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creativeashproductions · 1 year

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Constellations // Wally Clark

IN WHICH: reader is a secret ghost at Split River High School attached to the roof where Wally stumbles onto for solitude. With the new arrival of Maddie Nears a year later a secret comes out.

Warnings: Swearing, talk of a undisclosed medical condition, divorce, angst, and fluff

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Of course it’s a ghost show that revives this blog of writing. Am I surprised? No. Is Julie? Definitely not.

Masterlist

You’d have never anticipated the sound of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl being an okay soundtrack to watching the stars. But you’d also never expected discovering the afterlife so soon. Occasionally, you would hear a mixture of the living and the dead on the ground or through an open window, but you typically stayed on the roof.

It had been the hangout spot for the volleyball team when you were alive. The championship game had been the last time a living foot, other than maintenance, had stepped on this roof.

Most of the team had graduated, and the broken doors that couldn’t hold up against the wind were changed. So now it was only you. Reliving the excitement and stupid teenage decisions. And avoiding Mr. Martin and his afterlife support group because he was unsettling, to say the least.

“This spot taken?” Your head lolled to the side, finding a fellow dead jock standing above you.

Wally Clark had discovered you on the fifteenth anniversary of his father’s not coming to the Homecoming game. He’d wanted a quiet place and one where Janet wouldn’t follow.

2022 Day After Homecoming Game

The door slammed from the stairwell slammed open, and the muffled sound of sniffling could be heard. Then, the shuffling of sneakers came to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Your eyes left the book in your hands to the tall teen towering over you. One of the longer-term ghosts residing at Split River High School.

“I-I didn’t know anyone used the roof. Are you new?”

“Nope. Been residing in the afterlife awhile now.” You responded, leaning against the roof’s edge, “Proceed for whatever you were here for.”

Whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have ceased in favour of plopping right down beside you. His head shifting more in your peripheral. He froze when your fingers stopped moving in page-turning.

“Oh, sorry.” He leaned away sheepishly, “Am I annoying you?”

Your brows furrowed, “I’ve read the book a few times. So what brings you to my humble death place.”

“You died up here? Wouldn’t we have heard about-?”

“I didn’t die up here.” You interrupted him to shift to face him fully, “You’re the guy the stadium is named after, right?”

“Wally Clark.” The ghost said, holding his hand out. You exchanged your name in response. Wally slowly repeated your name as if savouring it.

“So seriously, are you okay? You were crying-“

“I died on the football field in 1984. Last night was the first time my dad wasn’t there.” Wally breathed, tilting his head to stare at the sky, “It really hits home that time is going by, and I’m standing still.”

You nudged his knee with your own, “I’m sorry about that. You’re welcome to hang out here to get away.”

“That’d be nice. I feel like all the ghosts expect me to be the outgoing, always happy guy.”

“How was the dance?” You asked as Wally settled on the ground beside you. The ends of his white bowtie hung loosely, and his suit jacket draped across his lap.

“It’s alright. Could have been better.” He spoke, dropping his arm around your shoulders to tug you into his side, “Simon persuaded the DJ to play a couple real hits. One day I’m gonna convince you to go with me.”

Your lips twitched. It was a pastime of Wally’s trying to get you to join in with everyone, especially with the whole drama with the new girl. Thankfully he understood and respected your decision to keep away.

You hadn’t spent years in secret from the support group for no reason. Instead, you existed peacefully in their obliviousness on the roof.

“Nah, I much prefer spending time up here.” You grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Maddie settling in?”

“She’s adjusting as well as she can. Rhonda’s warming up to her. The whole thing she had with Simon is nuts still.”

Maddie Nears, aka the newbie, had shown up suddenly in the afterlife with no memory of her death. Or the events leading up. The pool of suspects is deep, and the desperation to be found alive is strong.

As he relayed the new development, you tried to think of anything but what you had done today. How do you tell your dead boyfriend something that makes Maddie and Simon’s communication seems like child’s play?

“-What about your day?” Wally questioned, moving so you’re leaning your back against his chest.

You sighed happily when his arms came to wrap around your shoulders and press his lips to your head.

“I snuck down to the lost and found for a new book. Mina left a couple things for me too.”

The friendship you had with the ghost of the stagehand mind boggled Wally. Mina hadn’t left the theatre since the stage light fell on her in the late ’80s. She was eccentric, to say the least, but the only ghost other than Wally that knew about you.

“How? She always screams at us.” Wally chuckled, “Maddie’s the first that cracked through.”

“I got her a script for a production she loves and let her direct me on her birthday.” You hummed, crossing your ankles. Your eyes flinched open in perfect sync with Wally’s tensing up.

“How did you get a script-“Wally trailed off, staring at the stars twinkling under the night sky, “Whoa, wait.”

Wally’s mind flickered to the conversation with Maddie after talking with Mina.

“There’s another ghost. Mina mentioned something about me not being the first ghost outlier. That me talking to Simon isn’t earth shattering.”

Wally’s eyes swept from Ursa Major to your e/c eyes, refusing to lock with his dark brown.

“Can you talk to the living?” Wally demanded, shifting away. The space he created cracks your heart more.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maddie’s the only one. I can just…sorta leave the school grounds?” You trailed off with a wince. The betrayal is a wicked shattering force to your bubble with the former football player.

“…you can leave the school? And not be slammed back to where you died?!” Wally’s fists went straight into his dark strands. The hair being tugged under his stress.

“Because I didn’t technically die here. I had a health condition and was declared clinically dead a few times. So, wherever my heart stopped, and I escaped, that death destination is a place where I could go. It hurts.”

Wally scoffed, blinking, “We spent the last year, and you kept that a secret. You never told me anything about how you died or this huge thing for over a year. I’ve told you everything.”

Your lips parted to respond, but the door was already slamming behind Wally on his descent back into the building. His long legs eating up half the stairwell by the time you’d opened the door.

“Wally! Wally, wait!” You shouted, sprinting down the stairs, “I swear I was going to tell you!”

The expression on his face was enough to freeze you on the last step, “Don’t you have another place to haunt.”

Your mouth dropped open, watching him disappear in the sea of living students still on school grounds. Your eyes find the blue irises of Maddie Nears. Surprise lighting up in her gaze. Your expression twisted before turning on your heel to flee the area.

The last thing you wanted was to talk with the girl you were assigned to show around on her first day. Stupid school tradition pairing a senior with a freshman.

“Hey!”

Maddie popped around the corner to a dead end where you were nowhere to be found. Instead, you’d slipped into a space where you popped up in a different area of Split River with a sheer scream at the pain.

The fight with Wally kept you from returning to the school grounds. You didn’t know a particular ghost was spending hours on the roof anxiously waiting for you. Instead, you were watching your half-sister playing with her Barbie doll in the backyard of your childhood home.

Your arms tugged your legs to your chest. You rarely visited your family home since you watched the paramedics had arrived at 3am four years ago to remove your corpse from the house.

“Ava!”

Your head watched the little girl with piggy tails perk up, hearing your shared father’s voice. Your eyes take in the person you miss most in the world. It always hurt seeing the dimness your death had caused in his eyes.

The streaks of grey in his hair and beard showed the grief of losing you had caused. The guilt he barely masked from your sister.

“Daddy!” Ava beamed, diving into his arms, “Are we taking Sissy flowers?”

Your lip quivered, hearing the adoration coating each word Ava spoke with that lisp. Speech therapy and growing up making the lisp less pronounced. Ava had barely been two when you died.

The product of your father finding love again with a wonderful person who loved you and happily stepped into a parent role. You’d lucked out with getting a really great step-parent and a half-sister but a shitty hand for health.

“Absolutely. Do you think Sissy would like daisies this time?” Your grin grew, listening to Ava burst into excitement.

You watched as the car disappeared around the corner before entering the house. Your room barely had any dust from Riley’s insistence on keeping it clean. Sometimes Ava would toddle in with a toy and curl in your bed to sleep.

Your clothing is still hung in the closet, your computer on your desk and all your pictures on the corkboard. Your phone was already safely tucked in your pocket with the charging cord in your backpack from the first visit back to the house.

The last time you visited your home was Ava’s birthday a few months ago. Long enough, the air freshener in your room had changed to the scent you loved during springtime. So it was time to rotate out a few items of clothing you wore.

Your eyes lingered on the picture of your volleyball team wearing matching homemade t-shirts. A year after you died, they got together for a volleyball charity event in your name. Last you heard, two of them had become nurses, and one was on the career path to research your condition.

The following photo was of your mom holding you in her arms with a beaming grin matching yours. You hoped the move to Hawaii brought that smile back. You hoped Matthew was everything she deserved. You hoped she learnt how to live life again.

“I miss you.” You murmured, pressing your fingers against her smiling face.

The tears obscured your vision and the pacing form of your boyfriend when you opened the rooftop door. Your breathing gasping when his arms wrapped tight around your body.

“I am so sorry.” Wally mumbled in the crook of your neck, “Where were you? I’ve been up here for the last three days.”

“I went home.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his chest, “I-I don’t leave often. It hurts when I leave a place I died, like the universe or some bullshit forgets this isn’t the only place I died. So it’s like I’m gonna be spit out back in my death place here before I’m in my destination.”

You barely noticed when Wally tugged you to sit in the same spot he first met and talked to you. The roof’s gravel gives the feeling of digging in your jeans; you gave up trying to explain the metaphysical world a year after your death. Instead, Wally listened as you opened up the pieces of yourself you had kept to yourself.

“I was born healthy and lived healthily for a few years before I started getting sick. It broke my parents’ hearts. By the time I was sixteen, I had spent half my life in hospitals and doctors’ offices. Promises of working treatments and possibly experimental trials.” Your gaze stared off into the distance, “It was just noise by the time I graduated. I knew my body had a couple more miles before it would give out.”

“How are you….”

“I collapsed in the gym. I was clinically dead for a minute, but it was enough for this school to be a death destination. The mall once, the hospital twice, and the talk of transplants came around. Finally, I died in my backyard. It was late, and I was alone outside.”

You vividly remembered screaming beside your corpse. Sobbing when you heard your dad break down, cradling you in his arms. Him calling you your childhood nickname and the one you heard in home videos of ‘baby girl’.

“That’s why you love the roof so much. You died watching the stars.” Wally whispered, tilting his head to kiss your temple. His fingers toying with the sweater with the volleyball team logo.

“I did.” You chuckled, “I have a little sister named Ava. She’s five now. She has minimal memories of me, but her favourite thing is bringing flowers to my grave. This past visit was daisies. My dad remarried when I was in middle school, and my mom a couple years before I died.”

“Your parents still live in Split River?”

“My dad and Riley live in my childhood home with Ava. I think they’re talking about maybe having another baby. My mom took my death the worst. Her older brother died in 1995 with his band members. My mom moved to Hawaii with her husband. Split River had too many memories for her. So when Matt was offered a job there, they left.”

“Ava.” Wally hummed, “I like that name.”

“Maddie knew me.” You offered after laying with Wally for a while in comfortable silence. His fingers draw shapes on your bare back under the sweater. His fingers briefly halted before moving again, “When you were alive, did Split River do this thing where a senior was paired with a freshman?”

“Oh yeah. I got paired up with this insanely smart guy. He went on to found this hugely popular website like that Facebook you showed me.”

“Myspace? You got paired with one of the founders?” You spoke, blinking at his grin, “Well, when I was a senior, I got paired with Maddie. Before her dad died, he worked with mine. So, I knew her at work BBQs.”

“Speaking about Maddie…do you want to re-meet her and meet my friends?”

Your eyes narrowed, “This is dues for keeping the secret.”

“Oh, 100%. Secret stays between us, but yeah, you’re definitely meeting my friends. You should check out the support group, Mr. M isn't too bad.”

Tag List:

@websterssrss

#wally clark x reader #wally clark imagines #school spirits imagines #milo manheim #school spirits 2023 #caitsy and ash productions

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audhd-nightwing · 1 month

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the eldritch Guardians of gotham notice batman when he first emerges- they see how he protects their city, so they gift him the abilities of a bat: wings, night vision, enhanced senses, fangs

bruce wayne becomes a shut-in after his parents die. then he travels the world only to come back the same old shut-in. he works from home, and doesn’t leave the manor. every window is covered. only lucius fox and alfred pennyworth ever enter or leave the house

one night the bat follows sirens to a circus tent, and he watches as a young boy is escorted out, crying for his parents. the next day alfred pennyworth shows up at gotham’s social services and requests to become a foster parent. a month later (money might speed the process along) dick grayson is out of juvie and the orphanage and into the safety of wayne manor

bruce tries to hide his wings when the boy arrives, but dick is fascinated by them and thinks they’re “awesome”. bruce explains how he got them, and that he is batman.

later, when batman gains a partner- robin- the Guardians of gotham bless the boy with gifts similar to his mentor: robin wings, enhanced senses, and nails that sharpen into talons

dick grayson becomes a shut-in like bruce, and is home-schooled by alfred. he doesn’t mind, he didn’t have friends his age in the circus either, and alfred and bruce are good company. bruce does let him get pets, though, a three-legged puppy he names Haley and a bloodhound named Ace

when he grows out of robin and away from gotham, the Guardians give him different wings (steller’s jay) to show they support his independence. he lives at titans tower for a while before moving to blüdhaven with his best friend donna troy. dick remains a shut-in, but takes online college courses and goes out often as a new hero- nightwing. he goes out in the mask during the day, something he never did in gotham, and spends most of his time as nightwing- not that he minds. (troia is only his nighttime vigilante partner since donna has an actual day job)

the cycle repeats with jason. however, when jason claws his way out of his grave, the Guardians guide him back to the manor where bruce finds him. when it seems like jason may never recover from his comatose state, the Guardians show bruce a lazarus pit beneath gotham, and despite his hesitation they assure him no harm will come to jason if they have a say in it

jason is revived without the nasty side effects (thanks, eldritch beings) and dick moves back to gotham. jason also leaves robin behind for a different name- red hood- and is gifted new wings (cardinal). in this au the bats & birds are more morally grey and will kill people, but only the worst of the worst/repeat offenders. jason still becomes a crime lord but he only kills when necessary and has no pit madness.

dick and jason notice their young neighbor tim drake is often home alone/without his parents and convince bruce to let him in on their secret and have him stay over at the manor. bruce eventually agrees and they later adopt tim. tim never becomes robin but he does know about their vigilante identities (og way- recognized dick as robin and connected the dots).

tim will help out on comms and basically this au’s Oracle. babs does not become a vigilante in this, instead she becomes a lawyer, but she is still paralyzed by the joker as a civilian (pre-jason’s death, bc bruce kills the joker after that)

steph works with the bats as Spoiler, and is eventually let it on their identities. she and tim bond over being the only ‘normal’ ones

when cass comes along, she is gifted the same powers as bruce, including bat wings. she goes by Black Bat and mostly communicates using sign language

bruce is never lost in time and damian eventually arrives in gotham. damian is given robin and the gifts that accompany it

since duke already has powers, the Guardians don’t give him any, but they protect him as their own

JUST. CRYPTID BATFAMILY <3

#my au #batfam cryptid au #but like my take on it #batfamily #my writing #batfam au #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batman #batman comics #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #damian wayne #duke thomas #might do some character design sheets for this

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scribblingapparition · 1 year

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El Dios de la Brisa (K'uk'ulkan x reader) (1)

Summary: You are a passionate Marine Biologist who has lived in the Yucatan Peninsula for some time now. An accepted and welcomed member of the local village, you've been working through the heartache of losing your mentor and friend. You were not prepared for how your life would change and the discoveries you would make.

[Word count: 5,654]

. . .

There were many aspects of your profession that you adored.

You loved the time you spent doing fieldwork, gathering information about the diverse wildlife that inhabited the oceans and letting hours pass you by while you swim among them. You loved aiding in the restoration of habitats and looking at problems from all the different perspectives brilliant minds brought to the table to find solutions. You adored rehabilitating injured animals and felt a great sense of accomplishment and pride each time you released an animal back into the water where it belonged.

All of that is your driving force behind wanting to make a difference and take responsibility for the planet we all share and have to take care of.

There were threats to that passion.

Phone calls.

“The funding that your mentor left you won’t last an eternity. Listen, I know you are grieving her loss. We all are. But you need to stop finding excuses to push aside the real work that needs to be done elsewhere. Your technique of lab grown coral has completely revived the coral reefs in Culebra. You really impressed everyone in Puerto Rico with that. We need you here.” Enrique sighed, you could hear him shuffling papers as he spoke. “You’ve taken all her things back to her family and gotten a look at what she was working on in Yucatán. It’s time to move on.”

“It’s really nice of you to call in every week to repeat the same thing. Really keeps the conversation interesting.”

“You always have to take things the wrong way.”

“I’m not taking anything any sort of way. I’ve already told you, there’s something interesting here that’s got my attention and I have no intention of leaving until I’ve understood as much as I can. Funding or not, I’ll figure it out. I always do. Like I did before her, alright? So, thank you for the call but I don’t need you worrying about me. You or anyone.”

You didn’t enjoy being the sort of person that spoke to others like that but it’s what they brought out of you. You came from nothing and you had no one. Everything you had ever earned in your life you achieved through hard work and perseverance. You put yourself through school, through college, and with no help from anyone you managed to be taken under the wing of one of the world’s most brilliant marine biologists: Altagracia Alvarez-Delgado.

Paralleled stories and a common goal had united the two of you and together a real change happened in the world of ocean conversation. Your mentor had a way of inspiring crowds with her mastery in storytelling and she could create empathy in the hearts of others that got them to care – to truly want to join the cause of being responsible, intelligent, beings that could change the planet for the better. For everyone.

You had never admired anyone more. You never took a moment for granted, you never took her advice for granted, and you never took the many lessons you learned through her grace and humility for granted. You don’t experience loss when you don’t have anyone; her unexpected death sent you through a downward spiral you could not have predicted. It was in her honor that you traveled to her village to deliver the news of her passing and the last of her belongings. Her family had welcomed you, encouraged you to take up residence in her old cabin across the bay from the pyramid and gave you advice on how to find peace and comfort when you felt like you would never have it again.

It had never been in your plans to stay.

Now you couldn’t seem to leave.

You were naturally a curious person, always were. The draw to the sea called out to you like the hypnotizing melodies of a siren song. It didn’t matter if you never truly had a home because as long as you were by the ocean and allowed to get lost underneath its waves you would feel at home. There was something about the bay that called out to a part of you that was in tune enough to listen.

The first couple of months of living among the villagers you had taken to conduct undisturbed research of the area. Multiple times a day, Ines Delgado (your mentor’s mother), would spot your pack resting in the same place it always was in the shore line while you dove to the depths with your gear to spend time around the reefs and exploring the extensive cave systems. Each time you shared your discoveries with her over coffee.

There is one thing you could not get over.

“Ines, sinceramente, he viajado por el mundo y he visto todo tipo de ecosistemas y hábitats. Con la forma que están los océanos ahora, muchos de ellos están en diferentes estados de sufrimiento, pero estos…los que veo aquí son casi perfectos.” You had told her both in a state of disbelief and admiration, knowing that whatever your mentor had started here was working incredibly well. “Lo que su hija ha comenzado aquí es brillante. Ella es brillante.”

(Ines, sincerely, I have traveled around the world and I have seen all types of ecosystems and habitats. With the way the oceans are now, a lot of the ones I have seen have been in different states of suffering, but these…the ones I have seen here are almost perfect. What your daughter started here is brilliant. She is brilliant.)

Shaking her head, her hands trembled slightly due to her age as she brought the cup to her lips to drink. “Es la protección de el que la ha guardado.”

(It is all due to his protection, that has kept it safe.)

“Quien es el?”

(Who is he?)

“K'uk'ulkan. La serpiente emplumada existe. Lo he visto. Inspiro miedo en mi, cuando lo vi. Estaba vestido en trueno y oro, plumas y perlas. Alas en sus pies y rabia en sus ojos. Espero que nunca lo tenga que ver otra vez. Mi niña, tienes que tener cuidado por dónde exploras cuando estás debajo de esas olas. Rara vez estás sola. Nada existe en el océano que la serpiente no permita.”

(K'uk'ulkan. The feathered serpent exists. I’ve seen him. He inspired fear in me, when I saw him. He was dressed in thunder and gold, feathers and pearls. With wings on his feet and rage in his eyes. I hope to never have to see him again. My girl, you must be careful where you explore when you are underneath the waves. Rarely are you alone. Nothing exists in the ocean that the serpent does not allow.)

You promised Ines you would be careful. In a world where aliens can snap their fingers and change the course of life in the universe it never hurts to be aware and respectful of the myths and the gods others believed in for you never know what you might encounter. You had smiled and taken her hand in yours when the words left your mouth and a promise to be extra careful was made.

☀

It did feel as if you were breaking that promise now as you left behind your phone, not wanting to answer any more annoying phone calls, grabbed your pack and gear and headed up the trail to the base of the pyramid.

There was no escaping the heat.

It was simply impossible.

There was little solace to find in the shade provided by the thick foliage of the trees and the ocean breeze did manage to move leaves in gentle sways enough to reach you but your prayers to Kinich Ahau sadly went unanswered as the heat of the sun did not lessen. There were guided tours around the pyramid during the busy seasons where tourists invaded the peninsula in hopes of seeing, but never truly appreciating, the history that can be found in this land. One of the guides had befriended you and had mentioned a cave opening surrounded by an arch of hieroglyphics that housed the clearest water in the area.

It was believed to be a gateway to an ancient city forged in the depths of the ocean where the sunlight could not reach and many who still believed in the ancient gods left offerings for K'uk'ulkan.

Not only that but there were said to be schools of fish that pulsed light like eye catching signals that were rumored to be found deeper within the system. It had been mentioned a while ago and you had always had it in the back of your mind to see if you could spot and observe the fish.

What better time to do it than after a call reminding you that you might have to leave this paradise behind soon because of funding, of all things?

It had taken some time to reach your destination as it was not a well traveled path. Making sure you were hydrated and ready to go, you began to suit up. Your diving ensemble was state of the art. The suit itself worked wonders for helping you camouflage to your surroundings allowing you for the best sights of the marine life that happily swam around you after they got used to your presence. You didn’t have to wear a heavy tank that limited your time in the water thanks to the mask your mentor’s genius friend had invented and the fins you swam with actually worked pretty well when you were in a hurry.

Making sure your pack was hidden away in case someone else decided to explore the area, you carefully stepped into the water. The mask you wore covered your face entirely allowing you the luxury of not having to let your eyes adjust to the water. You did close your eyes for a moment, however, to take in how amazing it felt to be completely submerged.

This was home.

You were beneath a pyramid that was built somewhere along the 3rd and 9th AD by a powerful and rich civilization, miles away from where others would consider your actual home, sinking into an unknown darkness without any fear of what might be waiting for you. So many others would not find this particular situation comforting at all but you did.

The water called to you.

Like the soothing song.

This was home.

“Mi niña, tienes que tener cuidado por dónde exploras cuando estás debajo de esas olas. Rara vez estás sola. Nada existe en el océano que la serpiente no permita.”

(My girl, you must be careful where you explore when you are underneath the waves. Rarely are you alone. Nothing exists in the ocean that the serpent does not allow.)

Detaching the flashlight strapped to your thigh, you brought it up to shine at the cavern walls. You had been swimming for some time now, alone in the darkness, and though you had encountered some animals none of them were the glowing fish the tour guide had mentioned. What you had found, however, were intricate hieroglyphics that seemed almost untouched by time. Your eyes widened as you took in the absolute artistry in front of you.

How had they not been eroded by the currents after centuries?

You touched them and allowed your fingers to trace through the creases of the smoothly carved images. Had these been above water at some point? What did they mean? You could only make out a few images. Pushing back to get a wider view and moving your hair so nothing obstructed your vision, you listened to the sound of your own breathing as you moved the light further down; eyes eagerly searching for new wonders when suddenly your breath caught in your throat.

Eyes. You had seen eyes staring up at you and the moment your light hit them, whatever it was moved out of the way quickly. They weren’t the eyes of a fish, it looked human, it looked like a person.

You immediately moved your light all around you, twisting to see if you could catch a glimpse of what had run away from you. You had felt the water move and push against you as whatever it was swam away but it was back to nothing. It was just you in the darkness and the sound of your racing heart but you were no longer fooled. You were not alone.

Years of diving experience have made you become extremely well aware of your surroundings. You had to be when you spend as much time as you do in the ocean where the animals that lived there have evolved over millions of years to perfectly exist within the places you were not fully equipped to be in. That’s why you weren’t shrugging off what you saw as a figment of your imagination or a construct of your mind adjusting to the dark.

You saw a man. The eyes of a man.

And now you were seemingly alone but there was something there, something in the quiet shadows and you could all but feel his gaze.

Movement came from underneath you and into the path of your flashlight calmly wandered a nurse shark. Large, brown, and gentle; most definitely a nurse shark. Your brain began to give you facts about how many different species of sharks are cave dwellers and how nurse sharks are most definitely one of many different kinds found in the peninsula. You tried to calm your breathing to the almost lazy movements of the animal before you who was not frightened at all. It was home, it felt safe.

Yet you could not just simply calm your mind enough not to worry.

There it was again. You could feel something beneath you. Remaining calm, you closed your eyes as tightly as you could, reminding yourself of so many different situations you had been in where the danger level had been much higher and never had you felt this much fear. Never once had you feared even the biggest ocean creature but a man, this man…

You pointed your flashlight beneath you.

Below, curling up ready to attack, was a giant serpent.

Its tongue extended past its wide open jaw and around the head sharp triangle-like spikes circled around it in layers like a lion’s mane. The light only reached so far but it was clear that it was posed in action and ready to devour you whole.

K'uk'ulkan

Fear moved you before your mind could rationalize the giant feathered serpent to be nothing but a statue. You had never complained about the quality of the swimming fins you wore but quickly kicking your feet to get away from your perceived threat, you had moved too quickly right into a protruding hieroglyph that smashed into the shield protecting your face, your mask. You didn’t think that you hit it hard enough to crack but water began leaking into your mark by your eye, causing you to move both hands quickly to try and stop it. Your flashlight drops into the darkness. You cannot believe how unprofessionally you are acting and how stupid your decisions have been when you know better. She taught you to know better.

The water was now gathering beneath your chin. Your body was pressed against the cave wall, one hand trying to cover the crack in your mask while the other maneuvered around your bags around your waist to find something to fill the crack. Your hair bunched in front of you as you moved and during that movement something that went down to the cave floor and retrieved your flashlight.

You bet it wasn’t the nurse shark as the light turned off and the darkness did what the serpent wanted to do.

It swallowed you whole.

You centered yourself as much as you could and the water stopped as it reached your lips thanks to the plaster you had which you securely placed on top of the damaged part of your mask. It was not a permanent fix and you needed to get out of the caves. Now. Your heart was racing and you could feel your hand trembling as you gripped another flashlight from where they were strapped to your thigh but before you could turn it on strong hands grabbed your own and pulled you forward.

Instinctively, you thrashed against their hold hoping to escape but it felt like trying to pull your arms away from steel. You were pulled forward again and in the darkness your hands reached out and you felt…were those beads? A necklace? A chest? There wasn’t much time to determine what anything was before you were pulled further into the darkness. Whatever had you moved with the ease of an eel and the strength of a shark. It was disorienting being pushed around in total darkness with the water inside your mask splashing around, making you cough it out when your hazardous breathing accidentally made you swallow some of it. You could do nothing but let yourself be led.

You should’ve listened more carefully to Ines.

It felt like an eternity later but eventually you saw light. This cave you did not recognize but that mattered little as you were released and you began swimming towards the surface. You must be somewhere close to the surface as it seemed to be more than an air pocket where you were in. In the center was a platform, a perfect circle made out of stone that sat above the water and you gripped onto the edge with all your might ignoring the pain as you raised yourself onto it.

Your mask was the first thing to be removed as you moved to the center of the circle, coughing up water and breathing lungfuls of air. You were greedy after almost being sure breathing air was something that would never happen again. On your back, eyes facing the stalagmites reaching down towards you from the cave’s ceiling, feet still protected by the fins, and mask discarded next to you. You counted yourself lucky to be alive.

You had said it in your call to Enrique what seemed like forever ago even though it was just that very day. There was something about this place that refused to let you leave and your need to discover it, to understand it, had almost landed you a watery grave in the place you felt most at home.

Turning yourself onto your stomach, your wrists hurt where you had been grabbed and dragged through the water. Whatever it was, whatever that humanoid was, had the strength of a killer whale. You sat up and looked into the water. There was nothing there at first but then out of the water emerged a king.

You didn’t know who he was, what he was, but instinctively deep down you knew you were in the presence of something ancient, something above a human. It was like the water both clinged to him and helped him rise; a pure display of power just right there before your eyes. His hair was darker than the shadows of the caves, his neck adorned with gold and pearls, his eyes contained the rage of a summer storm, and on his feet…wings.

Fluttering white wings.

It can’t be…

He spoke in Yucatec Maya that much you were sure of. The pronunciation and formation of the words you were familiar with as the locals had tried to teach you one several occasions. It was too fast for your less than basic knowledge to pick out any words you knew but you did not need to be fluent in his language to understand that what he was saying certainly wasn’t good.

Then he surprised you.

“You have wandered around my home as if it belonged to you.” The anger in his voice was palpable yet he remained right where he rose from the water. “For many months, you pushed past the boundaries set in place and ignored the warnings to satisfy your own greed. My people have kept a close watch on you. You have trespassed for the last time, surface-dweller. What do you say for yourself?”

“I…” You struggled to find words, any words, in the presence of his might and fury. It may have been the incredible situation that you were in that made your mind override the need for survival with boundless curiosity and amazement. It was the only explanation you could think of for the way you sat up to look directly at him while your mind went wild processing and connecting what you now had knowledge on.

“It’s you. You’re…him. She was right. They were right! They truly had seen you. But the stories span hundreds of years, that must mean you’ve been alive for quite some time! A-and the reefs, the fish, they’re in abundance here. A thriving healthy community amidst so many disasters. If your people were watching me then-it was their work! I knew it! There was no way everything could be that pristine with the level of tourism, even with the help of the locals. It’s unfortunate to say that but it-it makes sense, you-”

He roared in Maya t’aan; though you may not have understood him exactly, you did understand context and his call for silence as his patience diminished. The cavern walls amplified his distaste as he stepped onto the stone circle before you. You bowed your head in fear of looking into his eyes again and kept your hands close to you in an attempt to stop them from trembling.

“My name is (Y/N) (L/N). I am a marine biologist and I never once intended to trespass into your territory. I have dedicated myself, my life, to the betterment of the oceans.” You explained through a shaky voice as he neared you, eyes firmly placed on the stone before you. “I may have wandered too close to places I should not have been at but I swear to you I meant no harm. Not to you, your people, or any creatures I may have encountered. Meent' uts, K'uk'ulkan.”

((Please, K'uk'ulkan.))

It felt to you as if an eternity had passed in the quiet that followed.

He wasn’t unaware of the state of the surface world. To be prepared for your enemy meant keeping yourself knowledgeable on their movements, their advances, their whispers. The reports he had gotten from his Talokanil is that you had an understanding of the oceans in ways they had not seen other surface dwellers have before. The ocean creatures calmed in your presence, almost welcoming it, seeking you out when you entered their home. You did not seem hostile or aware at all of their existence yet you chose to explore many of the routes created to lead to Talokan. You could never reach it. Not with your mask and suit that would do nothing to protect you from the pressure of the deep or the frigid temperature.

Your good deeds preceded you and just as your curiosity led you, unknowingly, to them it was his curiosity to meet the one his scouts spoke of that had led him to you.

“I have many names. My people call me K'uk'ulkan, but my enemies call me Namor.” He spoke with a deadly tone, causing your eyes to close as your mind jumped to the worst. “You have caught my attention as many surface dwellers have not. You are not welcomed in these waters and it will do you well to remember my words. Nothing roams my oceans, close to my people, without my permission and you do not have it.”

☀

There were many aspects of your profession that you adored.

Phone calls serving as reminders that your funding was running out was not one of them.

Being banished from the place you most loved by an ancient feathered serpent god was not one of them.

It had been a full moon cycle since that fateful encounter and you had taken a lot of that time to think about what the future held for you. It was difficult ignoring the call of the sea but that time had been spent being more involved with the village and carefully listening to all of the parts of their culture they chose to share with you. There were those that believed and those that did not heed the tales of the elders. You did your best to remain neutral but interested.

He had disappeared into the water after forbidding you from telling anyone of his existence and of what you had now come to know. Your mask had also mysteriously vanished. You had made it back to your cabin by the time the sun dived deep beneath the waves and for the rest of that night you could not sleep.

“Estos turistas! ¡No tienen respeto por nadie ni por nada!”

((These tourists! They don't have respect for anyone or anything!))

That’s how you had been woken up by a young boy named Mateo that you had befriended during your time in the village. He told you that there had been a big boat, painted in bright colors, that had been rented by some tourists a couple of times over; the boat was filled with men disturbing the wildlife and the boy had seen them wrestling a sea turtle out of the water. Mateo had shouted at them to stop from the shore but that did nothing as they did not listen.

The wind blew your hair behind you as you steered your boat in the direction of where the boy had seen the turtle go after it had been thrown back into the water. They’re fast swimmers and with only the light of the moon it would be a miracle if you spotted the injured animal but you had to try.

You were around the area of where the boat had last been seen by Mateo and looking back at the bay, you had moved farther away than they had been by a lot. But this is where your heart had guided you and you never doubted your instincts. You prepped the boat and lowered the anchor, quickly working on lifting the heavy ramp off the side of your little vessel preparing to have to lift a decent sized sea turtle. The bay was the home to many beautiful green sea turtles and though they were stunning, they were large heavy animals. Usually a rescue like this would be done by a team but it was just you.

You in the middle of the pitch black ocean you were told you weren’t welcomed in.

You were steady as the boat rocked and you held onto the railing of the steps leading down as you looked all around you and placed your hand in the water. This world had many living in it with special abilities forced to be kept secret for their safety. You did not believe you had any. You were sure there was nothing special about you until your early days on the field proved you wrong. You couldn’t communicate with sea animals but they did seem to come to you when they needed help.

Too many things happened that had no real good explanation for you to brush them off as coincidences.

The ocean was a completely different world from the one you lived on, now more than ever you were aware of that fact. Regardless of what you believed was real or not, you knew you could not go searching for the injured one so you closed your eyes, gripping onto the side latter until your knuckles hurt, and called out to the animal.

You felt ridiculous.

You weren’t special.

It wasn’t going to work.

Moments passed with no result and you had to fight the urge to just jump in the water, knowing the search would not be fruitful without your equipment. Your eyes watered and you scoffed at yourself becoming emotional. It had not been easy spending a month away from your research, away from laughing underneath the waves as fish darted around you and intelligent little octopi tried to steal your stuff. Just as it had not been easy to lose the one person who understood your need to be in the water.

A head with large eyes and hexagonal shaped markings popped out from the dark and soon the entire body came with it. The shell had been cracked, almost cut into. It wasn’t unheard of for tourists to try to remove the shells off the turtles to keep them as souvenirs and it angered you that it had even been attempted.

Your gasp of surprise quickly became gentle words of encouragement.

“Hi, beautiful, hello. It’s okay. It’s okay. You found me and I’m going to help you, okay? You’re a big girl aren’t you? I gotcha, beautiful. You’re so smart, all turtles are. I’m going to take care of you, let me just-” You had turned to face the deck and yelled.

K'uk'ulkan stood on the deck of your boat. Water rolled off his body and the moon silhouetted his imposing figure, allowing the pearls around his neck to glow on their own. The wings on his feet shook the moisture off of themselves and in his hand he held a scepter (or was it a spear, there wasn’t much light) crafted of gold and jade.

“You scared me! I didn’t even hear you-wait, your majesty, wait! I didn’t go back on my word. I need your help. Please.” You pleaded while frozen to your spot on the stern. “She’s hurt. She came to me for help. I can’t lift her onto the ramp and then onto the boat alone but if you could help me. Not for me. For her. Meent' uts, K'uk'ulkan.”

You had said it again. You had begged the god the same way you had done in that cave.

For the second time he was inexplicably moved to spare you.

The green sea turtle was young and healthy, you estimated around 200 to 250 lbs just by her sheer size. He showed absolutely no difficulty lifting up and placing the animal in the containment tub.

“I kept my word, you know.” You said as you quickly moved to grab a flashlight to inspect the shell. “I didn’t step into the water once. But this is my job, what I’m passionate about. I can’t just sit back and stay inside my cabin knowing there’s someone out here that needs me. If this gets me killed, so be it. Just let me make sure she gets treatment, an open shell like this is dangerous. I don’t want an infection to set in.”

You lost yourself in your work. Quickly diagnosing what you could without your equipment, writing it all down, and making preparations to get back to the cabin and contact the right people before you noticed that he was still there; watching your every move as you made it, concealing whatever he felt behind the strong confident body language of a god.

“You are different.” His head tilted to the side as he allowed himself to see you, to truly see you. “Her pain is soothed by your touch and you called out to her in the water. I saw you. How?”

“No, I didn’t do that. I was just, um, trying something. It’s a coincidence.”

“How did you know where to guide your boat in the darkness?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve got good instincts. I have to take her back to land and call the closest rehab facility. Will you allow me that much?” You asked, not wanting to rush him and ask the deity that may or may not decide to end your life to leave so you could get the turtle to safety as quickly as possible.

He bowed his head in agreement and you did your best not to sigh in relief right in front of him. It was left unsaid but it was understood and this would not be your last encounter and that it would not be the last time the conversation was brought up. You didn’t think about that now, or you tried not to at least, as you started bringing in the ramp and calling up the anchor to start your return to shore.

You had a job to do.

The god’s sentencing would have to wait.

☀

You had caught the attention of a god unlike any on the surface world had before.

There were no early signs of how much your life would change in the simple refusal of leaving the place you were slowly carving out a home after a lifetime of denying yourself one. The things you wished you could change were how you had gotten there; you would do anything to bring back your mentor. The past could not be changed but the future could be forged into whatever you desired.

There were so many stories to tell of how you got to where you are and you intended to share them. It’s been a long journey to get here.

To your boat sitting alone in the middle of dark waters, welcomed, with moonlight shining overhead.

With you sitting on the stern, hand in the water, calling out to the depths to the king that had stolen your heart as if it had always been meant for him.

It always took a moment and you could not see into the inky black waves but you could feel him approaching and your heart melted when a hand took yours within the water and laced your fingers together.

“You came.” You smiled, using your other hand to move his hair away from those eyes you loved so much.

“I always will when you are the one calling. Join me. I have much to show you.”

☀

((A/N: I'm excited to be actually inspired to write for the first in so many years! This is part one of many one shots that won't be tied to each other so they can be read in any order! If you got to this point and you want to talk about the movie, I'm just one message away! L'iik'ik Talokan!))

#namor #namor x reader #namor x you #black panther wakanda forever #mcu fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #L'iik'ik Talokan #namor x y/n #tenoch huerta #El Dios de la Brisa

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thosewildcharms · 1 month

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i'll be thinking about 1x04 for the rest of my life probably, but currently i'm thinking about how genius it was that instead of the episode being about convincing rick to fight the CRM, as I originally thought it would be, it ended up being a battle to bring rick himself back to life. it's both rick and michonne fighting to revive a dead man who is doing anything he can to stay dead.

the show had already established that rick metaphorically killed himself and made okafor's mission his own instead of committing suicide and that from the moment she arrived he went into panic mode and was doing everything he could do put himself between her and the many threats aimed at her. like, we knew all of that going in.

and then this episode blows that wide open in the first, what, ten minutes? the CRM thinks they're dead. they can leave. and still, rick clings to okafor's mission. and in the hands of lesser writers, in the hands of any other production team who did not understand these characters as profoundly as danai and andy understand them, that's where it would have ended. rick would have genuinely been fully brainwashed and have been coming from a place of misplaced egotism, and they'd be having a very different fight. it would be rick insisting he had to fight the crm alone and michonne arguing that they can fight them together with nothing deeper than that going on.

but of course that's not it, because that's not rick grimes, and this is danai gurira's pen. he's not brainwashed, he's broken. he's so deeply and profoundly traumatized that clinging to this mission as a way of maintaining his own metaphorical death has become the last and strongest wall of his self-defense mechanism. and he spends the whole episode desperately trying to keep that wall up, and failing.

when he sees michonne's scar, he immediately looks for the PRB. because the physical proof of how much danger she will always be in reminds him of how much he can no longer bear to witness it. when michonne tells him about RJ, he asks her to give him the PRB and when he learns that RJ calls himself Little Brave Man, he doubles down on okafor's plan. because he can never lose another child (the way he lost carl twice) if he never knows or meets him in the first place. when michonne blows up about how scared and guilty she feels about not being with their kids he goes completely cold and blank and tells her to go back home. because if they're all out of sight and together they'll always be alive in his mind. because he's already dead, but they don't have to be. he becomes truly recognizable to michonne, to remain unmoved in the face of her pain like that.

and yet. he lasts about ten seconds before sprinting after when she leaves the room. he fusses over her when she can't stop coughing and refuses to leave her side when she's in danger. several times michonne checks in, to see if her rick is still there ("do you still love me?" "I just needed to hear you say it") and confirms that yes, he is. he's emphatic that he has never stopped loving her and never will, that she never has to thank him ever, for saving her life or for anything else. over and over, his love for her wins out even though he's trying so hard to keep that wall up. to remain dead so she will leave and keep living. he's trying to convince both her and himself that he's already gone, but always breaks at the last minute because the immediacy of seeing her right in front of him is more powerful than his own fear. tries to shut himself down, can't resist her, rinse and repeat.

and god, michonne. i've been yammering about the intensity of rick's love for michonne for weeks now, but michonne has done nothing but prove that she's right there with him, if not more. to reveal that rick is the only person who has ever made her feel safe, only to have him continually reject her and be a stone wall against her anger and pain and fear and confusion was so fucking heartbreaking to watch, and still she spends the whole episode banging and scratching and tearing at that wall around him, begging to understand why he's lying to her, why he's being so antithetical to the man she loves. and once she figures out that there's something else going on, that the rick she loves is undoubtedly still in there, she knows exactly what to do to save him. she forces him to say how much he loves her, how much he can't bear to actually let her leave him, so both of them can hear it and then reminds him of how he loves her. this woman spent a decade alone, afraid, raising their kids and facing horrible trauma herself, almost dies trying to find her husband only to meet a stranger once she does, and still does not give up on him. fucking incredible.

i said in a previous post that the only thing that could keep rick grimes from doing anything to get back to his family is a threat to their lives. and it's still true - his grief and trauma is so profound that even the nebulous threat of losing them is so horrifically terrifying to him that he's refusing to go home to them, keeping himself dead to protect himself from their possible deaths. but ultimately, michonne's love for him is even stronger than that. it took almost a decade for the CRM to break him, and michonne brings him back in a day. because the love they have for each other is more powerful than anything. as she says, it can't be denied.

it's honestly the most romantic hour of television i've ever watched. there's so much more that i can say that i haven't even touched on here, and i'm sure i'll be thinking about it for a very long time.

#richonne #the ones who live #i think it goes without saying that danai and andy's performances are fucking insane as well.#twd

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ghosts-and-glory · 3 months

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Gonna be honest, no idea what that last asker was talking about when they said Narinder deserved purgatory more. The guy is messed up, don't get me wrong, but the sheep genocide was completely out of his control. There isn't even any evidence that he got locked up for anything other than inventing a way to revive followers!

Narinder is much more palatable than the bishops and the fandom tends to forget that making him pissy/angry all the time is actually pretty ooc (ESPECIALLY considering the time it took between updates). He liked you as a god, he was mad for a while as a follower, AND THEN HE SAID HE RESPECTED YOU AS A GOD BEFORE YOU EVEN FULLY FINISHED HIS QUEST LINE!

Tldr; Narinder isn't as bad as the bishops, torture is cringe unless it's character building :)

That cat spent a thousand years being punished, let him rest. He’s been punished for his betrayal, a thousand years of it. During the game his crime is trying to escape a prison that he would never be allowed out of. He’s given no opportunity to reform, no time to rest and no end in sight.

I do enjoy it when follower Narinder is a bitch, I just want him to be mean to me is that too much to ask?

I’m a chronic adhd rambler and I hate scrolling by long posts. More thoughts on Narinder under the cut.

I do think this bit of dialogue is telling.

If you resurrect he seems to imply that resurrection is what started him towards his betrayal. He points out specifically that that there are no other gods to stop you from playing with life and death, this action makes him see himself in The Lamb. His reaction to the funeral is more reserved. Maybe he’s disappointed, maybe he feels some level of relief that you wouldn’t repeat his actions, maybe a bit of both.

And there’s his dialogue after his defeat.

I was originally gonna say something about his murder dialogue but I got distracted by how fucked up he is. Narinder, baby, I know you’re the god of death but begging to die is not normal.

But yeah the point that he seems to respect the Lamb’s godhood kinda supports my game theory that the Lamb is more death than Narinder. At the end of his godhood Nari was corrupt, driven by revenge and power. Depending on your actions as the Lamb you are now either walking the same corrupt path as he did, respecting the natural order of life and granting rest, or a bit of both.

I do think its easiest to love Narinder out of all of the npcs in the game. Yeah okay he’s evil in that good tumbly sexler man kinda way but he’s also the character with the most content. He has the most dialogue, you meet with him the most, he’s got the hardest boss battle with unique mechanics. I get why he’s the fan favourite and why people like Narilamb, what gayer than being character foils? Nothing.

He’s my little meow meow and I’m mean to him cause I love him. Mwah.

#my post #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #I want to pick apart these characters so much #spinning nari in my head #Nathan Drawfee said tumbly sexler man and I haven’t been the same since #ask

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damianbugs · 1 year

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dc might not like to address how they've unofficially retconned a lot of jasons original robin run to end up being absolutely classist, but i most certainly will bring it up whenever i can. while this is definitely narrative criticism, it is more of a study, as i am not expecting anyone, readers or dc, to really change how they view the todds.

jason goes from being a rather reserved, kind and genuinely friendly child to an angry and cruel boy who was contemplating murder at some point (batman: urban legends). not to mention willis going from an absent but well meaning man who turned to crime to support his family to now being an abusive father and husband. catherine todd was originally stated to have died from overdose, but was later confirmed in death in the family to pass away from cancer, so while the 'poor addict mother' stereotype still applies, it is more complicated in her case.

it is no surprise that in modern tellings, all three of them represent very realistic forms of poverty. willis the abusive criminal, catherine the addict (her battle with cancer is always noticeably left out) and jason the violent child left to repeat the cycle.

dc simply couldn't allow the todd family to remain poor but an all in all good family (though i am careful to say they were perfect, past or present, since depending how you read him, willis can still be seen as a bad father and horrible husband), and instead had to dramatise negative stereotypes of poor people in order to really perpetuate the existence of jason being the "angry" robin. this mostly comes down to dc perhaps wanting to bury older comics featuring the original characterisation (since the only way to read them is through piracy), and there is no better way to do that than make his current characterisation nothing like his old one, at all.

after all, how else can we ensure readers are aware of how angry, evil and emotionally unstable jason todd is, if not making his life the pinnacle of why poor people are terrible and should not have kids? dc is not trying to hide it at all, it's almost laughable.

while the blatant classism is very clearly the biggest issue, from a storytelling perspective it is also really disappointing. deconstructing catherine and willis todd to their morally reprehensible, abusive and neglectful 2d personalities in modern telling leaves a massive gap is what made jason so personable as robin. personally, i also think it takes away how homelessness and his own poverty seperate from his family might have affected jason's morals and opinions on certain topics — another aspect of his character that is very important but often undeveloped.

especially with jason; making him having always been this quick to rage and violent child/robin takes away the true devastation of his death and subsequent revival. he died an innocent, damaged and complicated but caring boy, and came back vengeful and spiteful. he is a boy who has suffered a lot in life, with a sick mother he had to provide for due to his absent father, who also died due to a life of crime — and yet jason broke free from the cycle and became something more.

he loved to learn, to go to school, to play sports and to help people. he loved being a hero, even when it got tough, and though sometimes it was hard to remember, he always tried to stay on the bright side of things.

it's one of the main reasons bruce is so unable to process and accept his son's return, because to him, the person who came back is not the son he lost. though, that is another conversation entirely.

on the one hand however, i can see why jason's current life story might be more appealing to certain readers (and depending on the work, fanon or canon, it can makes more sense). since now that he's broken out of the cycle of abuse, he can use his strength to protect other vulnerable people. the true 'people's hero' in a way batman and other adjacent vigilantes can not be.

it is just a little regrettable that to fulfill this, he and his family must adhere to classist stereotypes to make it more believable. after all, jason was very much the 'people's robin' even without all the retcons to his character. he has always stood up for people who couldn't do it themselves.

#jason todd #robin ii #batman and robin #red hood #bruce wayne #catherine todd #willis todd #more of a word dump than an actual study #just some thinking #classism #dc #saki comic talks

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 17 days

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Word count: 3200+

Warnings: a bit of violence

Part XVII | Part XIX

You jolted awake, heaving, skin sticky with a cold sweat. Your trembling fingers found the pendant safely hidden under your clothes. It was dream, another nightmare, you thought at first as your sight focused on the light colored chiffon curtains around the bed.

You tried to calm down, inhaling deeply. But it didn't work, panic gripped on your trembling heart that beat too fast. Why it was harder than usual? Your throat was closing, you couldn't breathe. Why hadn't you forgot it as soon as you opened your eyes?

"Y/N!" A males voice cried out. Before you were able to comprehend what's happening, mattress dipped and strong arms wrapped around you. "Thank the Mother."

You finally breathed in. You had to repeat it several times to be able to speak out.

"Rhys," you whispered, your voice hoarse. Your brother was with you. You were safe. The panic began to dissipate. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you weren't the only one crying. Rhysand sobbed, his grip growing stronger.

You stayed like this until both of you calmed down. You didn't speak, just held each other.

"I'm so sorry," Rhysand whispered as he pulled away to look down at you. "I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have revived those memories."

No dreams, but memories. That's why it didn't disappear after you woke up. You closed your eye and immediately opened them because the horrors started to play out behind your eyelids again.

For the first time in your life you saw Rhys struggling to find words. He was opening and closing his mouth like a fish. You finally looked at him properly.

Rhysand looked terrible. Red eyes with dark circles under, dishevelled hair, wrinkled clothes that remembered better times. He was a mess, much messier than after all-day training in the camp.

For Cauldron's sake, you were so confused. You pressed palms to your face. The horrible headache was back, too.

"Y/N, are you okay? Tell me what should I do? Do you need something?" Rhysand was immediately cradling you.

"I have just this insane headache," you rasped.

"Do you want that powder from Madja?"

You nodded without thinking twice. Small bottle and glass of water appeared on the nightstand. Rhys added a spoonful of powder to the glass, mixed it and handed the glass to you. You gratefully drank it. It worked almost immediately. You sighed with relieve.

"You okay?" You asked Rhys. "You look.. tired at best."

"You were unconscious for last five days. I couldn't leave you alone. It's all my fault.."

"Five days?" you choked on water. "It doesn't matter. Anyway. Don't you dare to blame yourself. I was the one who asked you to do that."

"It was so.." Rhysand fisted on his hair. "If those bastards weren't already dead, I would.." He was so angry that air around him crackled with power.

But you didn't have a chance to talk with him more as a roar came somewhere from the hallway. "Where is she?"

Both of you turned to the door at the same moment, eyes wide. Rhysand was about to stand and go to see what was going on down there when the door flew open and hit the wall hard.

On the threshold stood Azriel. His eyes dark, face full of rage, body ready to strike. The shadows wildly swirled around him, wings stretched behind his shoulders. He was so scary, looking like the embodiment of death itself. If you didn't know him, you would be so panic-stricken, unable to even blink. His hazel eyes scanned over you still in the bed.

In a blink of eye he had Rhysand pinned to the wall, his feet in the air. "What did you do to her?!" he growled, baring teeth at him. Blue siphons on his leathers shone dangerously.

Your brother struggled against his grip, his lips turning blue, but he didn't use any magic to protect himself. Azriel was so blinded with the rage he would kill him and Rhys would allow it. You had to stop him somehow.

You leapt from bed and tried to pull his muscular arm away from Rhys' throat. "Az, calm down," you whined, but you didn't make him move for even an inch. "Azriel!"

Rhysand's eyes began rolling back, now whole his face was bluish.

"Azriel! Let him go!" You were pulling on his arm even more furiously now, your nails digging into his flesh. You drew blood. Only then his gaze moved to you and his arm fell back.

Rhysand fell to the ground gasping for air and coughing. You knelt beside him, rubbing on his back. "Rhys, are you okay?" He just nodded still panting and coughing.

"Are you crazy?" you turned to Azriel. "You could kill him."

"That's exactly what I wanted to do," he retorted, glaring down at his High Lord angrily. "He promised to not push you further. You weren't ready for that and he fucking knew it."

"I asked him to do that!" You shouted back.

At that moment Feyre appeared in the door. She was dirty from a paint, apparently somebody ran to her studio in the city to alert her after Azriel arrived.

"Rhys," she cried out when she saw him panting on the ground and ran to him.

You both helped him stood up and get to the door. Feyre gave you a worried look. A silent question. You just shook your head and smile and so she took your brother to their room, leaving you alone with Shadowsinger.

Azriel glared after him, promise of death in his eyes.

"Don't even think about that," you warned him. "It was my decision. I went to him. If you need to vent your anger on someone, here I am."

He grumbled something you didn't understand and stayed silent with hands crossed on his board chest, hazel eyes watching you.

You gazed back at him.

"How do you feel?" he asked much calmer.

You raised a brow at him.

"What?"

"You were about to kill Rhys. Don't I deserve the same?"

His mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. "It's different."

"How?"

"Simply different."

You angrily glared at him until the spymaster did unthinkable thing. He backed and disappeared in his shadows without another word.

Exhausted you sat down and pulled knees to your chest. As it became your habit, you took the pendant out and played with it. Now you knew. You regained the last bit of your memory. You had everything as you'd planned. You were trying to avoid thinking about the horrors of the last night your mother was alive and rather tried to focus on finding a way how to get to Spring Court.

That night you couldn't sleep. You aimlessly wandered through the house until you found yourself in front of Rhys' and Feyre's bedroom. You were about to knock on the door, but you changed your mind at the last second and decided to go to the garden.

The door behind you opened quietly and Feyre came out. "Oh, it's you," she smiled tiredly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

She just waved a hand. "I was about to get some tea. Will you join me?"

You nodded and a few moments later both of you were seated in the sitting room with steaming cup of tea in hand.

"How is Rhys?"

"Oh," Feyre smiled. "You don't need to worry about him. They're fighting quite often. He's fine, sleeping like a baby at the moment. By the morning he won't have a single bruise."

You shook your head. "It's my fault. Azriel burst out like that because of what I asked Rhys to do."

"You did nothing wrong. Anyway, it was up to you to decide that. Azriel can't be angry for that."

You sipped your tea while Feyre watched you, face tense with worry. "Are you okay?"

You tried to smile, but it turned into grimace. "I will be."

Feyre sighed. "I guess you can't sleep. Rhys showed me what happened there. It was.. well.. more than terrible. If you would like to talk about it.." she offered gently.

You thanked her and this time you managed to smile properly. "It's enough that you are here."

She nodded. You finished your tea mostly in silence, just occasionally doing some small talk. That's how you found out there would be Starfall in a week.

Starfall, the biggest and most beautiful celebration in Night Court. How could you forget about that? An idea began to form in your head.

"Who will come?" you asked subtly.

"As usual. It will be us, my sisters, some friends and people from the city," Feyre smiled, already imagining the party.

"Friends?"

"Yes, Winter Court's High Lord with his wife and few generals. Helion will come and a few friends from Summer Court. Lucien should be here, too." Feyre was counting on fingers, roaming through the list in her head, but you stopped listening.

You already heard what you needed. Lucien would be here. Such a big party was a good occasion to disappear without being noticed for hour or two. It should give you enough time to speak with Tamlin, if things went in your favor.

Thinking about all possible alternatives you even forgot about the horrors of your past and spent that week mostly peacefully.

Evening of Starfall

You stood in your room in front of the tall mirror, admiring yourself. Mor convinced you to go shopping dresses with her and this was what you ended up with. The dress she'd chosen for you for this event was beautiful. It was very simple long dress made of dark blue almost black velvet, the hem of skirt was decorated with shiny little stones that in narrowing chains rose up to your waist. It reminded a night sky full of shooting stars. Indeed, very fitting for today's evening.

She also insisted on helping with your make-up and hair. Since she left a few minutes ago, you had been standing in front of the mirror looking at your reflection. It wasn't like it didn't suit you. To be honest, it suited you a lot, you felt almost beautiful, but this wasn't you. It was too much.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a knock on the door. "Are you ready?" Rhysand's voice shouted from behind the door.

"Yes," you answered. Door opened and Rhys strolled in.

As soon as he found you, his eyes widened. He froze on the spot, in silence gazing at you.

"What?" You raised a brow at him. "Is it too much?"

He slowly shook his head looking for his voice. "No, it's perfect. You're beautiful. I've never thought I will get a chance to see my baby sister like this. Tonight you'll be the most beautiful among the stars."

You frowned at him, blushing fiercely. "You are such an ass."

"I'm just honest," he grinned. "I can't wait to see Azriel's expression when he sees you."

You rather said nothing to that. Ever since he revived your memories, he kept making small remarks about Azriel and you. No need to say that the very next day after Azriel almost killed him, they were again brothers, talking as if nothing had happened.

"Let's go. I can't wait to show my Starshine to my friends," he teased you.

Party was held as always in the House of Wind. This was your first time visiting here since you came back, but you had to say that although Rhys had changed the furniture and decorations, the house itself hadn't changed that much. You still could easily navigate through narrow halls and numbers of rooms here.

Rhys' family was gathered in a big private sitting room. As soon as the two of you walked in all eyes turned on you.

Mor had already seen you, so she wasn't so surprised and sent you just a cheeky grin. Cassian's sonorous voice was the loudest one. He left his mate at the bar and hurrying to you he lifted you up, spinning with you.

"Our lil' sis finally joined the gang," he laughed as he put you down. "Look at you! You're so pretty, dove."

Laughing you pushed him away when he tried to kiss your cheek. Your face felt even hotter than after Rhysand complimented you. "Stop that, you big bear. You'll destroy Mor's hard work."

"You look amazing," Feyre hugged you. Even Amren nodded approvingly. Next to her stood male you'd never seen before, but it wasn't hard to guess he was from different court and had a thing for her. He smiled politely at you, which you returned.

Elain stood with her sister at bar. She frowned at you and turned away. As long as she didn't make another scene, you didn't mind. Nesta, on the other hand, winked at you and smiled, sipping from her glass. It was surprising.

Balcony doors opened and Azriel walked in with a glass of whisky in hand. "What's -" When his eyes met yours he forgot what he was about say, gaping at you. Hand that held the glass dropped and its content spilled onto the floor, splattering his shoes and pants.

Rhysand and Cassian boomed with laughter, others turned around and hiding their amusement pretended to be occupied.

You spared him an embarrassing situation and walked away to Mor. You hadn't talked with him since he attacked Rhysand and honestly, you were still a bit bitter about that.

As the evening progressed, the party was in full swing. Rhys and Feyre disappeared, certainly having their private party on one of the smaller balconies. Cassian with Nesta also disappeared together. They visibly needed an alone time. The rest went down to have fun with the other guests.

You were alone on the higher balcony, pretending to observe the crowd below you. True was you were looking for a certain redhead. Feyre said Lucien would come, but you hadn't spotted him yet.

"Drink?" A deep voice spoke to your right. Shadowsinger waited just a few inches from you with two glasses of wine in hands, offering you one. You hadn't heard him to come.

You gave him a tight smile. "I don't drink."

"Oh," his cheeks tinted with pink. Both glasses disappeared. "You are stunning tonight." You ignored that comment. He leaned against railing, looking down. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Little bit," you answered honestly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Well, at that moment I guess I did, but..I was angry. And so worried for you. Rhysand sent me on some damn mission that took weeks to accomplish. I couldn't see you for so long and the first thing I heard after returning home was that you aren't well, that you're unconscious because he returned you the last bits of your memories. He promised me to wait."

You placed your hand on his big scarred one. "As I already told you. It was my fault. I asked him to do so."

"Now I know. But back then.. I think I would react the same way even if I knew," he admitted."

"The three of you grew into brutes," you rolled your eyes.

He laughed, the sound so rare that you couldn't resist and had to look at him. He was handsome in the tailored suit. Even more than usually. Despite all hardships and wars that he survived, he still seemed young and innocent, just as you remembered him. Your heart stuttered, breathing became labored.

He had to hear that because he stopped laughing and looked down at you. Suddenly he seemed to be too close. The crowd below you gasped and went silent, all eyes turned to the sky. You did the same.

The show had began. Hundreds of spirits travelled above you. A warm wing wrapped around your shoulders, big hand landed on your waist. You turned to Azriel, his shiny eyes already on you. Now he was even closer than before. You could feel his warm breath full of freshness and woody smell of whisky on your face, strands of his hair tickling your forehead.

It threw you centuries back, when the two of you stood on the exactly same spot in the exactly same position. You were just a young female, still teenager, crazily in love with the handsome young male, best friend of your older brother, who loved you deeply. Your knees buckled just like they did back then, breath caught in your throat. His full lips brushed over yours. A moan made its way through your parted lips. You felt so lightheaded and drawn to him.

But..

This was wrong. You weren't that young female anymore. You didn't feel the same way anymore. Your heart changed. You were here on a mission. You blinked the haziness of your mind away.

"I'm sorry," you breathed out and ran away, leaving confused Azriel behind. He didn't try to chase after you nor he stopped you.

You ran until you got two floors lower and only then you stopped in one of the alcoves in the hallway to catch your breath. You forbade yourself to think about what just happened on the balcony.

You were upset. You needed to find Lucien quickly, before the party would be over and you miss the best chance. You walked down the hall and turn the corner just in time to see hair as bright as a fire disappear in one of the doors.

You stalked closer and carefully peeked in. You were lucky, it was Lucien. He stood with his back to the doors, pouring some alcohol to the glass. He was alone. You slipped in and closed the doors behind you.

Startled he turned to you. "It's you? You should have said something. You move around like a ghost. One day somebody gets a heart attack because of you." He turned his attention back to the drink. He seemed to be in a bad mood.

"I was looking for you."

"Really?" He took quite big gulp of liquor grimacing. "So congratulations. You found me."

"Are you okay?"

"Nothing I couldn't solve myself," he snapped. "What do you want from me?"

"I need you to take me to Spring Court." His brows raised, both russet and gold eye snapped back to you.

"You what?"

"You heard me."

Lucien laughed. "Sure. And next time I meet Rhysand, he will chop me into small pieces and feed me to some beasts. Thanks, no."

"He doesn't have to know you helped me."

Lucien tsked, but he listened. "All I want from you is that you take me to Tamlin. That's all. After that you can return to the party and pretend you haven't seen me at all."

"Why?"

"You said it yourself. Tamlin needs help and I can help him. Do I need any other reason?"

He looked you over from head to toe with narrowed eyes, thinking. A muscle pulsed on his tightened jaw. "Okay. How do you imagine we get out of here?"

It surprised you. You thought he would be harder to convince to do something so crazy and dangerous.

And so you presented him your plan. It was very simple: find unused balcony far away from prying eyes and winnow. You already had an idea which rooms with balconies would be safe for your escape.

Lucien agreed and obediently followed you through halls. You were already so close to the one of the empty rooms when a deep voice came from behind you.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot

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brucewaynehater101 · 1 day

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i'm gonna be real idk if your the right person to go for young justice core four headcanons but you give the best replies by far so heres my own idea idea

I was listening to the Roblox Soundfont remix and now the og Gone Angels and now I'm thinking . . .

Tim became Robin to prevent Batman from ceasing to be the symbol of heroism and good he started off as

The symbol that spiraled into destruction of even the self with Jason Todd's death

imagine a world where Red Robin becomes the very thing he swore to destroy with his own death

he dies along with Bart and Kon. Cassie due to this and maybe other factors fucking looses it, Batman post-Jason's death but pre-Tim becoming Robin style

or maybe instead he dies but the rest of the core four lives. either way Cassie still looses it, by herself or with her other teammates

And maybe, just maybe, they get nobody to be the Third Robin to their Batman, no Third Robin to Tim's Second Robin

likely improbably in canon but the idea of Cassie and maybe even Bart and Kon having a villain arc (maybe Black Silence style) is too good of an idea not to share

(Side note; imagine a Gone Angels cover where the survivor(s) sing and for the itallian lyrics in the midway point the deceased sing)

((extra side note: imagine this is what gets Batman and maybe the other Bats to reflect on the time before and after Tim become robin, post Jason's death; seeing their history repeat with Young Justice))

((hell maybe the Justice League realizes as wells))

"you give the best replies by far." Thank you. Sometimes, it takes a bit to reply to asks cause I'm taking a few hours to really answer the prompts/ideas/questions people pose. I also sleep at random times, so apologizes in advance to any asks that take a while!

My image of YJ is a codependent platonic polycule. They are Young Just Us because they didn't receive proper support from their mentors. This is part of why Cassie and Tim fell apart after Kon and Bart died. This is why, in their own weird ways, both of them tried to get a form of Kon back. Tim tried the scientist cloning avenue, and Cassie tried the cult.

If you want Tim's death to inspire Cassie and YJ to go evil, might I suggest Tim sending proof of Bruce being alive in the timestream and then succumbing to his spleen injury (perhaps an infection)? This would create a delicious amount of angst, anger, and mental breakdowns.

Cassie, the only nonretired YJ member alive at the time, didn't believe Tim about Bruce being alive. This was in part due to the cloning stuff but also in part to trusting Nightwing (or Batman at the time). If Tim didn't make it out of that alive, Cassie may be desperate to find anyone to blame but herself for that. She was a kid, she was lost in her own grief, and Tim should have had the support of literally any other hero.

The entire hero community turned against a teenager in his time of need that he resorted to conspiring with the LoA and ended up losing his life. Whether she chooses to be mad about nobody believing him (Tim's possibly a better detective than Bruce and people have revived before, but his evidence at the time was flimsy), she can be very pissed that not a single hero offered to help him. They didn't even need to trust in Tim's decision. They could have just accompanied Tim until the teen gave up or proved himself right. They could have treated it as a grief road trip while Tim found himself.

Anyways, losing the last nonretired YJ member that way may cause her to just snap. The JL was already on thin ice with the YJ for their lack of support to her generation of heroes. Them failing YJ enough that two children died in the field and one died as a direct result of their actions? She would, rightfully, loathe the JL. On top of that, she does already not trust the government for what they did to Secret. If she can't prosecute the JL, she'll become their enemy.

Cassie lost all of her main polycule. She wants revenge.

After Bart and Kon come back, they see how JL left Cassie and what they did to Tim. Cassie is part of their ride or die, and she has been treated so horribly. Tim has died. They obviously join her.

Now, with Bart there to give evil ideas (Bart is the scariest member of YJ and you can't convince me otherwise), YJ is a force to be reckoned with. Maybe some of the other members come out of retirement, maybe not. They would be unstoppable with Tim helping them, but that's the problem. They don't have Tim. Tim isn't there to help them nor hold them back. That's why they became "evil" anyway.

I like to imagine someone, probably Nightwing, screaming at them from across the battlefield. "This isn't what he would have wanted! He became Robin to stop Batman from destroying everything. This is the antithesis of why he became a hero!"

For a split second, YJ would pause. There's merit in those words, after all. Cassie would recover first as she shakes her head. "He became a hero to be the leash to Batman's rage. He's not here now. He's not here to temper our rage, and you did that. You abandoned a child." She plants her feet more firmly and points her sword at Nightwing. "We won't let you do that again."

It's dealers choice on whether YJ win the battle or not. Also, I do believe YJ would be obsessed with trying to bring Tim back. Perhaps some of their evil deeds truly stem from them trying to find ways to bring back Tim. They are incomplete without him just as they were incomplete without Kon or Bart and would be without Cassie.

Now, is Tim actually alive or does he stay dead? Did Ra's revive him using the Pit? Did Ra's lie or misguide the Bats while keeping Tim hostage? Will Tim come back, either after being brainwashed by Ra's or escaping, to find his platonic polycule has officially lost it and turned evil?

#cassie sandsmark #dc comics #dc universe #young justice #young just us #let yj be evil #tim drake #bart allen #kon el superboy #thank you for the ask!!!!#yj can and should take over the world for the greater good

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laracrofted · 10 months

Text

downright iconic

synopsis: after handsome gambler’s hometown show, you follow lead guitarist rhett abbott on his smoke break.

pairing: rockstar!rhett abbott x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, ageless blogs that interact will be blocked, swearing, explicit smut (semi-public oral, masturbation, spitting, praise, degradation (slut is used a lot, so is groupie), brief hair pulling, dirty talk, role play, like... rhett is kind of mean but it's been negotiated off-screen, i swear), and smoking (wc: 4K)

note: so... i'd like to blame @lewmagoo for enabling me and my guitarist rhett agenda, but in the end, i can only blame myself for this one. please read the warnings!

listen to gibson girl by ethel cain before/after/during for the full experience, i.e. a sexy guitar solo and general vibes.

so many people interacted with the original post so i'm only tagging people who asked: @theharddeck @sometimesanalice @withahappyrefrain @blitchen @becks-things @ryebecca @perpetuelledaydreaming @rhettabbotts @starlightmoon2020 @wkndwlff @broketraveler87 @thedroneranger @high-speed-r @sebsxphia @cherrycola27 @uhhhhhhhhwat @roosterbruiser @pillow-titties @whoeverineedtobe @bobfloydsbabe @petcr3

You’re watching him the whole show. How could you not?

Handsome Gambler broke out on the basically nonexistent Wabang music scene a few years back and quickly became something of a local marvel.

A hidden gem in the realest sense.

Forged in the blistering sun that beat down on the cattle ranches and dude ranches of Wyoming and Montana all summer long where half of five-person Handsome Gambler still worked in the slow season... a real rock band.

After a year or so, larger opportunities arose in out-of-town bars, and soon enough, Handsome Gambler were selling out dives up and down the Rockies.

They'd gotten enough local buzz for the Casper Star-Tribune to cover the release of the debut album last summer, both in print and online, calling them an electric revival of the musician who works with their hands. Blue collar rockstars.

And in the deep red shadows of the stage, no other description could do Rhett Abbott justice. He looks so ruggedly handsome, like a goddamn rockstar.

Loose strands of dark hair fall in his face, in his eyes as Rhett bends over a dark red Gibson – a beautiful electric guitar, saved up and paid for with rodeo earnings.

A guitar pick is between his lips, narrow and pursed in concentration. He reaches up and plucks it from his mouth, swiping his tongue across his chapped bottom lip, preparing for the upcoming guitar solo.

Tonight is their last show in a nine week tour, and for all intents and purposes since most of Handsome Gambler is from Wabang, their hometown show.

It's a packed house, if much smaller than their usual venues these days.

You’d seen them at Million Dollar Cowboy bar down in Jackson in a 400 person crowd right around when Handsome Gambler put out their debut album, which had really gained them all the attention.

A sleek concept album. Spinning a shadowy narrow of forgotten love and wasted youth and western nights, humming cicadas and wildfire smoke on the mountains and rich earth stained black with rain and death and in the aftermath, a dusting of wildflowers that sprouted anyway – in and over a dozen songs, woven with seductive guitar solos and haunting vocals, morose and longing.

Like a ghost, come down from the mountains.

You'd bought the album on the release date and listened on the floor of your old apartment, back against the scratchy carpet, hands folded at your bellybutton, eyes closed.

On your first listen, you'd hit with repeat without hesitation; on your second, you'd cried.

It was brilliant, meant to be heard live in a hazy dive, dense with bodies and liquor and smoke, like this one.

His solo comes, and Rhett slides down on his knees in the center of the stage; faded, once dark denim stretched taut around his muscular thighs.

He sits back on his haunches, gaze slanted, watching the guitar and nothing else. Gorgeous hands slide reverently up and down the neck of the instrument, veins visible, muscles straining in his strong arms, in his beautiful neck.

Head falling back, Rhett closes his eyes, caught in the music and carried downriver.

Seeing him like this reminds you of another piece in the Tribune last summer.

A freelance music writer had spent an afternoon with him before a show for an in-depth profile on the origins of the band, on the music, on Rhett as the North Star the rest of Handsome Gambler often described him as:

"Handsome Gambler is Not Afraid to Lose."

WABANG, Wyo. – It’s an unseasonably warm June in Wabang, dry enough to brown the fields and make the local ranchers worried about wildfire, but in a secluded diner on the edge of town, former competitive bull rider and now, lead guitarist Rhett Abbott looks like a man who isn’t afraid of a little risk.

The diner was his choice, a run down place with enough charm in the form of checkered floors and old autographed photos in chipped wood frames to make it feel retro instead and according to him, the best pancakes in the whole damn state.

And – with a laugh – some of the worst coffee.

Over good pancakes, chocolate chip with homemade whipped cream, and bad coffee, I ask him about Handsome Gambler’s influences.

He co-wrote their entire debut album and came up with the instrumental interlude in the middle, which serves as the musical crux of the album.

A blend of slow and sorrowful guitar and bass and nature ambience, recorded on Abbott's phone on a late April night after a bad rain storm, which dares to go on for an ambitious four and a half minutes.

At my question, Abbott kind of smiles – half on, half off, an expression I notice often over our breakfast interview – and from memory, rattles off names like Grateful Dead, Springsteen in the "Born in the U.S.A." years ("I’m On Fire" is mentioned more than once and with great admiration), Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Fire on the Mountain" (Abbott is specific here, from The Marshall Tucker Band's 1976 album, "Searchin' for a Rainbow," not the Grateful Dead song), and more.

Household names. Ambitious names. One could almost roll their eyes if Abbott didn’t sound so sincere.

"I've always loved music. We didn't have a whole lot of live music around, not like in the big cities, but as a kid, Ma used to bring me to some of the cover band nights at this bar in town. S'closed down now, but I heard my first Led Zeppelin song there. Some drunk guy singing 'Going to California' in the wrong key for eight fucking minutes."

"She got me an old CD player for my room the next Christmas, and I'd put on Zeppelin IV and crank it all the way up. She'd come in screaming at me to turn it down, probably secretly regretted ever buying it for me."

Curious, I ask if Abbott remembers the name of the bar.

He grins, a full grin. "Handsome Gambler."

You love that profile, reread it often. His answers are so genuine, so sincere.

Every word, answer, description screams that Rhett Abbott is a man who loves music, who absolutely worships it with every bone in his body.

You can see it clear as day right now.

He plays with such ardent devotion, and caught in his thrall, you're short of breath, hand pressed across your collarbone, over your aching heart.

Applause breaks out at the end of the song, and Rhett's blue gaze blazes over the crowd and in a startling rush, lands right on you.

Your breath catches.

He has an intense stare, all scrunched brows and clenched jaw, covered in stubble, and middle-of-a-flame blue eyes, burning and bright.

He holds your gaze, drinking in the awe, the undisguised adoration in your expression.

Another starstruck fan in the crowd.

You wonder if Rhett can sense the want that warms your lower abdomen, descending from the moment Rhett stepped on the stage, a since-cast-aside black Stetson pulled low over his smoldering gaze, guitar slung carelessly over his good shoulder, and his arms – his bulging arms.

He must.

Because in a blink and miss it moment, Rhett winks at you.

One of the girls at the next table over lets out a piercing squeal, bragging to her friends that the sexy cowboy with the guitar winked at her.

But no, Rhett had winked at you, rockstar Rhett Abbott.

You look down, sipping from the rim of your rocks glass, letting the whiskey sour ground the explosion of butterflies in your stomach.

A kind of giddiness sparks in your chest, mixed with something darker and headier. Something like anticipation.

One look at Rhett reveals a smirk, kicking up the corner of his mouth, as Handsome Gambler kicks off the next song – the last song of the night.

You drain the contents of the glass. It burns the whole way down, a struck match, a good burn.

"Need a light, darlin'?"

Rhett is leaning against the brick, watching you search around your purse for an excuse to be in the alley right now, in the alley with him.

You used to carry around an old pack of cigarettes from your college days – a built in excuse to get out of an awkward social situation, stepping outside for a smoke.

Are you missing them in the darkness, or did you leave them at home?

A sidelong glance at him. You nod.

He offers you a lighter – a gleaming brass, not some garbage from the gas station – and when your arms remain loose at your sides, not moving to grab it from him, his brow quirks in question.

Heat rises in your cheeks. “Oh, I don't have a – Can I get one actually? Must’ve left my pack at home.”

You stumble over your words and fuck, Rhett must know now.

You'd seen him slip out of the side Emergency Exit door and followed him out here, made brave with whiskey sours and adrenaline.

A door that is still cracked open, enough for a crackle of music and a faint haze of red light to seep out into the cool night and barely illuminate your faces.

The expression on his is hard to read.

An open pack of Marlboro Reds – a little smushed from being roughly pulled from and shoved back into his back pocket over and over – is held out to you, and Rhett lets you pluck one from the middle.

Sets one in between his lips.

And with a crooked finger, Rhett gestures for you to come close, closer, until you’re close enough to see the beads of sweat on his skin, damp and flushed from the show.

You suck in a breath, and Rhett smoothly lights both of your cigarettes with a deft click. A quick flash of orange flame. You barely even notice, preoccupied with the press of his mouth around the cigarette, so close to your own.

He straightens, pulling back but only enough to not blow the smoke right in your face. He inhales and blows it out of the side of his mouth, watching you.

You hold in a cough, wincing at the acrid taste, and mimic him.

Breathe in and out and in again.

His gaze drops down, caught in the rise and fall and rise of your chest.

He squints, eyes crinkling in the corners, and with vague disappointment, you realize Rhett is checking out your shirt and not your cleavage.

Armed with a pair of eyebrow scissors and a dream, you'd cropped and cut and ripped until an enticing sliver of stomach and a hint of cleavage would be visible, almost but not quite showing the red lace of your bra. Just in case.

A crooked smirk dances on his lips, amused, as Rhett reads the name across the black fabric.

“A Floyd fan, huh? Y’got a thing for drummers, darlin’?”

You manage not to squirm but only just.

You like Bob Floyd. He’s a great dummer, real sweet.

(“It’s Bob, like Dylan,” Bob mumbled against the microphone earlier, during his introduction, looking very Born in the U.S.A. Springsteen in a plain white shirt and a camo baseball hat. At the sound of his voice, a drunk girl in the audience shrieked I love you, Bob, and Bob went beet red. “I , uh – Thank you. We love you too, Wabang.”)

You shrug in lieu of an answer, and Rhett's smirk grows a little wider, a little mean.

"Why're you out here with me then, pretendin' to want a smoke?"

You look him up and down, as if considering.

“Well, I really hoped Floyd might be around, but…”

An obvious lie, but Rhett was a bull rider before. Some part of him must still possess that combative edge, that competitive streak.

You'd like to see him all riled up.

His gaze darkens, pupils blown.

A warning.

A snorting and kicking bull who's spent all night in a chute.

You bite back a smirk.

His voice is so low, so rough, scraping across your burning skin like day old stubble.

“S’that right? Are you a groupie or something? Some slut who’d let any of us bend you over and use you? Who’d suck any of our cocks?”

He is so very close you right now, crowding in.

“Maybe…”

Is that really your voice? All smooth and alluring?

Sucking on the end of the cigarette, you hollow your cheeks out with your inhale and relish in the way Rhett watches you.

You ash the cigarette, watching the red embers fall and fade.

“I mean, I do really love your music.”

His next words come out in a harsh exhale.

“Take off your panties.”

You blink at him, a little surprised, and Rhett cocks his head.

Like I dare you.

Also like I don’t believe you.

You slide them down your legs and place them in his open palm, fingers brushing against his. They are red lace and damp, obviously so.

They had been ever since Rhett had flicked his guitar pick at you during the last song and before, even.

He chuckles and shoves them in his back pocket.

“You liar. I recognize you. Saw you in there, watching me the whole goddamn show. You came out here lookin’ for me, didn’t you?”

Not Floyd is implied.

You nod, mouth dry, unable to keep up the lie.

“And what were you hopin’ would happen, darlin’? How good of a groupie are you lookin’ to be?”

“Anything, Rhett,” you breathe, pretense all but gone, "as good as you want me to be.”

A wolfish grin cuts across his face. Good answer.

He catches your chin between his fingers, pressing hard enough to bruise. Pulls your cigarette from your parted lips and crushes it under his black cowboy boot.

"It's your lucky day, darlin’. Get on your knees."

You drop your purse. Almost bruise your knees on the asphalt, and for a brief second, Rhett's eyes go wide with something like concern.

You've already moved on, pushing aside the groan of your knees, not bothered.

You undo his massive belt buckle – gleaming, like the lighter, an intricate design – and pull down his zipper in one quick move, eager. You look up at him, glossed lips already parted in mindless anticipation, and Rhett looks back with nothing but amused desire, that mean smirk.

“What? You lookin’ for an invitation or somethin’?” he asks, voice full of gravel. He is still smoking the cigarette, red embers reflected in his dark and shining eyes. “You wanted some cock so goddamn bad. Take it out.”

You swallow hard and shove his boxers down until Rhett’s cock springs free, hard and dripping and beautiful.

A soft, longing breath escapes you, and Rhett smirks down at you.

You should probably work him up some, work him over with your hands until Rhett is desperate for you to put your mouth on him, but…

You put your mouth on him, desperate for the weight of him on your tongue.

You go deeper and choke, moisture streaming from your eyes and down your cheeks.

You’re a little out of practice. It's been a while, a little over two months.

You want him deeper, so much deeper, but…

Too much, too fast.

You have to pull back, gasping for breath, and Rhett makes a disappointed tsk sound. Blows out another puff of smoke.

“You can do better than that, right, darlin’? Because I bet I could go back in there and find some other slut who’d swallow my come in a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

So damn degrading. You're on fire, smearing across your inner thighs without your underwear.

“I can. Let me do it again. I promise I can.”

You sound downright pathetic. Can't even be bothered to care.

His smirk widens, and Rhett flicks the cigarette to the side.

"Gimme your hand," he urges in a low voice.

Fingers banded around your wrist, Rhett is not overly rough, careful not to yank and strain your shoulder, but he's not gentle either.

He presses down hard on the flesh between your thumb and pointer finger until your clenched fist opens for him.

His spit slaps against the center of your palm.

And is it your imagination that Rhett brushes a kiss across your pulse?

He guides your hand back down on him – around him – and works your hand around the base of his cock in hard and unforgiving strokes, working the length of him too big for you to reach with your mouth right now.

Determined, you lick at him, running your tongue along the slit of his cock, the vein that runs down the side, and sink your mouth around him until your lips brush against his clenching fingers.

Swallow around him.

Above you, Rhett shudders, dropping his head back against the brick, spasming on your tongue and hitting the back of your warm throat with an involuntarily jerk that makes you gag.

A low murmur of shit, sorry, darlin’ rushes from his mouth before Rhett seems to remember himself.

No longer apologetic, Rhett catches your hair in his free hand, giving a good, solid pull, and continues to work your hand around him with the other. His fingers grow slick with your spit, dribbling from the sides of your mouth, wetting the coarse hair on his knuckles.

He's muttering under his breath, curses and praises and words too low for you to make out over the wet sound of him.

“Fuck. So good, darlin'. So goddamn good."

A moan vibrates around him, and Rhett curses again, louder.

“S’that good, that what you needed? You needed my cock in your mouth? Anyone could walk out here. Anyone could come out here and see you on your knees, swallowing me whole like a desperate little slut.”

You whimper in answer, like yes, like please, like more, I desperately need you to say more, and a hand scrapes across your cheek, calloused and warm and rough, a slow stroke.

“But I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Good little groupie like you.”

Damp arousal drips down your leg, and you can't handle it anymore, you need, you need, you –

He doesn't miss a beat, not Rhett.

He sees you move, sees your hand pull at the denim, desperate for friction, for anything. A strained groan slides down your spine.

"Jesus Christ... How wet're you from suckin' my cock? Show me."

This seems like an impossible demand in this situation – you on your knees with your mouth full of him – but you've always been creative.

You gather your arousal, gasping at your own wetness, somehow surprised even in all this, and hold your hand out for him in the light.

Red light shines across your glistening fingers.

"God..." Rhett seems almost amazed. "Haven't even touched you, darlin'. You're so wet for me."

Awe burns away, leaving something more carnal in the ashes.

His eyes are half-lidded and nearly black, a summer storm on the indigo horizon.

"Touch yourself for me," Rhett rasps out, an order, a need.

And spits on your glistening fingers.

It's so wet and depraved and so fucking good, fingers dripping with his saliva and your own arousal, spreading his saliva across your cunt, rolling over your slick and swollen clit, clenching around nothing.

Every sweet sensation makes you gasp around his cock, growing more and more desperate, as Rhett pushes in and out of your mouth, spilling sweet and filthy words like a recitation.

"So fucking wet for me. So goddamn good."

"Come for me and my cock. Gonna come on your hand and swallow my cum, like a good little slut."

You imagine Rhett is the one touching you right now.

He is pinching at your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with thick and unrelenting fingers. He is parting you with knuckles covered in wet hair and stretching you out for him. He is giving you even a mere fraction of the rapt and devoted attention Rhett displayed earlier on stage, single-minded and focused on your pleasure.

And come with a muffled whine, eyes rolling back in your head.

Only seconds later, Rhett spurts down your throat with a near animalistic grunt, mouth falling open in pleasure. You swallow every drop.

Awash in the red glow of the aftermath, Rhett studies you with an unreadable expression again. You are standing again now, smoothing down your clothes and brushing the gravel and dirt from your knees.

You're both breathing hard.

He crooks a finger. "C'mere."

You go without hesitation, and Rhett grabs your wrist again, slower and gentler now, and pulls your fingers into his mouth, sucking the arousal from your skin.

He lets out a reverent groan, eyes filled with amazement and wide blue awe, flooding back in like a dam that's been cracked down the middle.

A smile pulls at your mouth, and Rhett crushes you against him. You loop your arms around his strong neck, and Rhett buries his face in the hinge of your shoulder with a content sigh.

"Missed you s'damn much, darlin'."

He murmurs the words against your forehead, smearing a kiss across your brow, stubble a pleasant and familiar prickle against your damp skin.

You melt against him, nudging your nose under his jaw and inhaling his scent, sweat and tobacco and mountain air and him. "Don't be gone for s'damn long then next time, rockstar."

"Come w'me next time."

He sounds almost drunk, mumbling and slurring against your bare skin, drunk on your proximity after nine long weeks apart from each other.

"Can't. Who else is supposed to write profiles on local up-and-coming bands? You should see the other writer that the Tribune hired. He's like... the med-iest of all the -ocres.”

His laugh is a warm puff of breath against your neck, which after nothing but phone and video calls is almost enough to make you sniffle against his shoulder.

You've missed him so damn much.

"Ah, right. It'd be selfish of me to deprive the whole damn state of your brilliance." He pulls back and looks you right in the eye, a gentle nudge under your chin. "Was that... You're okay, right?"

You smile wide. "I'm perfect."

"Good." He grins, a full grin that Rhett had flashed you for the first time over good pancakes and bad coffee months ago. "Because goddamn, you're so incredible. That was somethin' else, darlin'."

You'd been the one to come up with the idea, a perfect welcome home for him at the end of the nine week tour, a call back to the confession you'd made around a month of dating.

You know all I wanted to do when I saw you play for the first time was follow you on your smoke break and suck your cock, but I had to be a professional...

"We can pretend to be strangers. You can see me across a crowded room, and I can follow you out on your smoke break and..."

"And what?"

"That'd be up to you, wouldn't it, rockstar? I'd be like... your groupie or something."

You let the idea sink in, smiling and on the other end of the phone, Rhett swore under his breath.

You grin at him now.

"You were pretty incredible yourself, but right now, I do kind of want my boyfriend to kiss me."

His eyes are warm, light. "Yeah? D'you miss him that much?"

"So very much."

He cups the nape of your neck and leans in for a kiss, a firm and aching and devouring and loving kiss.

You kiss and kiss until Bob Floyd comes out to grab him for the encore.

"You're wanted, rockstar."

He gives you a wide grin and plants a kiss on the center of your wrist, right on your racing pulse.

"See you after the show, m'love."

You are sipping a water at the bar when Rhett comes back out on stage, all bright eyes and mussed hair and a bare scrap of red lace hanging out of his back pocket.

Impossible to miss.

You choke on your water, and Rhett winks.

note: so... i saw this photo of lewis said, yeah, guitarist rhett on his knees for a solo, and all of the sudden, i was spending hours reading musician profiles and assembling a list of handsome gambler-ish songs. life moves pretty fast 🤠

i could probably be persuaded to write more about them if anyone is interested.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fic #rockstar!rhett #guitarist!rhett #fic: downright iconic #laracrofted writes #fic: rhett abbott

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margoshrmargoshing · 2 months

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IT'S BRAVERN THURSDAY BABY. THEORY TIME

(SPOILERS) I watched the ninth episode of Bravern twice in a row (I want a third time) and I am BURNING WITH EMOTIONS.

So. We confirmed the theory that Bravern is Smith, and even the crazy conclusion that Bravern is in some sense a kid/descendant of Smith and Knuth (or I watched with my ass?? in general, after watching i thought he used her power in some way for this to happen)

This answered some questions and created new ones. Let's say, how did Bravern know Isami's name in the first episode, is Bravern a deathdrive and who is he anyway.

But then who is the Lewis Smith we have seen throughout all the previous episodes? Where did Bravern come from if Smith had not yet died there and how did he even return in time?

We still haven't been told what the rest of the Deathdrives need and who they really are. Knuth's true goal was to merge with Smith, but he did not agree in this world. If he was Bravern from the beginning and was there with himself, then perhaps it's like a loop: the Lewises die and become the new Braverns. So, maybe there is a universe in which Bravern did not appear at all?

If he had agreed to merge with Knuth, then this would have collapsed the loop and Bravern would not have appeared in the next universe, and both worlds would have died - the first because of Isami's despair and the victory of Vanitas and Pessimism over Bravern, and the second because of for Deathdrive attacks and Bravern's absence

Maybe the Lewis and Bravern loop is Knuth's selfish wish? She said that she rewinded time over and over again, "repeating their tryst”(or something like that). Perhaps the moment of Bravern's appearance was the very “tryst” that she repeated? Killing and reviving Lewis again and again for the sake of this feeling? The loop can't end there every time

FUCK I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE A FUNNY ANIME COMEDY WITH A FUNNY HUMANPHILE ROBOT AND THERE IS THINGS HAPPENING NO WORSE THAN EVANGELION. I SHAKED AND NEARLY CRIED WHILE I WATCHED THIS SERIES I WAITED A WHOLE 168 HOURS (!!!) IT WAS UNBEARABLE

THIS IS HYPERFIX

I will miss Lewis TERRIBLY. But I know that he will remain with him, in a different form though, and that there would be no other way out, but they will still be together and will be able to fulfill the promise. He was destined to this for Isami's sake every time

Other notes:

—Knuth's VA performed MAGICALLY, just LISTEN TO THIS WHAT HER VOICE HAS

—The voice actor of Vanitas is no worse 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏HE HAS SUCH A GREAT LAUGHTER

AND AT THE END, WHEN HE MOANS IN DEATH, I NEARLY DIED MYSELF. SO MUCH EMOTION

—I’m shocked by how they changed the design of Bravern and it reminds me of the changes to Optimus from the third season of TFP. Bro went to the gym

—I realized that I prefer original to Russian voice acting because Japanese actors are not shy about YELLING.

—LULU 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

—Lewis flies naked and glows as if he was censored

Overall I'm shocked

#bang brave bang bravern #yuuki bakuhatsu bang bravern #bang bravern #bravern #bravern spoilers #bang brave bravern #bravern theories #bbbb #lewis smith #isami ao #ao isami #knuth #margosher🚛

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torntoblivion · 8 months

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what if arlecchino's partner was resurrected?

this is an alternate scenario to arlecchino's partner's death, thank you for the inspiration @oxyotl !!

cws: bringing you back from the dead, unethical (?) experiments

what would happen if you came back from the dead? sounds impossible but with the mysterious yet scary work of dottore, he managed to actually revive you.

when arlecchino overheard dottore's plans to try bringing back a dead person, she immediately brought up you. of course, dottore took the oppurtunity to perform an experiment. after making a deal with sandrone for rare supplies she can use on her machines in exchange for her assistance, the two got to work.

arlecchino never let dottore work without her present in the room, she deemed the marionette more trustworthy with this rather than the doctor. contrary to what she thought, dottore's experiments were less upsetting than sandrone's, arlecchino wasn't sure she could watch her recreate your entire body.

it took the odd duo months to succeed with this experiment, nobody besides dottore believed this would work even arlecchino who volunteered to use you as a test subject just in case the experiment would miraculously succeed.

when a fatui soldier let arlecchino know that the doctor requested her presence, she assumed that he failed horrendously as she stormed out of her office. she angrily barged into his lab but whatever insult she had in her mind completely vanished when she saw you sitting on the table.

she thinks she's dreaming at first, assuming that she fell asleep while working but the soft gasp from your mouth sounds undeniably real. she knows she's not dreaming for sure when you jump into her arms, talking about how happy you are to see her again and to be back but arlecchino can't help but take in the differences you have right now.

your body completely lacks the warmth it had before, your hair and skin are so soft that it doesn't even feel human and she can not feel a heartbeat when your chest presses against hers.

sandrone had created a puppet and dottore somehow placed your entire consciousness and memories into it. despite her curiosity, arlecchino thought she'd be better off not knowing what god awful procedures they went with.

even if you're not exactly human anymore, you're still you. you're not a mortal anymore but that doesn't mean arlecchino will ever let anything happen to you again. she will not lose you again.

she repeats the last phrase to herself multiple times as she finally returns your embrace, squeezing your body to hers. your puppet body somehwo still has your scent and for now, that's enough to comfort her racing mind and remind her that it is you in her arms.

#genshin impact #genshin impact hc #genshin impact hcs #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact fanfictions #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact headcanon #genshin impact headcanons #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino x y/n

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demigoddessqueens · 4 months

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I was thinking of a scenario like the end of DDHAT - have you seen it? **SPOILERS FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NOT SEEN D&D Honor Among Thieves**

Percy x Reader - at the conclusion of a big baddie battle, everyone is checking in, except for Reader. They finally find them - they’ve been struck by the baddie’s poison weapon, to which there is no cure, sorry Pike, not even you. Death is imminent and painful. Percy IS in possession of a resurrection tablet (in this version Cassandra didn’t survive the Briarwoods) that they just quested for and that Percy was intending for his sister. As they’re drawing their last pained breath the reader says their only regret was not telling Percy about their feelings sooner. Percy is a mess. Vox is devastated and even a few members beg an already conflicted Percy to bring them back. He brings them back. Happy happy confessions love angsty romantic bliss 🤭🥰

Long convoluted idea - sorry!!- love all your stuff!!!

This was such a guilty pleasure movie for me! I loved it and now this idea makes me sad 💔

Cw slight mention of death

FOUND ON MASTERLIST 9 HERE

After the final blow was delivered, Percy’s immediate reaction is to check on you

he sees you hunched over as you hold your wounded side, a hand covering the fatal gash

Vex’ahlia is to your other side, holding you upward, and fighting back the heartbreak she feels encroaching

behind him, he can hear Keyleth, Vax, Grog gasping in shock just as they realize what’s happened

You look at him with a bittersweet expression. Either you accept your fate or regret not making the most of what the gods had offered you in life, but somehow focusing on Percy takes away the burden of what feel’s impending

“…that was a hell of a fight, wasn’t it? At least I made this one count…”

Denial and every other emotion of bargaining overwhelms Percy, and he comes to your

there’s no joy in the song that Scanlan whispers along with you to offer as a small comfort when he holds your hand

Percy can see the hope dwindling out of Pike’s eyes as her magic fades, she can’t heal you and even if there was a chance to revive you…it couldn’t…

every thing feels as if it’s crashing down and they’re helpless to stop it

With his trembling hands, Percy tries to hold onto you as he’s begging through breathy sobs. You grip back as much as you can as your strength wanes.

one. Two. Three agonizing seconds go by until he realizes you are still with a parted smile on your face.

He looks to the tablet. To you. The memories of his family, Cassandra; that all start to blend with you and Vox Machina and the new life he’s started to form. You’ve been there; all of you, from you and Vex to everyone and he can’t imagine a life without any one of you. As he speaks the words, Percy offers one final plea despite the years of pain before

The quiet pleas from the rest of the party are all but background noise to him as he watches you for any sign.

you look around in amazement at seven pairs of tear-stained eyes widening as you realize what’s happened

“Don’t tell me you used that on me….” is all you can manage as you gasp in amazement and shock

Percy holds you close to him before you get a chance to utter more words

“I was a fool to not tell you sooner than later…”

you look at him in disbelief laced with the same love that he holds for you, not realizing the tears that are falling on your face

“Percy…I’ve always loved you too,”

now there are seven pairs of of arms around you, just holding you a little tighter than normal after a close encounter they don’t want to repeat

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house-of-cards-and-crime · 4 months

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okay actually i am not letting go of the newton's cradle thing from my last post and i want to expand on it

c!tntduo is just that - they're like a newton's cradle with only two balls and it never loses momentum because they ARE their own momentum, it's like instead of losing momentum every time they hit each other they grow stronger and stronger

and if you try to take one and hold it, keep it away from the other, you WILL eventually drop it and it will come back with more force than ever and restart the cycle all over again (see: wilbur's revival)

and because they are so strong and the cycle is so intense and unstoppable ANYTHING that gets in their way will just end up collateral damage and eventually either destroyed or tossed to the side so they can continue their dance (have you ever put your finger in a newton's cradle? dont)

they will continue crashing together and pushing away and repeating over and over and over again until the world takes them too far away to return to each other, and considering even death itself couldn't permanently keep wilbur away, it would take a lot to take them apart

they feed off of each other and fuel each other while simultaneously making each other infinitely worse because they are obsessed with each other while also destroying each other, an everlasting dance of testing their limits and testing each OTHER because gods forbid anything happens to them aside from the other

because otherwise the world itself will become the third ball in the middle of that newton's cradle and it will not survive the force of their obsession

they are saving each other and destroying each other and repairing each other and healing and loving and hating and purely obsessed with each other in their own kind of rhythm

the laws of physics cannot stop the newton's cradle if it itself redefines them

#c!wilbur #c!quackity #c!tntduo #dsmp #dsmp wilbur #revivebur #dsmp quackity #dream smp #dream smp wilbur #wilbur soot #quackity #tntduo #dsmp tntduo

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dieaverage · 4 months

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ROSE-COLORED BOY — eddie munson x female reader as childhood friends to enemies to friends again to sickeningly-in-love lovers

eddie munson x female reader

series summary: six months after the death of your mother darlene byers, you return to hawkins, indiana to try and make sense of everything. what you don’t anticipate is how much running into him on your first night back, five years after your desertion, will break your heart (and his) all over again.

author’s note: hi! going to be so unapologetically real with you all and say i have no clue of where this is headed, but after my hyper-fixating ass decided to host an eddie munson revival party of one on the cusp of the year of our lord 2024, i knew i had to write something so other people could at least be subjected to the workings of my mind. i hope you like it, and if you don’t, well, that’s a you problem i fear! but seriously if you do have any ideas/directions you would like to see this heading, please please please do not hesitate to let me know! this is my first time posting any of my work on tumblr *gasp* so i mean it when i say criticism is warmly welcomed. <3

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

chapter one — spaghetti and meatballs

word count: 1.6k+

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

A thin mist descended upon the forested thoroughfare to the town you once felt you knew so well, though were no longer so sure. The weighty four-worded acknowledgement bounced around in your head over and over as you approached the deceptively disarming "Welcome to Hawkins, Indiana" sign, so heavily you were almost convinced it was rousing a sleeping migraine, and yet no matter how many times you repeated the seemingly familiarising phrase under bated breath, it felt no less alien to you.

After all, this was never truly your home. Countless summers spent at your cousins' house, even four begrudgingly defining years clocked up at Hawkins High School, had never allowed you to feel like you had earned the right to label it as such. It was your mother's home, as if she had beat you to staking any claim on it, and now that she was no longer around, any ties you thought you might have had to it felt well and truly severed.

Precarious ties aside, it was here you found yourself, in Hawkins. Mere months after the death of your mother. The offer had unfalteringly been there, "whe- if- it ever gets to be too much, Daphne, you know you can come stay with me and the boys", and yet your eventual acceptance of it made you feel nothing short of an imposter.

Any hopes for a discreet arrival were instantaneously dashed as your Cavalier pulled onto the unforgiving gravelly driveway, your tires connecting with the stones to create a disturbance you were sure could have woken any nearby animals out of hibernation, had they assumed an early one. Hawkins air had a perpetually wintry quality, after all. The front door swung open before you even had a chance to remove your keys from the ignition, and the sight of the emerging sixteen year old boy unwillingly brought a beaming smile to your face.

"Daphne!!!!" he called out, advancing towards you at an incredible and equally terrifying speed.

"Hi, Will!" a laugh couldn't help but escape your lips as he wrapped you into a tight hug, the force of which setting you off balance momentarily. He used to be so... delicate. "You've gotten so big!"

"He's got what, like, a foot on you now?" a voice exclaimed from the doorway, the discerning sarcasm of it all widening your already unshakeable grin.

"Lovely to see you too, Jonathan. And it's a couple inches, at best!"

Soon the three of you were embraced in a group hug, which although you would never admit it, had been long overdue. The slight stinging sensation in your eyes signalling the impending flood of tears prompted your swift ejection from the embrace. "So, where is my darling pseudo sister?" you questioned as you walked through the threshold of the Byers abode, attempting to inject some humour into what had already become a far too confronting display of emotions, and almost as if on cue Joyce emerged from the adjoining room.

"Oh, Daphne!" she cried out, consuming you in a hug that could only be described as motherly. You felt it considerably harder to fight back the tears this time. "Hi, Joyce." you exhaled into her shoulder, trying with all your might to resist crumbling in her arms right there. You had been alone for, what, six months? This exhibition of emotion, or rather, the suppression of it, left you feeling weak, and was perhaps the very reason you had avoided coming for so long.

Darlene would never have earned an award for her maternity, and you often thought that if there were such a scale to measure someone who would, your own mother would, against all odds, find a way to fall below it. She wasn't well, that much had been evident for the entirety of your time together, and increasingly so in the end, but in her wake you wondered how much longer you could accept it as an excuse. Above all else, you felt abandoned. Joyce, and the boys, they were wonderful. Truthfully speaking, Joyce had been more of a mother to you in your formative years than Darlene ever was, and Will and Jonathan, they would always be your little brothers as far as you were concerned. But still, in their house now, observing the three of them together, you helplessly felt like a guest, as if years of intimacy had been erased. Nothing had occurred to suggest this, of course. No, these thoughts were all of your own creation, from the mind you had so wished to desert so many times in the last six months.

“Daphne, honey, you must be starving. What can I whip up for us?”

"Spaghetti and meatballs, Mom, please?" Will exhorted, snapping you out of your self imposed hypnotic state.

"I think we should let Daphne choose, Will." Joyce sweetly urged him. "Daphne, what would you like?" You looked up at her from your place on the couch which you hadn't even recalled assuming, and then over to Will who was waiting in anticipation for your answer.

"Spaghetti and meatballs sounds great. Gotta love Italian!" you exclaimed, and Will and Jonathan high-fived quietly from across the room. Joyce shared a knowing look with you and giggled before turning back towards the kitchen. It brought a certain degree of reassurance to you that some things truly never change, one of which being the Byers boys' inability to grow up.

"Joyce," you scurry behind her, "thank you. I- it's been a... weird couple months, but being with y'all, it's already helping."

"Oh, Daphne," Joyce pushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "I thought about you constantly. I wanted to make the trip down to Austin, to be there for you, but with the boys and then work-"

"I know. It's okay. I'm here now. You don't have to worry anymore."

"Easier said than done." Joyce gave an unassured look. "Please, just... don't hesitate to talk to me, okay? If it's too much. You're like a daughter to me, Daphne, and I know the boys think of you as a big sister. This is your home. For as long as you want it to be."

You promptly gave her a cuddle, hoping it could express your gratitude in a way you knew your words couldn't without risk of activating the waterworks, before announcing, "Hey, I think I might head out for a while after dinner. Check out that booming Hawkins nightlife. I can't even remember the last time I got a drink here."

"And legally, at that!" Joyce countered playfully, you giving her a slight push to quiet down, afraid that Will or Jonathan might wish to learn a thing or two of your teenage antics, ammunition you certainly were not ready to equip them with.

"Hey, I handled my alcohol well, okay!" you argued, though not compellingly.

"Law enforcement might disagree." she laughed, her head elsewhere, presumably recalling your countless run ins with the Hawkins police department.

"Okay yes, somewhat of a troubled teen..." you admitted, "but you know, I got over it. I went to college. I grew up." Joyce met your eyes with a smile, "I know you did. I'm so proud of you, Daph."

Eventually, dinner was ready, and the group had no sooner sat down at the dinner table before Will had engulfed the contents of his plate, now proudly demonstrating its emptiness to Joyce. "Finished! Can I please go to Mike's now?" he asked her with eyes so wide you feared they could momentarily eject from their sockets, making the question posed that much sweeter.

"Alright, alright." she giggled, "Just be careful, okay? Biking at a reasonable speed will not hinder your chances of escaping dungeons or slaying dragons, I promise."

Will met his mother's failed attempt at understanding his favourite game with an unforgiving roll of the eyes before the table burst into laughter with Will pulling Joyce into a hug, and then Jonathan.

"See you later, Daphne!" he exclaimed before wrapping his arms around you and hurriedly darting out the front door, leaving you once again with an aching smile plastered on your face. What a sweet boy, you thought to yourself.

"A couple hours and he already has Daphne wrapped around his finger!" Jonathan said jokingly, sending both you and Joyce into laughter once again. "What can I say, he's a good kid!"

"Once upon a time, you were too, Jonathan!" you said wiggling your finger at him with an air of mockery, giving a playful nudge to his shoulder before grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

Closing the door behind you, you catch sight of Will wheeling his bike down the rough driveway. "Hey, wait up!"

Even from a distance you could make out his cheesy grin, and you couldn't help but think about what a heartbreaker he would make one day.

"So, Will the Wise! Off to another campaign?" you proclaim as you reach him, and the use of his nickname only causes his smile to grow wider.

"You remembered?"

"How could I forget?! I was only gone a couple years. Will the Wise's legacy, now that will last centuries." you tease.

"I really missed you, Daphne. So did Mom, almost as much as Jonathan!"

"Jonathan? Wow, he said that? Can we get that in writing?"

"Seriously!" he slapped your arm lightly as the briefly shared portion of your journey came to a close, preparing to mount his bike for the ride to the Wheeler house, "I'm so glad you're home."

With what felt suspiciously like watering eyes approaching, you swallowed harshly before taking his hand in yours. "Me too."

#eddie munson #stranger things #jim hopper cameo #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #i’m new to this and don’t really know what i’m doing #i know there’s no eddie mentions in chapter one but hang in there #i swear it’ll pick up #joyce byers is mother #literally #Spotify #rose-colored boy

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