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beesbiteandwillowrites · 4 months

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DP x DC snippet: "To Whom Do Gods Pray?"

Danny never wanted this.

Right now, he couldn't even tell anyone what he did want. Happiness, probably, whatever that entailed. Snuggle up with Jason in one of those giant armchairs that were scattered around his keep and listen to his love read to him in a soft voice, letting the cadence of his voice lull him to sleep. Fly with him through the Infinite Realms, to the edges where the vast green expanse gave way to countless unexplored galaxies so they could stargaze together. Jump through portals together and explore new dimensions to find the ones that have the best versions of all their favourite foods.

Not sitting at the bedside of his love as Jason teetered on the edge of life and death, balancing on a knife's edge. The heart monitor beeped loudly, too loud, too fast, and Danny didn't think he could ever hear anything else than the sound of Jason's heartbeat as it tried to jump out of his chest.

"Great One," Frostbite said gently. "Your consort is strong, as he has proven time and time again."

Danny wanted to scream. Jason never should have been forced to prove how strong he was. He couldn't help but think of all the times he had been here, sitting at Jason's bedside, as Jason recovered from wounds that had him teetering on the edge, that had almost killed him.

Danny was the Ghost King, the Ruling Monarch of the Infinite Realms. He ruled the dead of any and all dimensions. He had gods kneel in front of his throne, promising their allegiance. And now he was once again powerless, nothing more than someone who prayed their lover would not die.

To whom do gods pray? Who could he ask for guidance when he could bend the fabric of the universe to his will?

"He has a good chance to pull through, Great One," Frostbite said, and Danny swallowed bile.

"When will he wake up?" he asked hoarsely, holding Jason's hand between his own.

"We are working on an antidote for the serum he has been injected with," Frostbite. "Right now, his heart rate will remain stable enough as long as he remains unconscious, but if we wake him, external stimuli will cause the serum's adrenaline response to kick in. We would not be able to guarantee his survival should that happen."

Danny's core thrummed in his chest, feeling like it was about to burst. "How long?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"A few more days, Great One. Batman used a unique serum. But we will succeed."

Frostbite laid a clawed hand on Danny's shoulder and it felt like it burned him. Danny felt like he was drowning. He wanted to scream, to cry, to hit something, anything. He wanted to hurt the man who hurt his love so much he had put him in this bed more than once before.

Batman.

Fury bubbled up Danny's throat and he almost choked on it. Batman had hurt his love time and time again and Jason had pleaded with Danny every time to let it go. Batman had slit Jason's throat in favour of the mass-murderer that had killed so many, that had so many of Danny's subjects crying out for justice. He had beaten Jason half to death on a rooftop after he had lost his friends, had kept beating him long after Jason stopped fighting back, long after he had lost consciousness. He had brought Jason back to the scene of his murder under false pretences (and Danny would never forgive Batman for all the nights he had to hold Jason through nightmares of his father beating him with a crowbar after that).

And here they were again, with Jason close to death, close to becoming a permanent part of Danny's domain, almost murdered again by the man who he still saw as his father, even after everything, and Danny was drowning in despair.

He needed Jason to wake up.

He needed him.

All Danny could do was hold his hand and pray.

To whom do gods pray when everything else has failed?

#willow's snippets #jason todd #danny fenton #dead on main #we're doing angst tonight #this might become a bigger fic in the future #but right now it's just this #ghost king danny #red hood #batman 138 #shakes fist at dc #y u hurt my boy so?#dc #danny phantom #dp x dc

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spacebarbarianweird · 7 days

Note

Dadstarion prompt:

Caretaker takes the kid to a fair, playground, restaurant or shopping, just spending the day and having fun together

Ha! Take that. Pure fluff. What could possibly go wrong??

Synopsis: Tiriel and Astarion take Alethaine to a fair.

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, fluff, a snippet into the future

Another fluffy thing I have written! And there is also a snippet into the distant future with adult Tiri who hasn't inherited her mother's macabre nature!

Alethaine's age - 12-years-old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Guide on How To Skin Monsters

Tiriel stops at the daggers’ stall. All of them look rather dull and Tiriel decides to search for something better for Astarion. Besides, he prefers to choose weapons for himself and Tiriel can always get something else – a book, jewelry, or a shirt. He always huffs when she brings him gifts, but she knows he is grateful for those little reminders of her care.

“Looking for something?” A merchant, a halfling woman, asks.

“Nothing in particular,” Tiriel says.

The halfling is definitely in the mood for talking and starts gossiping about a feud between two noble human houses, a serious plague “originated by giants” and someone’s wife cheating with an ork.

“Oh, and have you heard? There was a murder in Secomber! The whole family was slaughtered and by whom? A dhampir!”

Tiriel takes her eyes off the daggers.

“Yes! A half-vampire! Can you imagine sleeping with a vampire? But I think their mother was assaulted. Anyway, the dhampir grew up and slaughtered the whole family! Those half-undead are merciless cruel creatures, and they say there are so many of them!”

“Yeah… cruel monsters they are,” Tiriel mutters.

She heard of the slaughter, but there were no dhampirs or vampires involved. Just a young man possessed by a dryad. He was hanged a week later, but someone started spreading rumors his mother fucked a vampire and that’s why her child grew up so bloodthirsty.

Tiriel feels pale hands hugging her waist from behind. Alethaine presses her face against her back – she is 12 but she is still cuddly as a little child.

“Oh, is this your daughter? Such an adorable little girl. How old is she?”

“Alethaine,” Tiriel touches her fingers.

“I am twelve,” she says, trying not to betray her fangs.

“Oh… I am sorry… didn’t notice she was an elf.” The merchant apologizes and then proceeds to tell other gossip.

“Have a nice day,” Tiriel says, taking Alethaine’s hand.

“You too! And beware the dhampirs!”

“Beware the dhampirs my ass,” Tiriel says, moving further away from the obnoxious halfling.

“I can bite her,” Alethaine suggests. She is twelve, but elves mature slower than humans and half-elves and Tiriel notices her daughter sometimes behaves like a younger child.

“No, we are not biting people we don't like.”

“Dad wouldn’t mind if I bit her!”

“Hm, good thing it’s daylight then!” Tiriel rubs Alethaine’s ear. She knows her daughter too well not to notice the merchant’s words upset her.

Cruel merciless creatures? Alethaine cries her eyes out every time someone dies in the books she reads! Well, she mostly sympathizes with dragons and monsters – but also with orphan children, victims of arranged marriages and curses.

And little dead animals.

Little dead animals are a whole different story. It’s been three years, but Alethaine still feels sorry about an albino kitten killed by a stranger. The dhampir accidentally resurrected the pet and now Tiriel and Astarion also face the issue of raising a necromancer.

“Hey, don’t be sad!” Tiriel leans to a little dhampir. “Do you want anything?”

Alethaine doesn't answer. She stops by the book stall completely enchanted by a huge black volume covered in leather.

How to Skin Monsters.

Aletaine immediately flips the pages, and Tiriel sees intricate and creepy pictures of the insides of different beasts and monsters. She’d fought many of them in her lifetime (beholders in the Underdark are still one of her worst memories), but never ever did she want to look at their remains, let alone study them.

“Hey, don’t touch it!'' The merchant tries to take the book away from Alethaine’s hands, but the dhampir keeps holding it with her iron grip. “I think this book is rather dark for a little lady like you.”

“Mum, look, the cover is made of human skin,” Alethaine casually says. “No. It’s half-elf actually.”

“No it isn’t!” The merchant protests. “It’s… wolfskin!”

Liar, Tiriel realizes. She has good perception skills, and the merchant lies. And the dhampir necromancer has already passed the verdict.

Alethaine puts the book away and takes another one – a green volume with letters in Espruar.

“Is it just a collection of stories or the real guide on Feywild?’” Alethaine asks. “People who have never messed with fey write all sorts of fairytale stuff about pink unicorns and fairies who grant wishes.” She opens the book which is written with trembling handwriting. “Oh, I see. Looks like a feverish nightmare. So the writer has been there.”

The book merchant looks at Tiriel with a facial expression she knows too well.

What crypt did you find this child in?

“I have some ballads and traveler guides. Maybe...it is more for your age?” he asks

“Travelers guide on what places?”

“Icewind Dale, but it’s a rather uncomfortable read…”

“I’ve read about Icewind Dale,” suddenly something else attracts her attention and she points at a small book with a dragon on its cover. “Show me this!”

The merchant sighs in relief and reaches for the storybook. Tiriel looks at the pages – even though she still experiences issues with reading, she sees that it's just an adventure story about knights, princes, dragons, and treasure hunting.

Something her daughter stopped reading when she was five or six.

“I will take this too,” Alethaine declares.

“Eighty silver for all three,” the merchant says.

Too much, Tiriel thinks. Alethaine frowns but doesn’t try to bargain. For some reason, she is very shy when it comes to arguments.

“Thirty silver,” Tiriel intervenes. “And we are not telling anyone about the half-elf skin you’ve bound the book with.”

“It’s not made of anyone’s skin!”

“I can hear her screams,” Alethaine whispers, flipping the book pages. “They flayed her when she was still alive!”

The merchant gulps. Tiriel chuckles. So, this is true and the merchant knew it.

“All right. Thirty,” he mutters and Alethaine happily gives him the silver coins.

Alethaine puts the books in her black bag and wishes the merchant good night. The man mutters something not appropriate for children’s ears.

“Did you catch the scent of the skin or it’s more like your necromancy skills?” Tiriel asks, taking her daughter’s hand as they stand by the stall with needles and threads.

She shrugs. “I-I don’t know. Maybe both.”

“Do you know if Dad needs something to sew?” Tiriel still can’t really tell apart shades of the same color and all needles look the same to her.

“Take the black threads,” Alethaine says, touching the samples of fabric. “He’s always out of them.”

Tiriel nods. She doesn’t know why and when Astarion decided to make all his daughter’s wardrobe black, but here they are. Alethaine got from black onesies to black dresses, from black nappies to black skirts, gloves, and coats. Only her shoes and boots aren’t made by Astarion - and they are as pitch dark as everything else.

A few hours later, at sunset, they sit on the grass outside the market. It’s a beautiful summer sunset and Tiriel adores the light. Alethaine sits on her traveling cape and takes out one of her new books.

“Interesting?”

“Uh-um,” she nods, completely taken away.

Tiriel smiles to herself. She’s never been a stranger to violence and dark things – if you faint at the sight of a blood sacrifice, you won’t survive in the wilderness. But having a child like this takes everything to another level.

Death, dark arts, corpses – they have a special appeal to Alethaine, the same one Tiriel feels towards fights.

The sun sets and Tiriel sits beside Alethaine. Darkvision allows her to see in gray colors and Tiriel sees a picture of the monster inside.

“All right, now I understand who all these people were who hired me to bring them certain parts of the beasts I killed.”

“Dad is coming,” she says. “Or another vampire, but I think Dad scared all of them away.”

Tiriel smiles. “Good thing vampires hate the presence of each other.” She stands up and approaches the edge of the hill. Yes, Alethaine is right – Astarion has left his daylight shelter in the nearby inn. She can see his silhouette from the distance – white hair and black armor she can’t mix with anyone else.

She waves to him and he quickens his steps.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs in her ear the moment he hugs her. Astarion pecks her cheek and Tiriel rubs his left ear.

“Dad! Look what I’ve bought!”

Tiriel thinks Alethaine will show him the anatomy book, but, instead, she hands him the adventure story.

Astarion studies the first page, then another. Tiriel watches them carefully.

“I just don’t get it,” Alethaine admits. “Is it about how to enter the thieves’ guild or how to smuggle drugs?”

“None,” Astarion returns her the book. “It’s about how to find a job as a bounty hunter in Neverwinter.”

“Oh, I misread the symbols then,” Alethaine pouts.

“Wait, the book is in Thieves Cant?” Triel asks.

“Yes. Hidden deep under snotty stories,” Astarion answers. “And what are these two monstrosities?”

Alethaine proudly opens the anatomy book as Astarion studies the Feywild one. Tiriel barely prevents herself from laughing as she sees Astarion cringing at the pictures. Vampire or not, he saw so many disgusting and cruel things he hated looking at them.

Then Alethaine yawns.

“Let’s go home,” Tiriel says. It will take them till sunrise to return to Daggerlake. If they don't hurry they will need to set up a camp for the daylight - or leave Astarion behind which Tirel absolutely hates to do.

It’s not like it’s a big deal right now – thirty-two years since he gained his freedom, he has nothing to fear. More than that, Tiriel is sure there is simply no other monster in the area who could be a threat to Astarion. He is a vampire, an undead, a skilled rogue, a dangerous assassin.

But when he is alone, the nightmares slowly crawl back. The loneliness fuels his memories and there are so many of them. Thirty-two years are simply not enough. Astarion can handle that too – he’s learned to. But Tiriel doesn’t want him to face mental struggles if it can be avoided.

Alethaine walks in front of them and Tiriel takes Astarion’s hand in hers. They are her little family – everything she’s ever wished for.

She looks at Astarion and notices his lips are squeezed and there is some anxiety in his eyes.

Hunger.

“Go for a hunt, we will wait for you”.

“Nonsense, let’s return home sooner.”

Tiriel doesn’t push it. They agreed years ago that Alethaine isn’t to see him dining on her mother (because it’s absolutely a sexual thing and must remain behind closed doors) and also that she shouldn’t see him feed on animals (because her dhamprisim might get awoken – blood will tempt her and they don’t want their daughter to become more a vampire then she already is).

Of course, she isn't stupid, she knows her father drinks blood. She often sees bite marks on Tiriel when she forgets to cover them – but the process remains out of sight.

It’s already sunrise when they reach Daggerlake and Astarion walks forward not to risk staying in the sun.

By the time they return home, Alethaine rushes upstairs to prepare for sleep. She sleeps a lot, even more than a human would – and Tiriel wonders how much dhampirism affects her sleeping habits.

“So, is the book really about how to be a mercenary?” Tiriel asks closing the door to the bedroom

Astarion has already put off his doublet and now sits on the bed watching Tiriel.

He waits.

“Yes. It was a guide on how to find people who will give her a job as a mercenary,” he slowly answers as if he had to concentrate on speaking. His eyes are focused on her neck.

“And can she read this book?”

“She thought it was about smugglers and thieves. Her skills aren’t that good.”

Tiriel approaches Astarion and he tugs her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

Astarion is no longer a sweet caring elf – his predatory side is on the loose and he pierces her skin with his nails as the fangs are looking for the vein.

Tiriel wraps her hands around his neck and lets herself drown in painful pleasure.

“Take as much as you need,” she murmurs. “I love you.”

She feels like falling into the warm dark void and, when she almost crosses the border of no return, the tender hands let her go and she finds herself on the bed with Astarion carefully applying a bandage on her fresh bite mark.

“Thank you,” he says, kissing her with his blood-stained lips.

“Will you stay with me when I sleep?”

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Besides Alethaine has occupied the bathroom – she isn't getting out any time soon”

“Oh… and I forgot…” Tiriel points at her bag. “I’ve bought you some black threads and new needles.”

Astarion kisses her cheek. “Such a caring and thoughtful wild girl. Now I have something to occupy myself with while you are asleep.” He takes her nightshirt from the floor. “Do you have anything in mind? I noticed you’ve ripped it.”

“Me? Astarion, you rip my clothes all the time!”

He unfolds the shirt showing the ripped collar. “Yeah, I agree. My fault. So, what patch do you want?”

“Maybe a dragon? A black one?”

Astarion covers her with a blanket – the one she uses when she sleeps alone – and sits on the floor with the shirt and the needle.

“I have a daughter who likes seeing monsters’ inside-outs and a wife who likes murdering monsters. Can someone in this family enjoy nice and cute things?” He pouts.

“Imagine Alethaine having a child who enjoys such things. She will pout then, ‘no one in her family has taste for macabre’”.

Astarion chuckles, and Tiriel wraps herself in the blanket.

Safe. She feels safe.

And loved.

Sewing has always helped Astarion to concentrate. It’s been centuries since he needed to shut the darkness up. Memories of his enslavement, memories of the misery have faded away and feel like a distant nightmare.

But habits never truly go, and Astarion enjoys sewing patches and repairing clothes even though the old purpose of that process has long gone.

“You know, for someone who is an elf and was raised as an elf, you are very messy,” Astarion says looking at the ripped cape. It looks like it was chewed by a tarrasque.

“It’s not my fault! I was careful!” Tiri objects. She is making new arrows (as she lost the whole quiver while running from a particularly nasty behir in the Underdark the previous day).

Astarion chuckles. Tiri, his granddaughter, showed up at his place deep in the Fairgheight Range five years ago. Red-haired like her grandmother, she was eager to see the world beyond the Isle of Evermeet – and she still doesn’t show any desire neither to return to her parents nor leave him be and travel alone.

“What patches do you want?” Astarion asks and takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack.

“Well, I am an adult independent woman…” Tiri starts.

“You are thirty and you are an elf. You are basically a child.”

“Hm, you were a magistrate and mum would work for smugglers using her necromantic skills. Barely a child activity.”

“So?”

“I want a unicorn patch,” Tiri finally admits. “Or a butterfly. Don’t laugh, ar’o’su!”

“I don’t, damia,” Astarion finds white threads. “Besides, Alethaine has never been fond of cute and nice things.”

“Mum has her own idea of what is nice and what is cute,” Tiri touches a thin tiara on her hair. While all Tiri’s clothes are made according to Wood Elves traditions, her father’s ancestors, the tiara is pitch black and with a small skull in the center. It definitely belonged to Alethaine and then she just passed it to her only daughter.

Tiri puts the new arrows on the ground and lies on her bedroll to reverie. Her drake, Aurix, immediately nestles on her chest like a cat.

Astarion casts a glance at his granddaughter. She has a certain similarity to Tiriel – and Astarion knows she would have loved her. But half-elves have such an offensive short life span in comparison with elves she had no chance to see little Tiri. At the same time, her facial features are her mother’s and sometimes she speaks like her. There is something else, something unfamiliar – Tiri’s father and their ancestors.

And she loves cute and nice things - and cringes at the sight of monsters’ inside-outs. Necromancy scares Tiri and she admits she’s never been to her mother’s dungeons just because of how uncanny it was for her. And elves would often joke that their “witch-queen” just kidnapped Tiri because no way someone like Alethaine could give birth to such a sweet young woman.

Astarion pierces the fabric with the needle.

“Well, so be it, a unicorn.”

-- Tag list

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@veillsar

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varpusvaras · 2 months

Text

Sateen and Sheltay are the first ones to notice.

Of course they are. They have to watch Bail constantly sigh wistfully every time the Commander comes up on conversation even in passing, or watch him try to not be too eager every time he is inviting the Commander over for a cup of caf. Her Majesty is not any better, according to Visaiya, and the three of them quickly for a habit of reporting just how bad the Senator and the Queen are pining this week.

It doesn't take them long to notice how the Commander increasingly accepts every single invite for anything Bail just happens to give him, and it takes even less time for the Commander to become Fox and for Fox to become very permanent fixture in all of their lives. The rest of the Guard follows suit, of course, but Fox is the one who has his own designated cup in the office and who both Bail and Her Majesty are constantly fawning about.

Then Sateen walks in one day in the middle of Bail and Fox making out in the office, and that's the day Fox becomes the boyfriend of their employers.

It takes only a few months for Bail and Her Majesty to start talking about weddings and living situations and everything of that sort. Sateen is not the one who let's it slip. Neither is Sheltay. In all honestly, Sateen just thinks that the three of them are way too obvious, as, two weeks after the first time Sateen had heard the word marriage come out of Bail's mouth, the entire Royal Guard had somehow gotten the memo.

Sateen hears them whisper about it constantly. They all seem very excited about it, and the only thing Sateen can do is to wish Fox luck in his mind.

---

It's very hard for Fox to not notice how every time he goes anywhere publicly, there always seems to be a member of the Royal Guard there.

Fox doesn't mind them, not at all. They never try to interfere with his work, quite opposite.

He is walking down the hallway of the Senate Building one afternoon, his hands uncomfortably full and his mind definitely fuming a bit. He was the Commander of the Guard, a highly trained soldier, not some secretary-

There's a door that needs to be pressed open. Before Fox can even begin the task of balancing all of the datapads and flimsies on his other arm so he can get his other arm free, there are hurrying steps coming towards him, and someone speeds past him.

A Royal Guard slams his hand on the door panel, and it slides open.

"Good afternoon, Commander", the Guard smiles at Fox, breathing just a little heavily. "After you, please."

Fox is...not really sure about what is going on.

"Thank you", is the only thing he can come up with at that moment. The Guard smiles a bit wider and bows his head down a bit as Fox walks past him.

"Can I help you with those?" He asks, and Fox, definitely not knowing what is going on anymore or how he should react to anything, let's him take almost all of the datapads from his arms. The Guard seems weirdly happy to do so, and he cheerily bids Fox farewell as Fox reaches the doors to the Chancellor's office.

He needs to talk about this with Bail the next time he sees him, Fox decides.

---

Fox hates mornings.

He used to bee good with them, but that was before his hours of sleep had decreased to four on average. So now Fox is not good with them anymore and he hates them.

He is still on time, on his way to oversee way too many security points for the mornings meetings and other visits, and he definitely isn't only half awake under his helmet. His average of four hours of sleep is after all, an average, so the last night had been a night that had brought the average down. Fox really wants to just get into the elevator and doze off for a moment longer.

The elevator is broken. So is the next one. And the next. And the next.

Fox stares at them. Stares at the stairs to the left. Stares at the elevators again.

He could take the elevators on the next hall over...does he have clearance to use those? He's not sure. He should, most likely, but even more likely he doesn't.

Fox stares at the elevators. At the stairs. There are a lot of stairs.

Then there are two Royal Guards, making their way towards him.

"Good morning, Commander!" They both greet him. Fox hopes that his own greeting of "morning" sounded awake enough.

"Do you need to go to the upper floors?" One of them asks him. Fox thinks he has seen him before. "All the elevators here are out of order, but you can take the ones next halls with us!"

"Thank you", Fox manages to say, because he is still not completely awake and he is confused again about the cheerfulness of the Guards in front of him.

He follows them to the elevators, feeling a bit like he is the one being guarded on his way, with one of them walking next to him and the other two steps ahead. They open the elevator doors, let Fox get in first, and then stand in front of the doors the whole way up. One of them steps out first, like he is checking the perimeter, and then the other lets Fox step out before him.

"Have a good rest of your day!" They say as Fox leaves them to go do his work.

---

Almost three hours later Fox walks back the same way, and the Guards are there, now with a travel cup of warm caf.

"Here, Commander", the one with the cup says, and gives it to Fox. "Do you need to go down?"

Fox nods, and says thank you again, because what else is he supposed to say?

He stands at the back of the elevator again on the way down. Neither of the Guards say anything when Fox lifts his helmet and takes a sip of the caf. It's a good blend, and it's very, very sweet, just like Fox likes it.

They walk him out of the elevator. Thire is there, with a squad of Guards, ready to move out to the next location. None of them say anything about the cup in Fox's hand as he gives them the orders and climbs into a speeder with them.

"Are you more awake now?" Thire asks him as they get on their way. He's smirking behind his helmet, Fox can hear it in his voice.

Fox lifts his own helmet again, and takes another drink.

"Now I am", he says, ignoring the quiet laughter coming from Thire.

---

Nights on Corucant can be surprisingly cold.

Fox doesn't get it. The weather is already controlled, and there are no large ecosystems left that would benefit from having the air temperature lowered this much. But, it is what it is, and now Fox is cold.

He is also tired. Again. This time because it is very much closer to midnight now, which means he has been awake...almost a whole day. If he doesn't count the ten-minute naps he managed to take every now and then.

He should be calling for someone to come pick him up. It's not safe for a clone to be alone on Coruscant, even if they are a Commander. Fox lifts his arm, ready to open his comlink and get himself a lift-

-when there is a speeder stopping in front of him, and a Royal Guard jumps out.

"Good evening, Commander!" He greets Fox, even tough it's definitely not evening anymore. "Can we take you back to the base?"

Fox is tired, he is cold, and there is a speeder ready for him.

He's not stupid. He nods.

"Thank you", he says. The Guard opens the door for him and lets Fox climb in first, and Fox swears that he bows his head down a little as well as Fox walks past him.

The speeder is warm, a lot warmer than Fox thinks they usually are, like the heating has been put on full just before he got in. The flight to the base is relatively a short one, and once again, the door is opened for him.

"Have a good night, Commander!" The Guard says, and yes, he is bowing his head down ever so slightly. "We'll see you tomorrow at the Senate!"

"You too", Fox says. The speeder doesn't leave until he has walked through the base doors.

---

It's been a moment since Fox was back on Coruscant.

Bail doesn't really like Fox coming to visit him there. It's not that he doesn't want to see Fox, but Coruscant was all that Fox knew for the entire war, and they both know how Coruscant can be at it's worst. Bail's protective streak is definitely rivaling Fox's own, and Fox can't really fault him for it.

There is a speeder ready for him, waiting just outside the landing platform.

The Royal Guard waiting next to the speeder smiles at Fox.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness", he greets him. "To the Senate?"

Fox smiles back.

"Good afternoon", he greets, and nods. "Yes, thank you. You got me anything good today?"

"A lot of things", The Guard laughs a little as he says it, and he opens the speeder door. "I heard Amedda got into a little...accident, lately, so to say."

Fox grins.

"That's definitely something I need to hear about more", he says, and steps into the speeder.

#who remembers the post I made about the royal guard zeroing in to the fact that Fox was going to be their future prince?#here is something about that lmao #I've written so many more angsty snippets lately I needed to do one for no order 66 au as well #here he is happily gossiping with a good nights sleep under him #good for him good for him #sw #tcw #my writing #snippets #no order 66 au #up that mountain #commander fox #bail/breha/fox

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apatheticrobots · 11 months

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long-overdue revamp to my boys designs <3 also switched out one of emmet’s team members.

#submas #pokemon submas #pokemon #pokemon ingo #pokemon emmet #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #even if they arent technically subway bosses in this #sal art #gymmas au #rewriting the snippet i had for this too so thatll be coming in the future #as well as an elesa redesign cause lord does my girl need it

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save-the-villainous-cat · 1 year

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Hii, I'm here to drop a request~

Okay so, i have a thing for self-distrustive characters. Here's the idea: give me a self-harming hero who is too weak to act on it alone and willingly surrenders themselves to villain assuming (hoping maybe) they would torture them for information. Villain tho reluctant, doesn't hesitate to hurt the hero not too seriously tho. But for our self distrustive hero whatever the villain is doing is not enough to make them feel the relief they're seeking so~ let it slip out. Let them thoughtlessly cry out for more. And then give me a shocked villain. A concerned, regretful and lastly caring enough to treat their wounds villain. Give me an unresponsive to the villain's treatment hero. If you'd like to ass anything feel free <3

Much love to you friend, stay hydrated, we love you ~<33

It wasn’t like it didn’t hurt.

It just didn’t hurt enough. That’s why the hoarse please had slipped from their tongue. And it was why the weak more followed. Judging from their actions, the villain hadn’t heard it right away but when the hero cried harder, the villain’s hands came to a stop.

They’d broken three fingers, not to mention the shattered ankle. What had happened to their ankle had felt just but once the villain had moved on to their fingers, the hero had secretly begging them to break harder bones, like their collarbone or maybe even their ulna. It was sick, they knew it in their heart. It was maniacal and disturbing to feel like this.

Heroes were supposed to save people, even if their own well-being came in last. Saving themselves counted too.

The villain let go of their hand, eyes darting between the hero’s.

“What did you just say to me?” The villain’s hands went through the hero’s hair, getting a full grip of them, pulling them up.

The hero thought about their broken ankle. About how they wouldn’t be able to walk for weeks, maybe even a few months…? They always concentrated on the pain, rather than the period it took place in. By the time old pain faded, the hero always managed to get themselves into new trouble.

Letting injuries heal had never been an option. The villain let go of them.

It was hard. It was hard to lie there and accept their defeat, the fact that the villain had found out about their secret and more importantly, that they had stopped bruising the hero.

“Please,” the hero sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Their nose was running and their tears gathered together, falling down their cheeks like raindrops from the sky. Breathing was hard, their lungs felt frail from these past months and the world came crashing down around them.

When their sobs echoed from the walls, they felt truly defeated, humiliated, and the pain wasn’t enough to forget that.

For a moment, nothing happened. Neither of them said anything. All that was left in the room were the villain’s questions and the quiet sobs the hero made. Feeling overwhelmed by the horribleness of it all, the hero rolled themselves into a little ball, crying into their torn sleeve. They were ready for everything. Ready to die, ready to be bled, to be beaten, anything.

“Hey, easy there.” Once again, the villain combed their fingers through the hero’s hair but this time it was much more gentle and softer, leaving the hero with the taste of bile on their tongue. They braced themselves for new pain, impatiently waiting for the lashing out and the violent actions but nothing of that sort came. Quite the opposite: the villain scratched their scalp softly.

“Darling, what happened to you?” Their nails scraped across the hero’s skin, taking their time. It was oddly comfortable. Even though their muscles ached, they looked up at the villain crouching above them.

“Please,” the hero begged again. “Please hurt me.”

The villain was silent, biting their inner cheek as if they were considering it. But when they answered with a tender “no,” all hopes the hero had were crushed.

“Please.”

“You’re a mess. Hurting you seems to be what you want. I don’t want to give you what you want,” they explained. They wiped away a tear. “Don’t mistake this for compassion. This is me controlling your desires. This is me taunting you.”

They pulled the hero who had exhausted themselves and was completely defenceless into their arms.

“And this is me wanting information. Why did you say that?” They held them close and embarrassingly enough, it dawned on the hero how touch-starved they were.

“I am so alone,” they whispered. They mumbled the words, not even believing their own mouth for saying it. No one was supposed to hear this. “I am so alone.”

They started sobbing again. It was hopeless. The villain was the only comfort they had — even now that they weren’t hurting them.

“You will never be alone with me,” the villain said carefully. “I’ll make sure of that. Now, come on. Let’s treat your wounds.”

In all honesty, the hero had never done that. They weren’t sure if there were rules to it.

“If this is you taunting me,” the hero said, “then why do you want to treat my wounds?”

The villain gave them a grim look that didn’t leave room for protest.

“I’m asking the questions, not you.”

#I assume you meant destructive darling #have you ever watched beauty and the beast and seen the end titles where they thank Howard ashman for his work and have you ever called #your boyfriend after that and you were crying and he was like what happened so you told him that youre sad because Howard started the whole #disney renaissance with his lyrics and he died so young because of aids and his lyrics got a fucking Oscar but at that point he had died #already so he didnt even know that beauty and the beast had become the best Disney movie of all time past present and future and your #boyfriend just has to bite back his laugh because you didnt even know this guy and youre crying over him like #guys the Disney lore is too deep I could go on like this forever #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #whump

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bidarcywriter · 2 years

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“I know you’ve been hanging out with Steve.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t rat you out or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just, you guys aren’t exactly subtle.” Max half smiled. “Steve thinks he is, but then he asks about you pretty much nonstop, like that’s normal, or something. And you always give me more time to hang with my friends when he’s around. So.”

Billy’s response was careful and measured, like a cook following an unfamiliar recipe. “You told me to stay away from your friends.”

There was a question in there somewhere about how okay Max was with that. They hadn’t talked about this before...ever, so. Max doodled on Billy’s nightstand with the tip of her finger. Neither one complained about the lack of eye contact.

“Guess I forgot to tell my friends to stay away from you. Honestly, I didn’t think I needed to. You were a fucking asshole, but you, I don’t know. Won them over.” She scoffed as if to say imagine that, rubbing at the yellow sunflowers on her nails. Biting her lip. Funny what time, healing, therapy, and a near death experience could do for a guy. Max was fiercely proud of the person he worked so hard to be. Still...something was nagging at her. Billy knew it, too. “Are you two like, really friends? Because Steve thinks you are.”

“We’re not friends.” One look at her face had Billy amending. “Didn’t mean it like that, Jesus. I’m not messing with him anymore. I just meant, I think we’re more. Or...we could be.”

It took Max a minute. Billy stared at her all calm and expectant, as if waiting for the dots to connect, but also looking half unable to breathe, then— “Wait, what the hell? You and Steve Harrington?”

“What, it’s news to you? Thought you said we weren’t subtle.”

They could’ve been two goddamn sisters braiding each other’s hair and gushing about their first crushes, but Billy didn’t frown or cuss about it. Just seemed a hair embarrassed, if anything. He winced a bit when Max’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my god, Billy, you’ve got to be shitting me.”

From his confusion, it dawned on Max that he expected her to be outraged.

A year ago, she would have been.

“I’m not shitting you,” Billy muttered when he felt secure enough, digging in his jacket pocket for one of those smelly cigarettes. “We’ve been talking for months now.” Billy shrugged like it didn’t matter when it so clearly did; the tension from five seconds ago melted to reveal something warm in his eyes. “Started hanging after my shifts. Last night, fucker even made a move.”

“And?”

At the quirk of his brow and the tell-tale hint of a smirk, Max shook her head. Exasperated. “No gross details, god, I just want to know where it ended up. The you and him thing.”

“Oh I can tell you in depth about all of it, Maxine -”

“Jesus, forget I asked.”

“Are you sure? He makes the cutest sounds when I - ”

“La la la, NOT listening!”

“What?” Billy called to the door Max left swinging upon her retreat, all sugar-sweet innocence and a California smile. “I was gonna say, when I bring him coffee.”

Max didn’t return.

Well. That was one way to get rid of his nosy, pain-in-the-ass little sister who he actually sort of liked, now. He took a good mental note of it.

#maxine mayfield #billy hargrove #billy hargrove redemption #I don't know if I'll use this but putting a snippet here ~#future fic chapter #of my #harringrove #fic

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 4 months

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They had been so, so close.

Years. Nearly two whole years. It was only a month until they graduated from Hogwarts and sailed back across the lake to their final trip aboard the Hogwarts Express. They had been so goddamn close.

“Harry…” Hermione whispered, her eyes wide and wild. She was stressed and pleading, and he couldn’t blame her.

This was all his fault.

Beside him, he felt Ron tense further. He’d already been twitchy since they’d come down here, memories of their second year definitely not treating him any kinder than they were treating Harry. Hermione hadn’t been concerned in the least, enraptured with the chance to explore something as ancient and magical as the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry jolted as Ron’s wand appeared in his periphery. Hermione nearly looked ready to snatch it out of his hand.

It made matters worse, Harry supposed, that getting here hadn’t even been that difficult. He had enough extensive knowledge of Hogwarts’ hidden passageways to entrust the map to Hermione—allowing her to safely bypass any patrols on her way down—and the cloak to Ron—who couldn’t be stealthy even with a cheat sheet. As a matter of fact, being separated into different Houses hadn’t even stopped them; it probably made them less suspicious.

“Are you quite certain you know how to use that, Weasley?” Tom Riddle asked, standing hands clasped behind his back, not a hair out of place, in the very centre of the chamber. He was blocking their only way out. “From your lacklustre performances in our shared classes, I hesitate to think you capable.”

“Sod off, Riddle.” Ron’s anger was getting the better of him. His grip on his wand was white-knuckle tight, and, again, Harry couldn’t blame him either.

This was all his fault.

#future:#tomarry #harrymort #tomarrymort #my fic #unnamed fic #small snippet #pov: harry #something about these three going back in time and getting into trouble really butters my bread

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shittywriterbrain · 5 months

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#this is actually genius in the future i want every soundtrack album to include little snippets from the show #ik this is because those parts contain music but idc #also the music just fucks and hugh laurie has a great voice #jeeves and wooster

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bambiraptorx · 2 months

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For the ask game! Raph and with either Starved or Punishment

Oooo this is gonna be fun.

content warning: disordered eating

---

Raphael 'Ragnarok' Hamato learns many things when he gets tossed back in time, and one of them is that he'd apparently underestimated just how scarce food had gotten during the decade or so that he'd been living in a world dominated by the Krang.

Sure, he'd known there were limits to what he could have--snapping turtles have a nasty habit of growing throughout their lives, after all, and feeding someone who's just going to keep getting bigger and bigger puts a strain on anyone's resources. He's gotten used to a reduced food intake over the years, everyone has.

But he just doesn't quite realize how reduced it really was until being thrown into the past, bruised and battered and more exhausted than he'd ever been before, and somehow ending up in the care of none other than Baron Draxum.

And it's not like he minds the Baron attempting to nurse him back to health--he needs to recuperate somewhere, anyway, and watching Draxum trying to hide his research when Raph already knows full well what's going on is kinda funny--but it involves way more food than it should. Three meals a day, plus snacks in between? It's ridiculous.

At least, that's what he thinks at first.

The weeks pass as he waits for a sign from his brothers, his injuries healing. There's more than he'd thought at first; at least there's more things Draxum considers to be 'injuries' than Raph does. A few cracks in his shell, some thin places where the scutes never fully grew back after taking damage, scars and old wounds galore, not to mention all the actual damage. So what if those are all healing slowly? Not like Raph has anything else to do right now but heal, rest, and pretend to eat all the food he's given.

And it's not like it's even that hard to hide what he doesn't eat. Some of it he squirrels away here and there, just in case. Some of it he pawns off to the gargoyles: all it takes is telling them he doesn't like the texture or the taste, though if he isn't careful with how much he gives them they'll bring him more. Most of it he sneaks back into the kitchen, hiding it away in the back of the fridge or taking the time to stash it in a container.

A few times he's had to take a protein shake (or the weird yokai equivalent of it, anyway) to the bathroom, and pour it down the toilet, cringing internally at the waste of food, but it's fine, really, it's not like he would have eaten it. Some days he hides or stashes or replaces more than he eats, but it's not like he wasn't managing just fine before. He's not even that hungry nowadays.

And maybe it's just all the time he has now, but he seems more tired than he ever was before. Colder, too. Draxum must not have heat in his house or something, that seems like something a mammal who lives with two employees made of rock would forget about.

Not like it matters too much right now, when he's getting himself a glass of water in the middle of the night. Also putting his bowl of rice from earlier back in the fridge. Why did the gargoyles bring him that, anyway? He'd already had his three meals for the day, he doesn't need extra food.

It's just after he puts the bowl away (well, puts the rice away in a different container, he's not leaving an entire untouched bowl in the fridge to be found later) that the kitchen lights flick on. Raph blinks a few times at the sudden brightness as he automatically shifts into a wider stance and lets ninpo bubble up his arms--oh, it's just Draxum. He looks pissed, is he not sleeping well again? Couldn't be Raph, he knows for a fact he's been too quiet to wake someone up.

Draxum glares at him with a ferocity he hasn't witnessed since coming to the past, and even before that hasn't been directed at Raph in years. "I don't understand why you keep doing this."

Raph sets his empty bowl in the sink, gently so it doesn't crack. "...doing what?"

"Don't play innocent, you're getting rid of your food again." Draxum jabs an accusatory finger in his direction. "You've been doing this for weeks and it cannot continue."

"Noooot really sure what you're talking about here." Raph reaches for the cabinet where the glasses are kept. Maybe Draxum's just in one of his moods again. He's a lot crankier in the past, that's for sure.

"You nearly passed out earlier today!" Draxum yells, and okay, Raph does not care for that at midnight.

"Pretty sure that was just exhaustion catching up with me. 'Sides, I don't need that much food anyway." He sets the cup under the faucet and turns the water on.

Draxum's mouth falls open. "You don't--you need more food than what I've been given you for the last few weeks, any simple calculation of your caloric needs could show you that. That's what the food between meals is supposed to be for! Not hiding away! And you'll only need more as your recovery continues and your metabolism jumpstarts again--" he pauses as Raph tilts his head.

"You sure?" It's a genuine question, but it makes Draxum ball his hands into fists so tight they tremble.

"Ragnarok--do you realize the condition you were in when I found you? The injuries that wouldn't heal, the lack of appetite, the constant cold you complain about--those are signs of starvation. You were on the edge of mass organ failure when I found you, and with your continual avoidance of food--" Draxum presses a fist against his temple. "And you're telling me you didn't even know?!"

The water is still running, overflowing the side of the cup. Raph slowly reaches out his hand and turns it off. He blinks, first with his outer eyelids, then the inner membrane.

"No, I didn't."

There are a lot of things that he'd learned before coming to the past, but the signs of starvation weren't among them. That would explain a lot more that he's actually comfortable with it explaining.

---

I don't want this to get too much longer so I won't write the resolution, but I couldn't not tie this into my I'm Not Dead Yet AU.

ask game

#asks #bambi's rambling #rottmnt #rottmnt au #i'm not dead yet au #imndy au #rottmnt raph #future raph #raphael hamato #rottmnt baron draxum #rottmnt fanfiction #my writing #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #dont be fooled by this snippet of the au draxum is literally just as bad about food as raph #it's just in a different direction

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