaimers:

This is set in the far future, after a lot of the canon storyline.

If ANYTHING seem canonically incorrect please don't try to correct me, I'll eventually find out and feel shitty about it anyway. I wrote it how i felt it would fit the story best. again, bear with me

Please enjoy to the best of your ability, Thanks!

Chapter One: Tatooine

Sand engulfed Y/n’s feet as she pushed through the storm. Tatooine was a nasty planet covered in dust, sand, and an abundance of the strangest people Y/n had ever seen.

Tatooine had history though. Bad history. To be completely honest, Y/n never cared too much for the past. She knew very little of the Skywalker dynasty and frankly didn’t feel the need to know any more. She was done with the god-awful Jedi Historical training, opting to take a hike rather than stay five more years and watch Palo take the spot she worked tirelessly for with little effort.

He always was the golden boy. Picking up information faster than everyone else, outperforming everyone else, looking better than everyone else, having a higher midichlorian count than everyone else. The only thing he couldn’t beat her in was sparring. The only part she’d ever enjoyed of the training. Lightsabers.

She was also pretty damn good at piloting but Palo wasn’t interested in that so she would never get to see who was better.

What a degenerate pansy.

Her banter with Palo didn’t matter anymore. She had quit, and that was final. No more training, no more pressure, no more pain and suffering.

The force couldn’t get to her if she didn’t believe in it. Well, she hoped. God forbid the dark side reach out a slimy finger to graze her. The last thing she had ever wanted was for that side of the force to engulf her. Maybe that's why she left.

Maybe.

The force had a habit of clawing its way into the souls of even the strongest Jedi.

Fear leads to hate, hate leads to anger, anger leads to suffering.

The words were practically seared into her mind. From day one of training she was told these words nearly every day. If she showed any sign of doubt, she would be dragged into the darkness.

In the end, that didn’t stop her from a convective fear of the unknown.

It was no doubt that she had spent the better part of her almost fifteen years in the galaxy fearful. She had always been afraid of making the wrong choice, the one that would drag her past the point of no return.

Yeah. That’s why she left. No, fled. As if the Jedi Order would willingly let a newly deemed Padawan walk away. Not with that kind of force training.

To the order, Y/n was a bomb just waiting for the Sith to spark near her fuse.

Her mind raced with these thoughts as she pushed forward. Sandstorms were dangerous, she had been told. Yet, there she was in the middle of one, retrieving a cloak of all things, for a young girl down the road from her poorstone bungalow. The poor thing had gone the past month or so without protection from the sandy wind. Didn’t help that the youngling walked every morning to work herself sick washing dishes for The Dockside Cafe. And of course, the Jedi training instilled in Y/n made it practically impossible to resist hunting down this little girl’s cloak.

God, sometimes she hated being selfless.

The day I stop being this stupid is the day the Sith gets me, apparently. She scorned herself.

Upon her arrival in the market the storm died down from deadly to mildly dangerous, or at least it seemed that way. The cluster of buildings most likely blocked a portion of debris and wind from getting into the square. She let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. The assortment of shops provided some protection, but she would still need to find where the cloak had even been left before it decided to get worse.

Ah yes, Tatooine was a beautiful place. It had always been her dream to be killed by a planet’s dandruff.

There was a task at hand. She couldn’t spend any more time complaining about the weather.

To be completely honest, she had no clue where to start. The young girl had said she couldn’t have left the robe at the diner, considering she was there every day and hadn’t seen it since the day she lost it.

Of course, children had a habit of not looking very thoroughly for lost items, but the children of Tatooine weren’t normal children. They had near to nothing. Losing something as miniscule as a garment of clothing was a shot at death to them. Especially with the planet’s harsh conditions.

Even knowing this, Y/n made the choice to start at Dockside.

The Dockside Cafe was a small corner bar in Mos Eisley known for the galaxy’s smallest menu of drinks and the driest food known to creature-kind. The true owner of the cafe had died off who-knows-how-long ago and was currently run by a technological artifact that went by the name of CG-X2R. Or better known as CG by the townsfolk. The droid had a knack for complaining about everything and listening to no one, unless of course, you were there to complain, too.

Just the type Y/n didn’t care to talk to, but could tolerate long enough to get information.

As she strolled into the dimly lit space, a few heads turned. Usual customers that didn’t care too much about her presence, seeing as almost immediately upon realizing it was some teenage girl they didn’t know they went back to their business. Seeing as the cafe was wedged into the ground, it was probably one of the coolest places on the planet. That being said, it could always use better airflow.

Y/n had grown quite fond of this cafe over the last month. It was relaxing.

She reached for a stool and sat herself in the middle of the bar table. Then she proceeded to whistle at CG and motion for the droid to come over.

“You again?” He sighed. She gave a slight smile and rolled her shoulders back in a stretch.

“It is. But this time I’m here on business. You haven’t happened to have seen a child’s cloak in the last month?”

He whirred in thought. His old gears creaked as he tried to recall the last month.

“Would this cloak happen to be young Alexava’s cloak she claimed she lost?”

Y/n groaned and threw her head on the table.

“Yes” She mumbled through her arms. The old droid let out a grating snicker.

He whipped around to fetch a glass of luke-warm water for the girl. She brought her head up and thanked him with a nod. She placed a peggat on the counter, which he gratefully accepted with a whir of mechanics.

“I know what you’re going to say,” She sighed. “And my answer is no. I can’t resist helping a dumb kid who misplaced their only drapes.” The droid seemed to quiver in humor.

Once again, that undesired urge to help people snuck its way into her mind. Her intentions were obvious, and that's what scared her. She knew one day, the Force would catch up with her, and show her a “better” way to help people. A way that gave her power beyond belief. The way of the dark side.

“Well, I hadn’t seen it for quite some time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hadn’t?”

Past tense. He was being difficult.

He clicked at her immediate recognition of his riddle.

“Ah, but I guess it was good material. Because I did see it today in the hands of one of those hunters who hang around here. Just before Mos Eisley opened,” The droid spoke. “An ugly creature, he was. No manners whatsoever. As if he was raised by a bantha.” He shook his head in disappointment. Y/n stopped him before he could go on.

“Why would he take a child’s cloak?”

“Hell if I know. He’s a bounty hunter. I would guess he wanted to sell it. They like money, a little too much. Tends to get them into a lot of trouble, as well as cause good salesmen like me a lot of trouble. Because of their mischief, I have to deal with a perturbed ten year-old-” she cut him off.

“I’m fifteen.”

“No you’re not.”

“Nearly fifteen- where did he go?” She insisted

The droid whirred once again in something she could only assume to be the equivalent of a smirk.

“Where do you think? Where all those rats go to get paid.” Her stomach sank in her gut.

The Cantina.

She internally groaned for the millionth time that day.

“Alright, what’s his name?”

Another damn bar.

That little girl always has to be involved with a place that flourished off of alcohol. Her conscience hissed.

At least Dockside was friendly. Sort of.

The Mos Eisley Cantina was a whole different alley. Not a good one either. She’d heard plenty of stories about bounty hunter central, and the amount of fights that occurred there by the hour. It was home to hut-hirings and dangerous travelers looking to make a quick buck. Of course, the presence of the Huts was the telltale of the bar. You always had to watch your back or end up as a body on the floor. The bar was downright sinister. No one in their right mind was going to walk into that bar and demand to know who took some little girls' cloak and that they wanted it back.

So of course, that’s what Y/n’s plan was.

In the end, she had no plan. She was just making stuff up and rolling with whatever happened.

Sensing the Force was like this. All the best Jedi did it. And all the best Jedi found themselves dead, eventually.

Good thing she wasn’t a Jedi, and good thing the Force didn’t exist. So instead she was just stupid.

Instead of just strolling into the bar, like at the cafe, she played more towards a dramatic entrance. If she was going to die in a bar, at least she was going to make it look interesting.

Y/n stood in the doorway upon her first step in. This time, nearly everyone turned to look at her. Eyes widened at the sight of a young girl. She straightened her posture in an attempt to look less annoyed than what she really was. She waited a minute, hoping the eyes would turn away.

They didn’t.

She blew off her discomfort and strode her way to the front counter, seating herself once again, right in the middle. She waved down the bartender once again, and felt the second wave of nausea hit.

What was she doing?

She figured her only option from here was to get down to the point. Somehow what had seemed like a harmless mission to find a girl’s cloak had turned into one of the most dangerous things she’d ever experienced in her life.

“What do you want?” The man hissed. Y/n cringed. He smelled terrible. His reaction to her expression wasn’t good and he reached over to grab her collar. She quickly dodged and slapped his hand away from her, pinning it to the wooden countertop. She rose in her seat, hooking her feet on the run of the stool to stand taller than him.

She grinned. “I’m looking for someone by the name of Igo Runn.”

The room seemed to stop breathing as all eyes turned to her. And suddenly, now that she had control of the room, the nausea dripped away. She often thrived on attention like a drug.

The bartender quickly pulled himself away from her in disgust. She gave him a toothy smile as she brushed off her hands and sat back down. Intimidation was a game to her, it was the only way to make Palo crumble ninety percent of the time. And she loved to see Palo fail.

Suddenly a voice spoke from the back corner of the bar.

“Little girl you must be the dumbest doll to come into this place demanding things.” He snarked. She pulled herself out of her chair and walked towards the man to get a better look at him. He was heavy set, with dark hair and pale skin. His face, barely visible in the dimly lit bar, was morphed into an ugly shape. He looked like he had been around the two suns for a while.

CG did say he was ugly.

“You’re Igo Runn?” He let out the loudest laugh she had ever heard. His shaking body caused the table he sat at to aggressively rock.

“No, Doll. That’s Igo Runn.” he chuckled, gesturing across the room to a sleeping form draped across a booth table. All eyes turned towards the body. She shook her head lightly. From somewhere a bottle was thrown at the poor guy, hitting him square in the back. Instantly, the man woke up, blaster in hand, frantically looking around for who threw the poor bottle. Laughter echoed through the tavern.

It only took a moment for our eyes to meet.

He was young. Very young. Probably a teenager.

“That right there is Runn. I don’t know what you want with that little rodent but you better be quick, Doll. He likes to run.” The fat man chucked.

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He frowned.

“I’ll call you whatever I want, Doll.”

She thought for a minute. Grabbing a bottle off a nearby table. She made a quick glance at Igo Runn, motioning for him to sit.

That's why she swung.

The glass connected perfectly to the large man’s head with a satisfying crack. He was knocked out of his chair by the sheer force of the blow. And as all bar fights started, chaos broke free.

Fists flew rapidly through the air as Y/n peered through the crowd just in time to catch a glimpse of Runn, bolting out of the bar. She hoped tables after him. He barely got a block before she had tackled him to the sandy ground.

Wind still whipped around them in the storm. It was almost as if it had gotten worse. She needed to wrap this up and get back to her bungalow. She swung herself off him.

“Where is the cloak you stole?” She yelled over the storm, her voice bare admissible. He seemed annoyed at her question.

“Why do you care?” He screamed back. His voice was light.

She couldn’t see him too well, but she tried her best to make out his features in the sand. He had tan skin and curly brown hair. He was tall and lanky with barely any meat on his bones. In fact she could feel every one of his ribs as her shin rested against his torso to keep him down. She kind of felt sorry for the guy.

“I care because there's a little girl who works hard every day, who doesn’t make any money, and who is in pain because you took one of the only things that can protect her from this planet.” She hissed at him. Y/n scoured around him until she eventually found his satchel, which to her relief, held the cloak.

He seemed to frown. “Last I checked, no one came and got this cloak. It was just sitting there when I saw it.”

“So you just took it?” Igo shrugged.

“What the hell would you need a little girl's cloak for?” She asked. He managed to shove her off him. He brushed himself off, which seemed awfully dramatic considering the dust storm going on around them.

“Why don’t you tell that little girl she’s not the only one hurting for money?” Y/n grabbed his collar and slammed him against the side of Mos Eisley. He was an arrogant boy with no better personality other than greed. He only cared about what helped him live day by day.

Y/n’s inner thoughts hissed at her to kick the crap out of him to teach him a lesson. But her fear of the Force took over almost instantly. Violence wasn’t a good answer. It was too risky.

Reluctantly, she sighed and let him go. Igo’s face morphed into one of shock. She began to walk in the direction of home. She was officially tired of everything.

“So you’re just letting me go?” He inquired, hopping after her. Without even turning around to acknowledge him she replied.

“Yep.”

He frowned. “Okay?”

“I’ll see you around I guess.” He said. She sighed.

“No you won’t, get the hell off of Tatooine. Don’t come back. I’m just tired, that doesn’t mean we’re friends.” She hissed at him. She felt his footsteps cease from behind her. He’d stopped following her.

Good riddance.

The trek back to Alexava Russa’s home took longer than Y/n was expecting, but sandstorms were still dangerous and a pain to deal with. Once she arrived, the girl had squealed in delight, thanking her for finding the thing that took at least five years off of Y/n’s life.

She didn’t tell the youngling what she went through to get it though. Neither Alexava nor her mother needed to hear about that. Y/n felt better just telling them some bystander had accidentally picked it up and left it at Lup’s.

Mrs. Russa offered for her to wait out the storm in their home but she politely declined. She had told the Russas that she had a busy day tomorrow and needed to get home. In reality, nightfall was coming soon and she didn’t want the family to deal with her bad dreams.

Dreams that often woke her in a cold sweat, screaming. Dreams that only recently appeared.

Another reason she gave up Jedi training.

Once home, to her tiny, rented bungalow. She threw off her garments and fell into her bed. She was getting close to being done with leaving that bed. Nothing bad ever happened when she stayed in the house. She wasn’t dragged into things that were none of her business. As usual she spent the next hour procrastinating sleep, wondering if there was any way to get rid of the internalized jedi-justice she was suffering from.

It took a while, but sleep finally won. Or at least the nightmares did.

27 notes · View notes

generousobservationkryptonite · 8 months

Text

When your husband gives you a ridiculous prompt, you write the ridiculous prompt.

For your consideration, Thief.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50344279

#fanfiction #original fanfic #barisi #rafael barba #sonny carisi #most ridiculous prompt I've been given

9 notes · View notes

thatgayb1tchwhosimps4her · 10 months

Text

LottieNat!Pirates AU

I don't know if it's just me (although it probably is), but has anyone else though about a LotieNat!Pirates of the Caribbean (or pirates in general) AU.

Like Jack Sparrow pirate, vigilante vibes for Nat, and Queen of the Seven Seas, Lottie, who always wears those frilly pirate dresses with leather corsets and leather boots.

^ like this sort of vibe for Nat ^

^ and this kinda vibe for Lottie ^

Is anyone picking up what I'm putting down?

-Harlow

15 notes · View notes

threeoftwelve · 1 year

Text

The Modern Prometheus is an original Star Trek story set shortly after the events of Star Trek: First Contact. Flora Shelly, a xenoanthropologist, is assigned to the starship U.S.S. Alamogordo as part of a mission to further understand and develop countermeasures against the Borg.

Flora is determined to understand the Collective at any cost - even if it means assimilating herself. What starts with curiosity much might spiral out of control, putting Flora at odds with her captain and in danger from the scheming wiles of the Borg Queen.

Do you like Star Trek? Do you like the Borg? Do you like queer lower deckers getting in trouble but nonetheless Boldly Going? This one’s for you.

#star trek #fanfic #original fanfic #Borg #plz read my fanfic it’s really cool it’s got Borg lesbians and everything

15 notes · View notes

wrenthemoralfander · 1 year

Text

A little fic for you all.

The sound of a lady could be heard humming. It was beautiful. She was rolling the dough, and making something wonderful to eat.

The smell of a wonderful aroma filled the house as she politely sat down at the table. “Mmm. This looks scrumptious.” She spoke, in awe of her work. The lady said her prayers.

She ate her food, and cleared her plate. She put the dishes in the dish washer, before she made a small plate of food on a tray and carried it to the basement door. She pulled the key out and unlocked to door to the basement. She walked down the steps with caution.

Inside the dark, dreary basement, where furniture was covered in cloth, dust and cold, a giant creature growled.

“Mine.” The creature spoke, voice echoing in delight at the sight of food.

The woman brought him a tray. On the tray was a plate of dead mice with a small plate of the meal she had made for dinner on the side. The creature took the plate without hesitation started eating.

Once the creature was done, it stared at the maiden. The maiden had her eyes closed, nervousness filling her body. It kicked the tray away and walked over to her.

“Do not be scared. We don’t bite the hand that feeds us.” The creature spoke. As it attempted to lure her into a false sense of security.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She wanted to go home, she wanted to be free. The creature looked at her.

“We all did. Very efficient effort, as usual, sweet caretaker. You are so much better than the last one.”

“Ms. Reese?” The girl remembers she can’t afford to make too many mistakes. Miss Reese made way too many mistakes and her body was found mutilated in the river near the house. Reports say her heart and her eyes were missing from her body.

“Ms. Reese. She wasn’t very good. She tried her best but failed to meet our expectations.” The creature spoke. Tears fell down her face, and with a gentle swipe, the creature wiped it away.

“Would I end up like her?” Test questions seem to displease the creature.

“Never!” They yelled, causing the maiden to flinch. The creature then paused and regained its posture and composure before speaking again.

“No. You are not unworthy. You would not suffer. We would not allow it.” It grabbed her and lifted her chin. “You are our caretaker. And since you do nothing but take care of us, it is only fair that we take care of you in turn.”

It gently patted her head with its claws. “Head back upstairs. Clean up the kitchen, put away the leftovers and the rest of the night is yours.”

The maiden walked to the bottom step of the stairs, before she heard the creature chuckle. “Oh and I almost forgot. Thanks to Ovucoris for reminding me.” Who reminded the beast?

The creature teleported behind her, grabbing her shoulders. “Don’t attempt anything silly,” they reminded her as their claws sunk into her shoulders, “While we love playing games with you, we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Understood.” She spoke, and it let go. She went up the stairs and locked the door.

The creature was a manifestation of five beings and all of these monsters, had ways of keeping her inside the building. The monsters went by several names. The Demon Ovucoris, Bailik, The Fallen Vendres, Lady Anora, and The Sorrowful Knight.

They told her they would give her anything she wanted.

What she wanted?

Lisa just wanted to go home to her dog Cody.

#original fanfic #yandere monster #yandere x oc #Lisa just wants to go home.#monster original character #lisa oc #The Sorrowful Knight #The Fallen Warrior Vendres #Lady Anora Malturo III #Sorcerer Bailik #Ovucoris #all five are ocs

7 notes · View notes

thefreakymunson · 2 years

Text

Goodbye, My Love

A/N: I can't take anymore bills for therapy. Please don't send them to me. I am but a poor writer. Word Count: 1,804 Summary: After Eddie's demise in the upside down, your left with only your memories and a few friends.

The town of Hawkins was in ruins. The earth was split open and people were missing. Everyone was scrambling to either leave or get to safety. You were stuck here, your world falling around you in shambles but also on a deeper level.

“Eddie, no!”

You can still hear Dustin’s cries mixing with your own as you two scrambled to get back into the upside down. Before you could get to him, it was too late. He was bitten to pieces and halfway dead before you got to him. Blood pooled out of his mouth and the bite marks as you tried your hardest to apply pressure - just trying to keep him alive, screaming at him to hold on. You could get him to safety.

The image plays in your mind constantly. It had for the past two days. Your house was destroyed, swallowed up whole with all your belongings but that didn’t matter. Houses could be rebuilt, things could be replaced...

But Eddie. Eddie wouldn’t be coming back.

You made your way down the schools hallway, past his locker. People had gratified it already, writing “killer” and “freak” on it in permanent sharpie. They didn’t know jack shit about him. They didn’t know he was kind and caring, or what he done to help save this town. They didn’t know. They’d never believe you anyway. They'd never believe the boy's life they ruined actually sacrificed himself just to keep the town safe. They'd never know he was the true hero.

You found your way into the auditorium room, where in the very back corner, the door to the rec room was.

A loud creaking sound came from the door and you jumped, allowing yourself for just a moment to think maybe -just maybe it was him.

“Y/N?” You heard your voice being called.

Dustin.

You wiped your tears as you turned around to face him, watching as he limped down the walk way to you.

“Hey, Dust.” You said, sniffling away.

“Can’t make the final steps, huh?” Dustin asked as you two stared at the door that lead out into a breezeway where the rec room was located.

“I don’t want to go in there by myself,” you admitted, “But I think I have to.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Dustin gave you a small smile.

And so with both the moral support of Dustin, you followed him down the row of chairs and out through the door.

You had told yourself not to go in there – he wasn’t going to be there. But as you walked down the isle amongst the rows of empty seats in the auditorium, you couldn’t stop yourself. You were supposed to be graduating in this exact auditorium within a month. Eddie was on schedule to graduate this year. This was supposed to be the year for the both of you to tell this town to fuck off and get away from it. Now he was gone and it was just you here left all alone.

You stood still for a moment, closing your eyes as the memories flooded you. Memories of him chasing you through the isles, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings as you playfully tussled with him. He was always front and center for your choir concerts, always yelling the loudest for you after your solos. He was your biggest supporter, your best friend, and the love of your life.

You opened the heavy rec room door, pushing it with all your might, and into the darkened room. It was its usual cold temperature but there was a light on already. You helped Dustin down the two steps as you both made your way to see who was in there quickly.

You both stood in silence as you saw the familiar man standing there, clutching something denim in his fists. Steve looked out of place amongst all the lore fantasy posters and the DnD items. He looked..sad. And as you looked even closer, you realized there were tears streaming down his face as he gripped the cloth even tighter in his shaky hands.

“Steve?” Dustin asked softly, alerting the man of your presence.

“I never got to give this back,” Steve said, voice trembling as he looked back at the two of you, “And I...I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Oh,” you realized exactly what he was holding. Eddie’s battle vest. The weight of it hit you like a thousand pounds as you walked closer to him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Steve said, wiping his own tears, “I wished it would’ve been different.”

“I know,” you gave him a small smile, “I know...we all did.”

“I didn’t know him very well...but he was a good person.” Steve whispered, “He was. I know you loved him...and he loved you. God, he told me a million times just about.”

You carefully took the denim from Steve’s hands and brought it up to your nose. Tobacco, cheap cologne, and Eddie. Your favorite smell. Fresh tears feel faster now as you hugged it to your body. This was the only thing you’d have left of him. There would be no more DnD campaign’s, no more late night phone calls, no more goofy grins, no more lovemaking.

Just the memories.

You sat down in the chair next to his at head of the table as more people walked in. Gareth and the other Corroded Coffin members. They didn’t know what truly happened. They wouldn’t believe you. A few more people walked in, this time Nancy and Robin. The Sinclair’s were next, and then Mike and girl you didn’t know, but her head was shaved.

The entire campaign was here, plus a few extra’s, together for a few moments, all sitting in their seats in silence. Silent tears shed as you all mourned the loss of a beloved friend and partner.

“I want to say something,” you spoke softly as you looked around the table, “Eddie...Eddie loved all of you. He said you were the family he never got. He cared for every single one of you as if you were his brothers...his friends. He didn’t have many of them, but the ones who are here – you mattered to him. Dustin and Mike...he would want you to keep this going. He would want Hellfire to continue on without him. So please...continue on without him. Do it in his memory. Keep it alive because this was his favorite place to be.”

You choked back a sob as you looked down at the vest in your arms, seeing the red stained lipstick print on the lapel, right above his Corroded Coffin patch.

“Gareth...Jeff….no one is gonna play the lead guitar better than Eddie ever would and we all know that,” you smiled at them, “But don’t let his absence stop you. Get to Madison Square and make him proud. Sell out every fucking tour you can because he will be there in spirit at every single show. Just make sure, if you replace him, he’s the best fit.”

“No one can fill his place,” Gareth shook his head.

“I know,” you smiled despite the tears, “I hear you. But he put so much work into each of these things that he wouldn’t want them to stop just because he’s de – he’s gone.”

You still couldn’t say the word. You couldn’t admit the fact that you watched him die right in front of you. You refused to.

“They’re going to run his name in the ground and shame all of us for caring about him – loving him.” Your face crumpled as your fingers smoothed over the patches on his vest, “But we can’t let that get to us. He deserved to be loved and honored. He deserved so much better than what this fucking world gave him. He deserved every good thing in this world and it was never given to him.”

“But you were,” Robin spoke up, “You were given to him and everyone in here knows he worshiped you. He loved you, Y/N. That was evident.”

Your tears fell faster and your chest started to heave as you listened to what everyone was saying.

“He told me a million times before it happened, while we were hanging out just how lucky he was.” Steve nodded.

“And he never shut up about you,” Mike smiled despite his own tears.

“He loved you, Y/N.” Dustin nodded along, “No one will ever love anyone else as much as Eddie loved and adored you. He never shut up about you. You hung the stars in his eyes.”

You buried your face in your hands as you sobbed openly and loudly for the first time since it happened. Since you seen him take his last breath. You were surrounded by everyone immediately, hugging and squeezing each other and you in the center.

And just for a brief moment, you heard in the back of your mind, “Don’t cry over me, doll.”

You may not have Eddie any longer, but at least you had a new set of friends.

The hug lasted a few moments and you realized that everyone needed that comfort. Everyone in this room had suffered a significant loss. Their friend, band mate, dungeon master, and brother was gone.

There would be no funeral, no headstone, no grave to visit afterwards. Nothing of that. All you had was this room and his chair and in a few short months, that would be taken away from you as well.

After a few minutes, everyone started filing out of the room, leaving you alone. Dustin asked if you wanted him to stay, but you needed to spend some time alone with just your memories. Once you were alone, you took a deep, deep breath. When you closed your eyes, you could still hear him – his boastful voice yelling over the others as he wrecked havoc on the campaign in true Eddie style. A small smile spread across your face as you imagined him leaping up to stand on his chair, arms flailing around and the maniacal laughter he would let out.

All the rushed quickies on this table or over by the bookcase. The shared cigarettes and make out sessions. The way he’d push you against the wall and pin you between it and himself just for a simple peck of the lips. He was always so theatrical. You would miss that the most about him.

“This isn’t how this was supposed to be, Munson.” You sniffled, “You promised me that if anything went wrong, you’d be the first person back through that gate. You promised me you’d never leave me. You promised me...I’ll never understand why you done it. These people don’t care about us or you. They never did. You were destined to do great things outside of this town. We were going to get out of here. Just me and you...”

With a heavy sigh and fresh tears, you stood up and draped his vest over the back of the chair – his chair – before you lit the candle and whispered, “Goodbye, my love. I’ll never forget you, Eddie Munson.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Stranger things #stranger things fanfic #original fanfic #thefreakymunson

45 notes · View notes