#i hope nothing bad ever happens to you again

[oxbellows]

Welcome Home! Nothing Weird Happened.

Written based on @emilybeemartin's spectacular Boromir Lives AU comics, with permission. I might write more, who knows.

My whole thought process here is this: if Boromir lives and makes it back to Minas Tirith, he is about to receive an absolutely ludicrous quantity of bad news. And I for one think it would be both plausible and hilarious for Pippin to be the one who ends up delivering that news. So here we are!

Trigger warnings for that whole pyre situation from Return of the King.

 It was fitting, to Boromir’s mind, that the battle for Minas Tirith should be decided by dead men. So many had died for the city of kings already, their blood seeping into her soil like rain. Why, then, should her fate rest solely in the hands of the living? An unnatural justice rang out in the clang of steel against phantom blades, heralding the return of a hope long since given up for lost. 

“None but the king of Gondor may command me,” the wraith hissed.

“You?” Boromir had roared. “You, Oathbreaker? I am the heir to the Stewards of Gondor. Generations of my kin have died for an empty throne. None but the king of Gondor may command ME. Here stands the king of Gondor before us, and you will suffer him as I have!”

And suffer him they did. Sickly green washed over the last armored oliphaunt as the dead claimed more souls for their own. Boromir pulled his eyes away from the spectacle and spun his sword in his hand, scanning the area around him for the next foe. He found none. Only the backs of retreating orcs, and weary Men attending to their fallen brothers. That and, out of the corner of his eye, the strangest possible trio of a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. Finding no enemy to engage, Boromir instead turned his step toward the strange trio to embrace his friends in the wake of victory. 

Aragorn, king of Gondor, did not appear especially regal at the moment. He was covered in grime and gore, surrounded by the corpses of orcs left to rot in the open field. Gimli’s sturdy metal armor was slick with blood, and it dripped steadily off the edge of the axe that he had slung over one shoulder. Legolas, of course, was only as disheveled as he might have been after a short run, clean of the muck that covered the rest of them. His hair still fell properly at his shoulder, what witchcraft did the Elf use to maintain it? 

Boromir could only imagine what he himself must look like. He knew that he was damp and smelled like death, which did not bode well for a lordly appearance. Nonetheless, even in all his heavy armor Boromir felt lighter than he had since childhood. The battle was over, fought now only by those straggling beasts that had not managed to escape the field on foot. Boromir was still, impossibly, alive, and so were his companions. So was his king. 

The enemy may yet prevail, but Gondor would not fall before the White Tree bloomed again. It was more than his grandfathers had ever dared to hope. 

“Is that blood in your hair or just its natural grease?” Boromir asked his king, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and stepping over the body of a fallen orc to approach him.

Aragorn laughed, raising one dirty hand to skim his fingertips over the top of his head. “I cannot say, Captain. I only know that in either case, I would wash it before I present myself to your lord father.”

Boromir clicked his tongue dismissively. “My lord father’s not the one we have to worry about. If my brother hears that I’ve brought Isildur’s heir home in such a state, he’ll throttle me.”

He almost continued speaking. He almost added, if he’s alive. Aragorn heard the unspoken caveat all the same. His dark eyes had a softness in them when he spoke.

“The battle is over, Captain of the White Tower,” Aragorn said. “We must turn our efforts now to the dead and wounded. May we not find you kin among them.”

If the taste of ash settled on the back of Boromir’s tongue, it could be attributed to the smell of Mordor’s filthy army laying dead at his feet, and not to the terrible image that flashed across his mind’s eye of Faramir’s bloodied and unblinking face.

“My father will be well,” Boromir asserted, determined not to speculate on his brother’s wellbeing. “He is past his time as a warrior. He will have commanded our troops from a place of safety within the walls.”

Aragorn inclined his head in assent. His hair really was a sight- black blood had matted chunks of it together, and where they stood now in the open field, with the sun just beginning to peek through the enemy’s unnatural bank of shadow, Boromir could see that his clothes were in much the same state. Perhaps this was why Aragorn so persistently favored black for his travel clothes. Were he wearing any other color, it would be obvious that he was as drenched in the blood of orcs as if he had bathed in it. 

A warrior of staggering skill was this king of Men, but he preferred not to proclaim his deadliness to the world. He tucked it away into shadow until such skill was needed. Perhaps one day Boromir might look upon this man that he called brother and not be humbled by the mere sight of him. 

Perhaps. 

“I will search with a sharp eye, then, for Captain Faramir,” Aragorn promised. 

Boromir closed the distance between them to grip Aragorn’s shoulder in thanks. Aragorn returned the gesture with ferocity, digging his fingers into the mail covering Boromir’s upper arm. Gimli thumped Boromir’s back in a heavy handed gesture of approval, and Legolas bowed his head with a coy smile. A river of unspoken words passed between the four of them, about great and important things like love and fear at the end of the world, and then they released each other. Aragorn turned his stride towards the Citadel to lend his knowledge of elvish medicine to the House of Healing. Legolas and Gimli set out together to help carry the wounded into the city for aid. Boromir made for the rocky outcrop at the city’s outermost wall, the one that archers favored for its vantage point. There he was sure he would find rangers, and hopefully news of Faramir.

The walk carried him past countless dead orcs and uruk-hai, but also more dead men and horses than Boromir had ever seen on a single field. For every pair of comrades he saw embrace in giddy relief, another wail of grief reached his ears from somewhere else. His mail grew heavier with every step he took.

Boromir had scarcely made it halfway to the archer’s outpost before he was stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Captain Boromir!” a familiar voice shouted. “You live!”

Boromir stopped and whirled about. There, about ten yards from Boromir, close enough to the outermost wall to be half-concealed in its shadow, crouched a man in a forest-green cloak. His hands still hovered over a fallen Gondorian soldier, as if he had frozen partway through checking for signs of life. Before the man in green rose to stand, he brushed a hand over the fallen one’s face, coaxing his eyes shut before stepping away. Boromir felt a dull pang of grief in his already overburdened heart at the confirmation that yet another of his countrymen was dead. He had no time to acknowledge that pain, though, as the man in green righted himself fully. The green cloak, brown leather vambraces, and longbow on his back all sparked immediate recognition. 

Boromir knew this man, had met him before, but his weary mind failed to provide a name for him. It hardly mattered. The uniform he wore told Boromir everything he needed to know. Faramir had been clad exactly the same, the last time Boromir had seen him. This was one of the rangers of Ithilien, his brother’s own company. Hope swelled painfully in his chest. He hastened his step towards the ranger.

The ranger rushed to meet him and performed a quick, obligatory salute when they were close enough to speak comfortably. “My lord,” he greeted, breathless. “Your father thought you dead, but we in Captain Faramir’s company held out hope.” A wide grin split across his face. “You cannot imagine how sorely you’ve been missed!”

Seeing his smile finally dragged the ranger’s name to the front of Boromir’s memory. “Anborn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you alive and well. Tell me, what news do you have of my brother?”

 Anborn’s smile dropped, giving way to a look of naked concern as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “I have no news, my lord, none that is not two days old at least.”

 "Then give me the old news,” Boromir pressed, trying not to snap. 

Anborn grimaced and nodded. “My lord,” he said, haltingly, “The last time I saw your brother, my Captain, was on the day he rode out to reclaim Osgiliath with a company of forty mounted soldiers.”

Boromir could only stare for a long moment, turning over Anborn’s words in his head to try and make them comprehensible. No clarity came to him. “My brother is- in Osgiliath?”

Another grimace. “If he is still there, he is dead.” Boromir’s lungs constricted and froze. Anborn continued, “Osgiliath was overrun more than a week ago. I’ve heard rumors that Faramir made it back to the Citadel, but I cannot say any more than that without inventing rumors myself.”

“The Citadel,” Boromir repeated. He forced breath into his uncooperative lungs. He would go to the Citadel, and he would find Faramir there with their father, incoherent with frustration after arguing strategy with Denethor. He turned on his heel and started walking. Anborn said something as Boromir strode away, but he didn’t hear it properly over the ringing in his ears. 

What he had heard of Anborn’s words clamored in his mind- it sounded as if Faramir had taken a company of only forty men to reclaim an overrun city. That would be absurd, though. Faramir may be prone to bouts of melancholy and brooding, but he wasn’t suicidal. And even if he did, for some reason, decide to seek his own death, he would never bring any number of Gondor’s defenders with him to do it.

 Your father thought you dead.

 Boromir broke into a run.

Faramir didn’t hold sway over all their troops’ movements. Faramir wasn’t the Steward. 

 He was moving too slowly. Stumbling to a halt, Boromir grasped at the leather straps holding his pauldrons in place and did his best to unfasten them with numb fingers. Denethor had not been the same in recent years. The shadow in the east had darkened his thoughts, day by day, and set him talking as if the end were already here. His gray eyes had glinted in a way that Boromir scarcely recognized when he’d spoken of the One Ring. He’d never favored Faramir, never encouraged him the way he deserved, but the cruelty that had colored Denethor’s every interaction with his secondborn in the year or two before Boromir left shocked him. 

Boromir’s pauldrons landed on the ground in a heap, and now he doubled over to escape the shirt of mail. It was a difficult task without taking off his sword belt, but he managed. He needed to be faster, but he could not bear to go unarmed. The chain links poured gracelessly down over his head, yanking his hair as they went, and then he was free. Boromir took off running again, now unencumbered. 

 Faramir would never plan a suicide mission. 

 Would he accept one, though, if he was ordered?

Boromir’s feet touched white marble bricks for the first time in months that had felt like decades. He did not pause. Shouts followed him as he went, calling his name or exclaiming surprise. Arches and edifices flew by overhead. Rubble littered the street. He caught glances of bodies crushed under great stones. 

Boromir made it to the stairs. His weary legs burned and protested, but he dared not slow his descent. He needed to know where Faramir was, now. He needed to know what had happened in Osgiliath, before any more ideas had the chance to take root in his head. If he finished the line of thinking that Anborn’s news had set off-

 Boromir might kill his father with his bare hands.

So, he would not stop, and he would not think, until he found answers.

 He reached the top of the stairs. 

 A small group of guards, maybe five or six, clustered together at the Citadel gate, all spoke over each other in urgent tones. Boromir could not hear most of their words over his own ragged breath, but he caught a few. He heard “Mithrandir” and “Witch King” and “wood”, and then, “Denethor.” 

“Where?” Boromir barked. Every one of the men before him startled and turned to him with unabashed fear written across their faces.

If Boromir had looked a mess back on the fields, by now he must appear absolutely deranged. Half his armor gone, hair wild, white shirt drenched with sweat and blood- he could hardly blame the unsuspecting guards for the shock and confusion they displayed so brazenly at his question. Nor could he blame himself for the urge to grab the nearest one and shake him until he spoke sense.

Fortunately for all present, the guard furthest to the left, a man of slight and youthful stature underneath his plate armor, spoke up.

“The House of Stewards,” he said, voice trembling. He pointed in the right direction. “In the tombs. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.”

 Boromir ran like he had never done in his life. 

 For what possible reason would his father and brother be in the tombs in the midst of battle?

 He threw himself against the door to the tombs of his forefathers. They gave way with no resistance, and as he stumbled through the opening, he noted that the floor was dusted with splintered wood. This door had already been broken through. There he stopped short.

He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the scene before him.

 In the center of the foyer, directly on top of Húrin’s memorial etching, were the remains of- a bonfire? Heaps of ash and charred wood covered the usually immaculate white marble floor, built up into a high, still-smoldering mound in the chamber’s center. The air reeked of smoke. Neither Denethor nor Faramir were in sight, nor was anyone else. The tombs appeared deserted.

  “Faramir?” Boromir called warily. 

A clang of metal and the scuffle of unshod feet on stone answered his call, and then-

“Boromir!”

A small form collided hard with his midsection, forcing him to take a staggering step back. Small arms wrapped around him like a vice, a familiar vice, and Boromir abruptly realized that he was in the embrace of a hobbit.

“Pippin?” he demanded, aghast.

The young hobbit turned his face up to meet his gaze and a fresh wave of panic seized him. Pippin’s face was coated in ash and streaked with tears.

“Boromir!” Pippin cried again. “You have to help, Gandalf said that healers were coming but nobody came, there was screaming in the halls so I dragged him as far as I could but he’s heavy and I don’t know where Gandalf went and just- just- come here!” 

The hobbit released his iron grip around Boromir’s waist in favor of clutching one of his wrists and started hauling him off to one side of the room, into a corridor of mausoleums. There, poking out of the nearest alcove, Boromir spied the lower half of a single black boot. 

Pippin pulled him onward when his own pace faltered. With each step he could see more of the body that Pippin had apparently tried to drag to safety. A small, or rather, hobbit-sizedsword lay carelessly discarded on the floor beneath the alcove’s arching entrance where Pippin had dropped it. That would explain the clanging sound Boromir had heard just before being tackled, then. Which would mean that when he called out, Pippin had been guarding this archway with sword in hand. 

Pippin’s relentless tugging finally forced Boromir to where he could see the stricken man on the floor.

It was Faramir.

Of course it was Faramir. 

A rough, strangled sound echoed through the quiet tombs, and Boromir only realized a moment later that it had come from his own throat. Pippin darted from his side to kneel at his brother’s head, petting his hair and murmuring a soothing word. Faramir did not react in the slightest. He wasn’t dead; Boromir had seen enough dead men in his life to know with unfailing precision the difference between a dead body and a dying one.

No, his brother was not dead. He was only dying. 

Boromir dropped to his knees. 

In all this time that he had dreaded coming home and hearing that Faramir had fallen in battle, it had never occurred to Boromir that he might watch him die.

“He needs medicine,” Pippin pleaded, his little hand nestled in Faramir’s hair. Boromir now saw that the hobbit was dressed in the garb of the guards of Citadel, mail under a velvet tunic embroidered with the white tree. What had happened in his city? When had this barely-trained halfling become his brother’s last line of defense?

“Go,” Boromir rasped. He touched the hilt of his sword. “I will protect him now. Go to the House of Healing, down one level. Aragorn is there. He will listen to you.”

Without another word, Pippin took off at a sprint. Boromir and Faramir were left alone, together for the first time since Boromir had left for Rivendell. 

Boromir wanted to scream.

Instead, he maneuvered himself carefully to sit at his brother’s side. How Pippin had managed to stash Faramir away in this little nook, Boromir had no idea. He could only just find room for himself against the wall without jostling the motionless body beside him. He reached a tentative hand out to lay it on Faramir’s forehead. He paused before he touched skin, momentarily stunned by the radiating heat. When his fingers settled on his brother’s brow, it was like touching metal that had been left in the sun too long. Faramir burned. Boromir gently smoothed his hand over damp hair.

It wasn’t just Faramir’s hair that was damp, actually. It was everything on him. His short beard, the finely embroidered collar of his tunic, the silk of his sleeves. If his fever was so high, it was not so surprising to find him coated in sweat. The choice of clothes, though, was undeniably strange. There was no blood staining the fabric. Had he not been hurt in battle, then? Had he simply been taken by a violent illness? Was there a plague in the city? That might explain the lack of gore but not the presence of finery. Boromir had only ever seen Faramir wear this tunic for ceremonies. He wouldn’t have put it on before battle, and he would certainly have taken it off if he were falling ill. 

No, the only reasonable conclusion was that Faramir had not been the one to dress himself. A terrible, unspeakable suspicion wormed its way into his heart. 

Boromir almost regretted sending Pippin away without first asking him what had happened to create this bizarre tableau. Almost. His answers could wait until Faramir had been brought safely into the care of physicians. He lifted his hand to stroke Faramir’s hair again, but the slickness that clung to his palm bade him pause.

That wasn’t sweat in his brother’s hair, it was something else, something more viscous. Puzzled beyond words, Boromir brought his hand close to his face to inspect it. 

His palm was smeared with oil.

All at once, a dozen disparate fragments of information arranged themselves into nightmarish clarity.

Someone had dressed Faramir for a funeral. Someone had brought him into the place where the bones of their ancestors rested and covered him in oil. Someone had lit a bonfire in the center of the tombs. 

Not a bonfire. A pyre.

Someone had tried to burn his little brother alive.

 “No,” Boromir whispered, as if he could prevent his next thought from taking shape.

Only one person in Gondor could do any of this without being stopped.

In the tombs, the guard at the gate had said. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.

Boromir launched himself upright, out of the cramped alcove, and was sick all over the marble floor.

For the second time in a day, Pippin found himself running for someone else’s life. At least he didn’t have so far to go this time. He could not remember ever being so tired. It was also fortunate that he knew already where to find the House of Healing. Gandalf had insisted he memorize the route there as soon as he’d made his oath to Denethor, which was a bit insulting, to be honest, but turned out very useful in the end.

 The first time he’d entered the House, just a few days ago, he’d thought it was very full. Most of the rows of clean, simple cots had been occupied by rangers returning from outside the city. As he dashed through the sturdy oaken door now, though, he entered a different world entirely.

The cacophony of sound, smell and movement that surged up to meet him stopped Pippin in his tracks. The House of Healing was so crowded he could not see the far wall. He could barely see the nearest row of cots. Tall ladies rushed about in every direction, shouting orders to one another above a nauseating din of groans and cries. Pippin had been standing guard in a cloud of smoke for hours, and yet the onslaught of ugly and unfamiliar smells that accosted him here made him wish for the scent of smoke again.

His foray into the front lines of a battle had been terrifying. This place might be worse.

Boromir had said that Aragorn was here, though, and Pippin would walk headfirst into an army of orcs right now if it meant that Aragorn would help him. He never wanted to be in charge of anything, ever again, especially not trying to keep great lords and heroes alive. Aragorn was good at that sort of thing, he could take over now. Pippin took a deep breath and began forging a path through the chaos, calling Aragorn’s name as he went.

As he weaved his way through cots, ducking underneath outstretched arms and around long legs, Pippin heard questions following him that he had no desire to answer.

“How old is that boy? Who let a child in the guard?”

"Is that one of those halflings? The wizard’s pet or something?”

“Are you lost, little one?”

Some of these Men had the most terrible manners, clearly. Most of them were bleeding very badly, though, so Pippin could forgive them for their rudeness. He ignored them all and kept moving.

“Aragorn!” he shouted again.

A women that had been rushing by him paused for an instant to glare down at him. “Hush, you,” she scolded, in a voice that spoke of unquestionable authority. She wore a sort of veil with a nice brooch on it, so Pippin supposed she might be in charge here. “Lord Aragorn’s doing very important things right now and I’ll not have you disturbing him.”

Pippin’s heart jumped. “Where is he?” he asked.

The woman tsked and shook her head, making to continue along her original path. She held a bowl in her arms that Pippin was quite sure he did not want to see the inside of. Whatever it was sloshed unpleasantly when Pippin lurched after the women and grabbed a handful of her skirt to prevent her from leaving.

“The Steward has ordered me to fetch Aragorn! Show me where he is!” Pippin declared. He didn’t think it was a lie. Denethor was dead, so that made Boromir the Steward in his place, probably.

The woman gasped in surprise. “Lord Denethor lives?” she asked. “Wondrous news, we thought lord and son dead already.”

 Pippin avoided the question about Denethor by standing up as straight as he could. “Lord Faramir needs medicine,” he said imperiously. “He needs Aragorn’s skill. Take me to Aragorn.”

With a quick hand gesture to follow and not another word, the woman took off walking at a brisk stride deeper into the crowded hall. Pippin had to run to keep up with her. After what seemed like a dozen maneuvers around clumps of people and cots, a figure clad all in black finally came into view.

“Strider!” Pippin cried with relief. 

Aragon knelt at a young man’s bedside with a wet rag and bowl of water in his hands. He turned his face at once toward the sound of Pippin’s voice, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he did. Some of the panic that had been driving Pippin these last several hours faded away at the sight. If Aragorn was here, then surely things would get better now.

His relief faltered a bit when Pippin noticed that Aragorn was simply ­covered in blood- both red and black, and sweat, and grime that Pippin could not begin to identity. The Men gathered round him didn’t seem to mind Aragorn’s state, but then, most of them were splattered with blood as well, probably their own. Even Aragorn could not dispel the somber truth hanging in the air, that unimaginably many people had died today.

Faramir would join the dead soon if Pippin didn’t get a move on, so he marched past all those tall, bloodied Men to stand right at Aragorn’s side.

“Faramir’s dying,” he hissed, hoping he was quiet enough for none but Aragorn to hear. He didn’t especially want to deliver more bad news to the people in this room. “Boromir is with him, but he needs medicine, now.”

If Aragorn found this news distressing, he did not show it. He just nodded thoughtfully, and asked, “Can he walk?”

Pippin shook his head. Aragorn hummed an acknowledgment and rose to his feet. He handed the bowl and rag he’d been holding to another woman that Pippin hadn’t noticed before, murmuring something that sounded like instructions. He then spoke to the lady that had led Pippin, the one who seemed to be in charge.

“Ioreth,” he addressed her. “We have need of a stretcher.”

“It will be done,” she said, and turned on her heel to vanish back into the crowded hall.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers to dry them. Pippin suspected he made them dirtier in the process. “Pippin,” Aragorn said. “Will you please lead me to Boromir and Faramir?”

“Yes, this way,” Pippin answered quickly. He was eager to be out of this terrifying place. He found it easier than before to navigate through the throng. He realized after a few moments of uninhibited movement that people were stepping aside to make way as soon as they saw Aragorn following him.

Had Aragorn already gotten around to being crowned while Pippin was busy? These people were certainly treating him like a king.

“Did you already become the King?” Pippin asked without thinking.

Aragorn chuckled dryly. “No, and I don’t think the lady healers would much care if I had. They care only that I know how to draw out the poison that covers many orcish blades, and that I’ve shared what I know.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, feeling queasy.

Finally, the door came into sight, and with a quick burst of speed, Pippin flung himself back into fresh air. Mostly fresh, anyway, permitting for some lingering smoke. The smell of blood and death that lingered in his nostrils seemed even more vile when contrasted against another, cleaner scent, and it made him gag. Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand between his shoulders.

“The battle to save the wounded is the hardest and the bloodiest,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in being shocked by it.”

Pippin couldn’t quite speak yet, so he bobbed his head in a jerky, shaking nod. He allowed himself two deep breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Right. Faramir. Shot full of arrows and nearly burned to death, currently stashed in a mausoleum, actively perishing of fever. He had to bring Aragorn there, and then maybe he could sit down for a moment. He set off again at a jog.

Aragorn, being unfairly long-legged, could follow him with a brisk walk. Pippin was growing weary of these big people, he really was.

Back over the same cold marble stone he went, retracing his steps to the tombs. Two men carrying a stretcher had started following them at some point- Pippin hadn’t noticed exactly where they came from, but the stretcher they carried was already stained with red, so he suspected that they had been going back and forth from the House of Healing for a while already. Aragorn let there be silence between them for several yards, but began asking questions as soon as they crossed under a crumbling archway.

“What happened to Faramir to leave him needing medicine?”

“He was shot at least twice, I’m not sure when. Sometime yesterday.”

"Where has he been?”

“Well, he got shot when he was fighting in Osgiliath, and then the horse dragged him back, and that probably made it worse, actually, but then Denethor put him away someplace for a day or so and then brought him into the tombs and tried to burn him alive.”

Aragorn froze for a moment. “What?”

“Denethor lost his mind just before the battle started, he tried to burn Faramir alive on a pyre. And himself too, I think. He thought the world was ending.”

“Where is Denethor now?”

“He jumped off the wall.”

Aragorn took up walking again, now at a faster stride. “Boromir is with his brother now?”

"Yes,” Pippin confirmed, doing his best to keep up with Aragorn’s pace.

“Does he know what happened?”

That was a good question, actually. Had Pippin explained the situation at all? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember most of today, to be honest- it was all a blur of screams and fire.

He remembered the blinding panic he’d felt when heavy footsteps had entered the tombs. He remembered clutching his sword with sweaty hands and bracing himself to get torn to shreds by uruk-hai, and then abandoning his sword to hurl himself at Boromir once he’d heard the man’s voice. What had Boromir said, though? Anything? Had Pippin said anything?

He remembered Boromir dropping heavily onto his knees. The look on his face had been awful. He looked sad and scared and sick all at once. Pippin had never been sure what the word anguish meant, but he was sure now.

“I don’t think so,” Pippin finally answered.

 Aragorn muttered something to himself, a string of elvish words that Pippin had never heard before. It sounded like what Legolas said when he missed a shot, though, so Pippin could wager a guess at what it meant.

At last, they reached the door to the House of Stewards. Pippin darted through, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aragorn was still following. Through the foyer, around the smoldering remains of the pyre, down the corridor on the right, and there they were. The lords of Gondor. Not quite as Pipping had left them.

Boromir had extracted Faramir from the alcove where Pippin had dragged him to lay his brother out in the open. The fine silk tunic Faramir had worn lay in oil-soaked shreds scattered about the floor, and the mail shirt he’d had on underneath was similarly cast aside, half-obscuring a puddle of vomit near the entry to the alcove. Pippin was sympathetic- being in this place made him want to retch, too.

Faramir lay on his side in his undershirt. The fabric had been white once, Pippin knew, but blood, oil and ash had colored it through. Boromir knelt at his back, holding him steady by the upper arm with one hand and gently tearing the cloth of the ruined shirt with the other. The cloth didn’t move the way it should when Boromir tugged it. It stuck stubbornly to Faramir’s scorched upper back and shoulder, like it had been glued there.

Pippin gasped in horror as the realization hit him. Boromir couldn’t get Faramir’s shirt off because it was stuck to his burnt skin, fused in place by the heat of the fire. Had his skin melted? Could skin melt? The thought alone sickened him.

Boromir must have heard Pippin gasp, because his head snapped up to fix the hobbit with a wild stare.

Pippin didn’t usually think of Boromir as frightening. Fearsome, of course, but not to his friends. Certainly never to Pippin.

He looked frightening now. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were tiny pinpoints. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic expression, somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, showing just a hint of teeth. His shoulders curled forward, hunching slightly over Faramir’s still form, and through his thin, damp shirt Pippin could see he was shaking with pent up energy.

When Pippin was younger, one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs had gone missing. They’d found the creature hiding under a shed, nursing a bleeding paw, growling and snapping at any hobbit that tried to approach. Boromir did not make a sound, but Pippin swore he could hear the same wounded dog’s growling all the same.

Pippin felt rather than heard Aragorn approaching from behind him, and it was a great relief when Boromir’s gaze flicked up off his face to fixate on Aragorn instead. With what seemed to be a tremendous effort, Boromir opened his mouth to speak.

“Where is Denethor?” he rasped, voice shaking.

Aragorn took a cautious step forward, moving in front of Pippin. He held his hands up, fingers splayed open, the way he did when trying to settle a spooked horse. “Boromir, my brother-” he began, voice soft and steady.

Boromir interrupted before he could take another step. “Tell me where my father is, Aragorn,” he croaked. “Tell me so I can find him and gut him.”

“He’s dead,” Pippin blurted. “He set himself on fire and then he went off the edge of the wall and died.”

Aragorn stiffened. Boromir’s jaw went slack. He heard gasps from the men carrying the stretcher behind him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Gandalf was always telling him something to that effect.

Boromir let out long, low groan and slumped in on himself, bowing his head so low his forehead grazed Faramir’s hair. He released the firm grip he’d been maintaining on his brother’s upper arm to grab fistfuls of his own hair instead.

Aragorn moved swiftly to kneel beside Boromir. He wrapped one arm around Boromir’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided embrace. Boromir went without protest, deflated and boneless against his king. Aragorn spoke to him, too softly for Pippin to hear, and coaxed him to shuffle backwards just a pace or two to create space at Faramir’s side. The two half-forgotten men with the stretcher between them seized their opportunity and swept in to gather Faramir up. Boromir twitched forward when they lifted his brother, but Aragorn held him back with a hand on his chest. With quick, synchronized steps, Faramir was taken out of the tombs.

Louder now, so Pippin could hear again, Aragorn spoke with real regret in his voice. “I must follow them. I promise I will give all the skill I have to make Lord Faramir well.”

“I’m coming,” Boromir stated.

Aragorn fixed him with a hard stare. “It will be ugly,” he warned. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off his back, and I expect much of his skin to come with it. If he wakes it will be to scream.”

“I know,” said Boromir.

“I would rather not find your blade shoved through my heart while I work.”

Boromir flushed. “I would not.”

Aragorn raised one eyebrow. “All the same, if you wish to follow, leave your sword at the door for my peace of mind.”

Boromir opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and simply bowed his head in assent. Aragorn hauled himself to his feet and offered Boromir a hand up, which Boromir accepted without hesitation.

“Can I help?” Pippin asked, surprising himself.

Aragorn eyed him up and down. One corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, Pippin, I think you can help us all very much by staying at Boromir’s side and keeping him calm. If you have any more news to deliver, however, perhaps you could share it beforewe enter the House of Healing?”

Pippin recognized the admonishment for what it was and ducked his head, chastened. On the other hand, now that he mentioned it-

“Gandalf’s staff is broken,” he announced.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Pippin. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well. If you think of something, take Boromir out into the hall and tell him.” Aragorn turned to Boromir and spoke sternly. “Boromir, if Pippin takes you out into the hall, I forbid you to pick up your sword until we have had a chance to speak.”

Boromir huffed out something very close to a laugh. “Wise council, my king.”

#@emilybeemartin #lotr fic #Boromir Lives AU

[cherryredstars]

Ok so i have this fic idea where reader and mig are from different universes and reader is a scientist and one time mig and her get drunk and start talking about the multiverse and suddenly they are on the topic of what would happen if people from different universes had a baby together. (You see where i am going with this...) they end up drunkenly fucking and saying it's for "research" because they can't admit to themselves that they are in love. If this request is too complicated feel free to ignore. Thank you in advance cherry!! I hope u have a marvelous new year!! 💕

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Oral Sex, Mentions of Animal Testing (for science), Breeding Kink

A/N: Thank you, love! I hope you're well!!!

You know there is a process.

And you know this isn't it.

There are supposed to be hypotheses and written out procedures. Dependent and independent variables, a control group. Fucking hell, you should be experimenting on fucking mice. You should be limiting the margins of error, should be going with the most direct, straightforward pursuit for results.

And yet...

You don't stop Miguel when he pushes you back onto the couch. You don't pause or even really think when he's pushing your pants down your legs, placing kisses along the skin as he goes. You lift your hips to aid him when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, shivering when his warm breath fans over your exposed sex. If this experiment was in any sense proper, you would get straight into it. Cut out all the unneeded steps. But you can't help but pull his head closer to your aching core, craving the way his warm tongue laps at you. If you weren't already drunk, you would be drunk on this feeling alone.

But god, nothing has even been more satisfying than doing the work. You know the data would be void in a real experiment. The trials bleeding into each other hardly make for adequate data, but the way you beg him for more is involuntary. It feels too good, to have him desperately thrusting into you. It makes your mind numb, and everything you know about your life's passion is erased. The only thing that fills your head is the words Miguel grunts into you ears, promises of fucking a baby into you. Vows to make you bloated with load after load of his cum. That all it'll take is one of his orgasms to make it happen.

You guess that is a hypothesis in itself: Miguel O'Hara can get you pregnant with just one orgasm.

Too bad he's too desperate to find out if that hypothesis is correct. Because he doesn't stop at one. No, he keeps going. One after the other with no breaks in-between. But you guess that's to be expected, he is a man of science himself. A passionate one at that.

He's almost crazed in the way he overstimulates himself. Sweat beading in his hairline as he grunts down at you, watching the way he creamy cock slides in and out of your abused pussy. You've lost count of how many times you've come alone, but you know based on the way your body shivers and jolts that it's far more than you've ever had before. It's almost painful now, the way your next orgasm rips through you and shatters your soul again. You let out strangled breaths as you fight through the aftershocks and the continued pleasure of Miguel's cock slamming against your cervix. You swear you black out before he finally stops, your eyes and mind groggy as he pulls your hips flush against his as he spills into you.

You can feel him trying to push deeper into you as he pants ruggedly, his cock twitching against your walls until he's milked dry. Even when he's done filling you, he stays connected. He collapses onto you, breathing in the linger smell of sweat and sex on your skin.

"Got to make sure it takes."

Well, does the process really matter if you get the desired result anyway?

#cherry's requests🍒 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv miguel #miguel smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel o hara #miguel atsv #miguel 2099 #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o hara x y/n #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o hara x you #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader smut #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 spiderverse

[euno11a]

”Simon, you need to promise me you won’t get mad…” you said as you looked at him from the opposite side of the couch.

his brows furrowed as he looked at you, “Can’t promise, love.”

you nibbled your lip, picking at the skin on your cuticles before finally spitting it out. “I have a crush on someone!”

you’ve seen Simon in many ways - when he’s angry, sad, happy, horny and that beautiful look he gave you when he saw you on your wedding day, but nothing would’ve ever prepared you for the look you got when you said that. He looked like you hit his heart a thousand times. “Y’what?”

“I- I have a crush…and the problem is, I can’t stop staring and thinking he’s the most handsome guy. And when he stared back at me, I got butterflies and felt myself blush.”

He sat quietly, listening to you as you rambled on about your new crush…at least you were telling him and not cheating.

You let out a small sigh, “He makes me nervous and giddy; not nervous in a bad way, but nervous in a ‘I just want him to lean in and kiss me’ kinda way. Like, ‘Hey, my phone buzzed and I hope it’s him’ kinda way. And when I get ready to go out, I struggle to find the perfect outfit because I wanna look just right…”

that feeling of comfort he once had with you, his wife, was just fading away so easily. After all the shit that had happened to him, you were the last one he thought would do this to him. He stood up and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head and walking off to the front door.

you got up and ran over to him, grabbing his arm. “Si, where are you going?” You looked at him, trying to figure out what made him upset.

“Away. Let y’have yer time with your new lad.” His voice was stern and full of venom. But it only got worse when he saw you crack a smile.

“Simon…no, lovie, I was talking about you! You’re the guy I have a crush on…and I know it’s gushy, but I feel like a teenager again every time I look at you. It’s your fault for being so handsome.” Your voice gentle as you cupped his face and pressed little butterfly kisses to his cheeks and nose.

he could do nothing but stand there dumbfounded. “Y’need t’find a better way of sayin’ shit, doll. Thought ye were bout to leave me…” his voice got softer when he said that last bit.

your eyes softened, knowing how it sounded to him. You sank to your knees and pressed small kisses to his sweatpant clad thighs, earning a small groan from him. “Wha’re you doin’ love?”

“Apologizing…” you said, staring up at him through your lashes as you pulled his sweats down.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x reader #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #fluff headcanons #fluff #drabble #oneshot #smut

[mimixmunson]

I had a rough time growing up and ive never relaxed around anyone, i was wondering if maybe i could request a little thing with eddie where theyre cuddling and hes helping the reader relax and helping reader learn to trust him, that shes safe now, that she can let go.. nothing bads going to happen..

maybe alittle bit of subspace too?

And she tells eddie that she loves him while shes all doughy eyed and relaxed ❤

Softly and slowly. Eddie Munson x female reader. Angst/fluff. Blurb.

Ty for your request, I hope this is okay. It’s a bit self indulgent but I hope it helps you feel better. My DMs are open if you ever need to speak to someone impartial<3

“You’re okay. No need to worry doll. You think anyone’s gonna hurt you? No chance. They’ll have to get through me, and do you think anyone’s gonna try and fight the freak? Nah. They’re scared of me. So you, little princess, are so safe here.” Eddie mutters, breathing his words into your ear as you lay on his chest. His hair curling over your forehead, he looks down at you with a reassuring smile. You knew you belonged to him. He never treated you like his property, but like you were the most precious crystal he’d ever found. As if you were washed up on the shore just for him to find and polish.

“I promise you. I got you.” His smile beaming from ear to ear, your heartbeat begins to slow and return to its normal pace. Something about being on Eddie’s chest became the most comforting thing for you. It’s like when a baby is born and they lay on their parents chests almost immediately after, soothing the crying to a holt. With your father absent for most of your life, the daddy issues really came to life when you met Eddie. The sort of guy you’d bring home to your parents to piss them off, I mean look at him. A metal head, a stoner, tattoos and in a band called “Corroded Coffin.” You knew your mom wouldn’t approve, she barely approved of you. Always criticising everything you did, putting you down at every given opportunity. But Eddie? He was almost paternal to you.

“They can’t hurt you anymore.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair, scratching at your scalp. His hands massaging your head melted away all of the thoughts, all of the trauma memories that came to light in the panic attack. Eddie knew your past, he wasn’t the sort of “don’t kill yourself you’re so sexy!” Or “don’t do it again.. for me?” Whilst rubbing your scarred skin kind of guy. He was patient, it took years for you to open up to him and he waited. Never pushed for information, never tried to force you to open up about your childhood. He just comforted you, held your hand through the panic attacks, cuddled you through your nightmares and sat in the therapy office waiting room for you every Thursday while you worked on yourself.

“I’m here for you.” He kisses your forehead. The act is so simple yet so intimate. He was right too. He was there for you. He sat with you for hours at skull rock when you got the news that the dad that left you when you were just seven years old had passed away. He was there for you when you were finally diagnosed with complex post traumatic stress disorder, and he wiped every single tear that fell down your cheek. But the best part was, he never expected anything in return. Eddie never tried to cash in on his emotional support to you with sexual favours. He didn’t see you as a doll that you could use when you wanted her. He saw you for who you were, a little damaged but a huge heart with so much love to give.

“Nothing bad is gonna happen to you now baby.” Eddie mumbled as he cradled you, swaying your body from side to side. You let yourself breathe, the breath came out harshly. Mustering up all of the energy you have left to lift your chin up from his tattooed chest, your head feeling a little hazy from the second hand smoke of his joint. You see him, half smiling and brushing the hair from your face behind your ears.

“I love you.” Your voice was breathy and insecure but you knew you meant your words. They didn’t come from your throat, but from the depths of your heart. You lean in, planting a gentle peck on his lips, feeling him smile against you before he agreed, “I love you too.” He’s honey-eyed and his facial expression so gooey and soft for you. Time slows as you stare at each other, so innocently in love with each other. He loves you gently, softly and carefully. You know your heart is safe with him.

#stranger things #mine #eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie stranger things #eddie blurb #eddie x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #angst #eddie x fem reader #fix it fic #eddie munson blurbs #fluff blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie the freak munson #eddie the banished #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson stranger things #Eddie Munson comfort fic #comfort fic #eddie munson imagine

[luvvyouforever]

exclusively yours - sdv harvey x reader!

-> synopsis: harvey realizes some things about himself and one of those is that he can't stand it when other people look at what's his.

-> warning: NSFW MDNI MDNI MDNI SMUT! jealous harvey mhm. a touch of dom harvey what can i say. slight shane slander nothing too mean. a bit wordy. you've been warned.

-> a/n: i hope you all enjoy! i wrote this whenever i had time free over the course of a week when i should be doing homework.

there's a rare fire in his eyes that night at the stardrop saloon. he's not sure what it is that he's feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he knows for certain that he doesn't like the way shane's eyes rake over your flower dance dress that you had been wearing since this morning when you danced with the doctor, and not shane.

he's reminding himself of the ring on your finger, the farm that you live in together, the bouquets you've gifted him, the necklace that took ages to procure because the weather had to be just right. and yet, none of that is easing the jealousy threatening to bubble up over the surface.

the lust in shane's gaze becomes even more apparent as the crowd dwindles. he's talking to you and harvey can barely make out the words coming out of his mouth, but then there's a touch to your elbow that was well-timed to come after a joke you just made, and now harvey is striding over, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulders to stare at shane.

"what was so funny?" he asks and the interested inflection in his tone is entirely fake. "i know my wife has such a keen sense of humor, doesn't she?" you don't miss the emphasis he puts on 'wife.'

shane's grown awkward now, and he shifts hsi weight from one foot to the next. he's been caught and there's nothing much he can do to salvage this situation. "yeah, uh, she just made a joke about summer. nothing serious. sorry," he stumbles out.

"mhm, yeah. so, we'll see you around?" harvey says which effectively ends the conversation and forces shane back into the booth he was originally sitting down in. with a breath of relaxation, he turns to you with a different kind of fire in his eyes. one that makes you shiver with palpable excitement. "ready to go home?"

you nod and his hand moves from your shoulder down to the small of your back to give you just a slight push away from prying eyes and out the door of the saloon.

neither of you speak on the way home and it feels like even the nature around you is holding its breath in anticipation of what will happen when the door to your farmhouse swings open. the farmhouse becomes visible in the distance and there's a sudden weakness in your legs. subconciously, both you and harvey pick up speed until you find yourself speed-walking to the front door.

he wastes no time in pulling keys from his pocket and unlocking the door and, ever the gentleman, letting you go in first.

once he shuts the door behind him, his hand immediately finds the small of your back again and you feel your body inch closer to the bedroom. anticipation grows and grows until your back is leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom and harvey's stature is looming over yours.

this is new, this is unexplored, this is uncharted territory. harvey had never once been anything other than unadulterated sweetness in the bedroom. he cared about your pleasure, your comfort, and your enjoyment more than anything. but now there was something calling to him to give into this urge building in the pit of his stomach.

harvey's hand crawls from its position by his side, up the curves of your stomach, then stops at the base of your head. a soft gesture tilts your chin upwards so you're looking directly into his brown eyes. you feel small underneath his intense gaze, but it's certainly not a bad feeling.

"you know," he begins with a breath, "i've never considered myself a jealous person." you bite your lip in anticipation, feeling warmth grow from your core and radiate outwards. "but...the way shane was looking at you tonight...i think we just need a small reminder about who you belong with."

there was so much intensity behind his words despite them coming out in a soft drawl. you could have buckled right there on the doorframe but his body was caging you in so that there was no way you'd fall.

with a breath and a swallow, your hand travels from your side to his waist. "then remind me," you tease.

harvey's eyes darken and something about this excited you to no end. his strong hands bring you close to his chest and his lips hurriedly meet yours. they intertwine in a mess, teeth clashing, tongues bumping, but it sets your entire body alight. with ease, harvey inches you away from the doorframe and to the bed where you fall down onto the soft mattress. the white dress on your body falls around your waist, revealing the underwear you had on.

then, harvey growled. like truly, really growled as if something had took over him in these few seconds. he had been suppressing this urge to be with you intensely for fear of hurting you or embarrassing himself. but he's spurred on by your moans and the heat he feels radiating from between your legs.

after making out so roughly that your lips are left feeling numb, harvey's hands travel down your body, stopping at the hem of your underwear. with a strong tug, he pulls you to the edge of the bed and sits on his knees in front of you. he'd regret placing so much pressure on his aging knees in the morning, but that didn't matter now. what mattered now was making you cum to the point that you are unable to think of another man but him.

without much warning, harvey's mouth met your core. you threw your head back to the bed, letting out a moan that made you glad you lived so far from any other person. he was like a man possessed, seeking some salvation in the wetness growing and growing in between your legs.

he pulled away, but not for long as his fingers gripped the hem of your underwear and slid them down your thighs, calfs, and off your feet. for a second, he sat on his knees, marveling at your pleasure and whispered, "you must really like this, huh?"

his voice was laced with lust and darkness. before you could even respond, his mouth met your middle again and every part of your body lurched forward, in awe of the pleasure he was giving you. there was a coil in the pit of your stomach that was growing, wounding around itself, tightening with every stroke of harvey's tongue against you.

"harv! fuck!" you managed to choke out. you could feel his lips tilt upward in a smile, and just when you thought there was no possible way it could get better than this, his finger teased at your hole before plunging in. harvey's anatomical knowledge guided his finger upward, curling up to the spot that sends you reeling.

his name was a prayer on your lips as that coil tightened till the point you think it might snap. you could no longer hold it when harvey added in a second finger, curling both upwards and creating a pressure that pulled the coil till it all fell apart. you were a mess, hair sprawled on the comforter, dress halfway up your body, wetness dripping from harvey's fingers.

he leans back on his knees, eyes blown wide with lust. his lips glisten and his carefully groomed hair and mustache are destroyed. he's breathing heavily, but he didn't stop his frenzy there. with rushed movements, he tugs off his tie, his button down, his undershirt till there was nothing adorning his body.

"need this off," he mumbles, pulling at the hem of your dress. you come out of your daze to rise up and slide the dress off your body. "jesus...," he whispers. he rises from his spot on the floor and gestures for you to scoot up to the bed. slowly, his body comes over yours and once again you become caged in his grip and his scent. "do i tell you that you're beautiful enough? because if i don't i need some sense slapped into me."

heat floods in your cheeks at his words. harvey, ever the kind gentleman, was a whole other person entirely. for a second, you wonder if you could tease more possessiveness out of him. he was already delirious with pleasure. what could a little more hurt?

"i'm glad you think so too, dr. harvey. shane really thinks i'm the best looking person in this whole town," you say with a smirk tilting your lips upward.

that fire reignites in his eyes again. in seconds, his hands come to your wrists and you feel pinned against the bed. his chest is rising and falling with intensity.

"if i hear another man's name on your lips tonight, you're getting it," he threatens.

and, because you can, you push him further. "shane. alex. sam. sebastian. lew-"

in a renewed sense of dominance, harvey clamps his hand over your mouth, effectively cutting you off. "i don't think you'll be able to talk when i'm done with you," he says, voice just slightly above a whisper.

"prove it," you whisper back.

harvey smiles with something sinister lurking beneath the service. he stands from the bed, eyes never leaving yours and tugs off his belt, then his pants. with no flourish, his length comes out, irresistibly hard from the night's activities. he climbs back on top of you, settling his center in front of yours. he's barely touching your core but it's sending you arching upwards.

"i don't think shane could manage making you feel this good, you know?" he teases your entrance. "i mean, if you'd like to try, go ahead, but you'll come back to me crying because he can't make you cum like this." slowly, he slides himself in. you let out an unearthly moan that is met with his own grunts. "you're all mine. no one else's." he fully enters you then, hitting as far back as he could manage.

he drags himself out, then slowly enters back in. it's torturous. horrible. so awfully frustrating.

"please, harv. more!" you beg. he kept up his slow pace, barely budging. "need you more." you sound just as pathetic as you feel.

"can shane make you feel this good?" he asks.

so that's what he wanted from you. "no!" you plead.

"are you all mine, then?"

"yes, all yours!"

"exclusively mine?"

"exclusively yours!"

at those final words, harvey fucks into you again with a quicker, rougher pace. this was what you needed more than air. your hands fly to his arms where your nails dig into the skin there. he would wake up with marks that remind him of the night, but maybe that was your purpose in doing so.

harvey is stretching you out in the most perfect of ways and the closeness of his body to yours sends shivers all over you. his hands are desperately clinging to every part of your exposed skin and his chest rises quickly in attempts to catch his breath. nothing could stop him from his actions right now. all he can focus on is the way you feel so tight around him, the way you're moaning his name, and the way he has to hold in his orgasm until you've came all over him.

which isn't too far away. it's building with every deep, powerful thrust he makes. he's hitting spots inside of you that he hadn't before. it's blissful, filthy, and perfect. in the middle of your ecstacy, you make a note to draw out harvey's jealous side more.

"fuck," he grunts out. it's so strange to hear such filthy language coming from your husband who balked any time you said swear words. "you're so fucking tight for me, huh?"

his dirty words pull out a loud moan from you which seemed to spur harvey on even further. his thrusts lost their rhythm and his breath became rapid. he was close and so were you. with urgent moves, you wrap your legs around his waist which sends his length inside of you as deep as it can go. your eyes meet with a silent agreement.

your moans mingle together, filling the room with lewd noises. your name is repeated over and over again until the moment you both feel that release toppling over the edge, filling your bodies head to toe with pure bliss. his body doesn't still, but instead he returns to the slow pace he began with, pumping his cum deep inside you.

after some breaths and stilled movements, he pulls out with a slick noise and falls to your side. his arms open up in a silent request for you to lay on his chest and you oblige. the bed is destroyed, your bodies are sweaty, and there's certainly something leaking out of you onto the sheets. but sheets can be washed, beds can be made, and showers can be had.

all that matters is that you were exclusively his, and shane could never make you feel like that.

#stardew valley x reader #harvey one shot #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #harvey #harvey x reader #harvey imagine #sdv harvey #sdv harvey smut #stardew valley smut #harvey smut

[empressofthesunwriter]

Change the Narrative

If people knew the truth, they would call her a selfish monster.

But Katara had sacrificed anything for the world, for an ungrateful husband!

This time she would always choose herself first!

Here is a little one-shot of my anger about what happened to Katara in canon.

I want to give her the end she deserves, so I hope you enjoy it!

Katara knew it was time for her to die.

She felt it in her old bones.

Alone she lay in her bed at the South Pole and watched how the snow was falling.

At least she would die seeing the beauty of her homeland.

It was a good death.

The old woman blinked tears away and tried to be positive about her nearing death.

She would see Sokka, her father, her mother and Gran-Gran again.

It was good.

She had lived a long happy life.

Something burning and unsettling spread through her chest as she thought this.

Was it a happy life?

How often did she and Aang argue over simple things?

How often did she beg him not to play favourites with Tenzin? Yes, their youngest was an airbender, but what about Bumi and Kya? They were his children too.

But no!

The Air Nomad legacy was more important than their two oldest children and their pain.

Once upon a time when she was a young girl and fantasized about the man and family one day she would have, she never would have guessed how she became the kind of mother, who didn't fight for her children.

Who didn't call out her husband for his wrongdoings?

However, she had so with Aang. Since she had met him, she always had mothered him, shielded him from things which didn't fit his narrative.

He was the Avatar, the only hope to end the war, with a track record of running away.

They couldn't lose him, so she had protected him the best she could.

And she did so to her children.

No wonder Bumi and Kya didn't even visit her and Tenzin didn't have much of a relationship with her.

Where did she go wrong in her life?

When did she become a shadow of herself in the name of love?

Why did she even choose Aang?

Was it because of Aunt Wu's prediction, she would marry a powerful bender or because she had a feeling Aang...deserved her?

He loved her and had ended the war.

Was it so bad to give him a chance?

Sadly after sacrificing her best years for him and being rewarded to die alone without her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren around her, it may have been the most stupid decision she ever made.

Spirits, was she a bad person to think that?

She loved her family, really she did, but deep down she had to admit...she wouldn't do it a second time.

Katara wouldn't sacrifice herself, her ideals, and her dreams for Aang's dream.

She had her whole life given and given and was now at the end of it rewarded with nothing.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, as she slowly closed her eyes.

Soon she would join her loved ones...

Just...

If she could...

If the spirits were so kind...

If dear Yue heard her...

She wanted a second chance.

She wanted to live a life for herself and herself alone.

Katara had given in this life all and more...was it so bad that she wished for a second chance to get it this time right?

Was she selfish?

Maybe.

Surely.

But anyone had a point in their life where they had to put themselves first.

Her only regret was that she did not realise it sooner.

Katara closed her eyes and felt the last beats of her heart.

Never noting how the moon was shining brightly down at her...

***

She felt pain in her head.

Katara hissed and touched her forehead.

Why did she get a headache?

Where was she?

She blinked to banish the shadows before her eyes.

Slowly she could see.

Ah yes.

She was outside General Iroh's tea shop in Ba Sing Se.

The waterbender had seen Aang walk out and wanted to join him.

It was high time that she gave Aang her answer about them being a couple.

She had been unsure a few days ago, but now with the war over...why shouldn't she give him a chance?

He was standing at the balustrade watching the setting sun, it was the perfect moment.

As the waterbender made her first step towards him, an avalanche of emotions and vision filled her whole being.

Katara gasped quietly, trying to make sense of this.

It was too fast and also too slow...however, she felt it in her bones...whatever she had planned kissing Aang and getting together with him...it would be the worst decision of her life!

No, she didn't want what she had seen.

How could she sell herself, her principals, and her honour for a guy?!

How could she be together with someone who would play favourites with their children?!

No, absolutely not!

Whether this was a vision from the future to save her from this faith Katara didn't know, but what she knew she wouldn't make the same mistakes twice!

So angry she walked up to Aang and tapped his shoulder.

The Avatar turned smiling towards her. He seemed so happy and hopeful and looked at her like she had hung the stars and the moon.

For a second she flatter, which only made the vision come forth again and made her anger tenfold.

Oh no!

Not with her!

"Aang.", she began. "I don't love you and I never will! Stop pestering me about us being a couple! If you don't accept my feelings I will waterwhip you do your next incarnation, do you understand me?!"

To say he was shocked was the understatement of the century. She could formally see the heartbreak in his eyes and how he tried to speak up, maybe to guilt trip her, however, she wasn't having anything of it.

"Nothing you will say and do will ever change my mind! So don't even try. I will go back with Sokka to the South Pole and rebuild my home. That's where I belong!"

Dramatically she turned around and entered the tea shop again.

The others tried their hardest to seem like they hadn't listened in, yet Katara saw through them.

She sends them all an annoyed look.

"What?!"

No one said anything for a few seconds before Toph snickered: "Oh sugar queen, I hoped you had it in you."

This makes Katara smile.

***

The next months of her life Katara rebuilt with her father and Sokka their home. 

The Nothern Watertribe had tried to turn the South into a second North, except Katara was having none of it.

As a war hero, master waterbender and daughter of the chief she used all her power to stop this chances.

She was a force of nature!

No one had a chance against her.

Her family was so proud of her and she was satisfied with herself.

Yes, this was where she belonged.

Helping people and not being the soulless, passionless arm candy of Aang!

Katara was happy.

A voice inside her told her how she deserved it.

***

A year later found Katara as ambassador for her people at the first peace summit.

She was happy seeing Zuko again, they had written to each other, yet seeing each other in person was much better.

He had become her best friend.

And her wall against Aang.

As Avatar he was at the peace summit too. Of course, he tried to talk with her. Tried to sway her, saying he missed her and wanted to be friends again.

She saw right through him. Aang still wanted her.

Thank the spirits for Zuko having her back and distracting Aang.

When they enjoyed together a cup of tea in General Iroh's tea shop she thanked him for his help.

Awkwardly he waved it away.

It was nothing.

He and Mai had broken up and the black-haired girl wasn't happy about it.

Even if she and Aang weren't exes, Zuko knew how frustrating it was to have a person follow you like a shadow and demand to be together again.

In comfort, she petted Zuko's hand and told him he did the right thing to end things with Mai.

If she couldn't accept a no was she a good girlfriend?

A little crooked smile formed on Zuko's lips, and her heart stopped for a second, as he thanked her for her words and friendships.

Then he asked her to join him in the search for his mother.

***

Being with Zuko on a life-changing field trip again was... exciting.

They still worked flawlessly together, like when they had hunted down the murder of her mother, but now they were friends.

It changed a lot of interactions.

They were playful with each other.

Zuko was the only one who ever laughed at her jokes.

They were there for each other.

In the long days when they hunted down one clue after another and Zuko seemed to lose hope, Katara reminded him to never give up.

They shared the workload.

It was amazing not mothering someone and having someone help her around camp.

They were getting closer to each other.

They shared things they never told anyone.

Zuko told her how he got his scar and Katara hugged him, wishing Aang had killed Ozai.

Wishing Ozai was before her and making him pay for hurting her best friend!

Sometimes they just stared at the stars, inventing constellations, their hands inching closer.

Something new was born between them.

Katara didn't know what it was, but she would enjoy it.

It made her feel good.

After weeks on the road, they finally found Ursa.

And also a society of hiding airbenders.

Katara couldn't help but laugh in utter glee.

***

Was it really that surprising that Katara and Zuko fell in love with each other after their journey?

When she kissed Zuko for the first time, it was like coming home. 

Warm, welcome, familair, intim.

It was the best sensation in the world.

Something inside her told her this was how it was supposed to be.

After two years of dating and being the ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe in the Fire Nation, they married.

All their friends and half of the world were invited.

Yes, even Aang.

Aang was so grateful to Katara and Zuko for having found his people and was busy with the air nomads to rebuild their society, and seemed to finally let go of Katara.

Now they really could be friends.

***

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, master bender, war hero and Fire Lady became a living legend.

Not only the people in the Fire Nation adored her, but she used the power she wielded to make the whole world a better place.

She was the one who came up with the idea of Republic City, a place where all nations could live in harmony.

She revolutionized the art of healing with her bloodbending.

She installed fountains and aqueducts everywhere she could, so people had clean water.

Statues were built and universities, streets even neighbourhoods were named in her honour.

Katara taught new generations of waterbenders like her daughter Kya and people formally fought over to learn from the Fire Lady.

When their oldest daughter Izumi became Fire Lady, Katara and Zuko retired to Ember Island to live out their twilight years in peace.

They often had visits from their friends and families.

Their son Lu Ten, a nonbender, had married a waterbender named Mizuki and had with her five children.

So the proud grandparents helped their son and daughter-in-law raise the rascals.

It was fulfilling.

As Aang then died and was reborn as Korra from the Southern Water Tribe Katara and Zuko moved to the South to teach the new Avatar.

Korra loved Katara and Zuko like grandparents and loved hearing about their adventures.

After Korra goes to Republic City to learn airbending from one of Aang's sons he had with one of the hiding airbenders, the pair returns to Ember Island.

Zuko died a few months before her.

Katara followed him after the birth of their third great-grandchild.

Both died surrounded by their big and bustling family.

As Katara died, her oldest great-granddaughter, who was named after her held her hand, she couldn't help but feel happy.

She had lived a long and wonderful life.

Soon she would be together again with her beloved husband and her family.

And so the greatest and most beloved Fire Lady died in peace with no regrets in her heart, her story being told for thousands of years to come.

***

The Legend of Katara became a tale which young girls loved.

From a simple waterbender to a master, war hero and ruler over a nation, who changed the world only a few ever could.

It showed all girls, that they could do anything they wanted.

They could reach their goals and go even beyond.

This was Katara's legacy.

As it should have been.

If you liked this one-shot and want more Zutara, a badass OC, personal growth for Aang and the Gaang being amazing check out Yin and Yang! 

Click on my profile and leave a comment.

I hope you liked this little One-Shot!

Let’s now scream together in the comment section how Katara deserved better and if it’s not canon we will give it to her in fanon! :D

#katara #atla katara #avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko #atla zuko #prince zuko #atla zutara #zutara #zutarian #katara deserved better #zuko x katara #katara x zuko #zutara fanfiction #zutara fic #zutara forever #anti bryke #anti kataang #anti maiko #bryke critical

[q-gorgeous]

tech hunter, more like friend hunter amiright?

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 5930

Tucker's best friend has gone missing. At least Phantom's been defeated by the Tech Hunter and the ghosts have fled Amity Park. @lavendarlily

been sitting on this one all month

Tucker walked into the school feeling the best he had in a long time. 

He wasn’t woken up last night by his equipment going off all night long. He’d gotten a full night’s sleep for what felt like the first time in forever. All thanks to his victory he’d had over Phantom. 

He’d finally been able to corner Phantom the night before. He’d been distracted by a ghost he was talking to. Tucker walked up behind and landed the best hit he’d ever gotten on Phantom before. It punctured a hole straight through his back and chest and caused Phantom to stumble forward. The ghost he’d been talking to flew away before Tucker could even look at him. 

Phantom turned around to look at him. His eyes widened ever so slightly. 

“Checkmate, ghost.”

Tucker didn’t stay to see what happened. He knew he’d gotten him that time. He pulled his hoverboard out as Phantom fell to the ground and flew away. Phantom didn’t deserve anything more, the ghost scum that he was. 

Heading down the hallway, Tucker saw Sam at her locker.

“Hey, Sam!” He shouted, speeding up in her direction.

When he called her name she looked up as if she had been spooked. Her eyes were wide as they scanned the hallway and finally landed on him. She tried smiling at him but Tucker could see that it was tight. That it was fake.

“Hi, Tucker.” 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked. “You look like you’ve a ghost. Or something equally terrifying.”

She pushed her locker closed. “I’m fine. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Oh?” Tucker smirked at her. “Did you finally get some alone time with Danny?”

She shoved him. “Gross, Tucker. No. I just couldn’t sleep. I kept having nightmares.”

He frowned. “That sucks. What were they about?”

The look she gave him was haunting. What could she possibly have dreamt about that was having this kind of effect on her?

“I don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t matter. It really wasn’t even that bad anyways.” Sam smiled another tight smile at him. “Let’s not be late to class.”

He followed behind her. “Have you seen Danny?”

She shook her head and kept her eyes ahead of her, not looking at him. “No. Not yet.”

Tucker pouted. “He didn’t tell me he was sick today. Unless he’s just sleeping in again. Have you figured out what’s been up with him lately? Why he’s always late and skipping class all the time?”

She shook her head again. “Not a clue.”

Tucker watched as she walked ahead of him into their class. That was weird. She wasn’t quite being standoffish but… She was definitely being avoidant. What was that about?

He followed in behind her and walked to his seat. The bell rang and Mr. Lancer started calling names. 

“Dash Baxter?”

“Here.”

“Danny Fenton?”

Tucker took another look around the classroom. Danny wasn’t in here either. He hoped he wasn’t getting sick. But knowing Danny and his sudden change in attendance, he wasn’t very confident that he was sick anyways. 

The day passed slowly. With Sam acting strange and Danny missing, there was nothing to keep him occupied. 

He was starting to get worried though. Danny didn’t normally skip the whole day if he was going to be late or skip classes. Maybe he was just sick. He couldn’t shake the feeling that was starting to creep up on him though. 

He was glad that the ghosts had disappeared with Phantom’s defeat. It meant that his attendance wasn’t so bad, even if it wasn’t nearly as bad as Danny’s. He wondered where all the ghosts were. It was odd that he hadn’t picked up a single ghost on his scanner yet today. 

He walked into the lunch room and grabbed his food from the lunch line. When he was done, he looked around the cafeteria and saw Sam sitting at their normal table. With Jazz?

They looked to be talking in hushed whispers. He started walking towards them with his lunch tray in hand. Jazz looked up past Sam’s shoulder and whispered one more thing before she smiled at Tucker.

“Hi, Tucker.”

“Hey, Jazz. Is Danny home sick today?”

Jazz shot a look at Sam before her eyes darted back to Tucker. “I’m not sure. I actually haven’t seen him since school got out yesterday.”

Tucker frowned. “Oh. That’s weird.” He placed his tray on the table and sat down to Sam’s right. Her backpack was in her lap and she shuffled it to the left a little bit. “Has he ever done that before?” 

Jazz shook her head. “No. I thought maybe he’d gone to one of your guy’s houses. I was expecting to see him at school today. I’m starting to get worried.” 

“Yeah.” Tucker rested his chest in one of his hands and started picking at his food. “Me too.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam didn’t know what to do.

She’d been walking around with the thermos containing Danny in it all day. She’d been taking her backpack with her everywhere. Even to the bathroom with her. She couldn’t just leave it somewhere. Not with him inside of it, at risk of bleeding to death if he got let out. 

She especially couldn’t let Tucker see it. Couldn’t let him see the contents screen. Couldn’t even let him know she had it.

He knew she didn’t carry the Fenton’s ghost weapons with her. She didn’t endorse them. The ghosts were still beings. She didn’t think it was right to hurt them. It would be suspicious for him to find a partially full thermos in her bag.

She didn’t know what she was going to do, though. Who could she go to? Who could help her? She thought about talking to the Fenton’s. They were the leading ghost experts. Surely they would know what to do.

But she’s heard what they’ve said about Phantom. How they wanted to tear him apart molecule by molecule. Her only saving grace would be that Danny was in his human form when she sucked him up. Would that be enough to convince them that it truly was their son inside of the thermos? She wasn’t sure.

She sat in class, Tucker right behind her, gripping her backpack. She hadn’t been able to focus at all and this was only her first class of the day. She could only imagine how the rest of the day would go. 

She lay her head down on her desk, still clutching her bag close to her. 

Sam had been tailing Phantom for the last couple of minutes. She had a few questions about ghosts that she wanted to ask him and was hidden around the corner while he talked to another ghost. She was hoping she could wait until the other ghost left. She didn’t want to risk getting mauled. 

But before her or the other ghost could do anything, the Tech Hunter flew down into the alleyway Phantom was in. 

She’d never been this close to Tech Hunter before. She always wondered who it was under that mask.

She peeked around the corner just in time to see Tech Hunter’s weapon go off, shooting a hole into Phantom’s back all the way through his chest. 

Phantom stumbled and slowly turned around, clutching the new hole in his chest with his hand.

“Checkmate ghost.”

Sam’s heart stopped. 

No. No no no. It couldn’t be.

She didn’t want it to be true, but his voice was too recognizable. She’d heard it everyday since they met in elementary school. There was no denying this. 

That was Tucker.

Tucker, a cold blooded hunter. A murderer if Phantom’s expression was anything to go by. 

He jumped into the sky on his hoverboard and flew away. Phantom fell to the ground. She finally rounded the corner and walked up to him.

“Phantom!” She shouted and she ran over and knelt on the ground next to him.

His eyes opened slowly and he turned to look at her. “Sam…” 

She stopped for a moment. “You know my name?”

He tried to sit up but she stopped him. “Don’t move. That’s a nasty injury.”

“Sam…” He struggled to lift his arm around to his other side and grabbed the Fenton thermos that he carried around with him. He placed it in her hand that she extended to him.

“Phantom?” She asked quietly. 

“Put me in the thermos.” 

“What? You want me to capture you?”

He took a deep breath. “I’ll… bleed out if I stay here like this. Put me in the thermos. It’ll act as a… stasis of sorts.”

“But-”

A bright ring appeared around Phantom’s waist. It was like nothing she’s ever seen before.

“Put.. me in… the thermos.”

The rings separated and Sam covered her mouth with her free hand.

“Get help.”

The rings disappeared and before her sat her best friend, bleeding out. She stumbled with the thermos in her hand and pressed hard on the button. It sucked him up into it and she pulled it against her chest. 

Shaking, she leaned back against the wall. What was she supposed to do? What if the thermos didn’t actually keep him in a stasis? What if he just bled out inside the thermos instead? She didn’t know how to fix this. 

How did she fix this? 

“Sam.”

A hand grabbed her shoulder and she shot up in her seat. She whipped her head to the side and saw Tucker pulling his hand back. 

“Are you okay?” He asked her, a concerned expression crossing his face. 

She shook her head to try and clear and took a deep breath. “Yeah. I just- I must’ve fallen asleep. I had another nightmare.” 

She stood up and he moved to let her by.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Maybe it’ll help you make sense of why you’re having nightmares.” 

Checkmate, ghost. 

She shook her head again. She knew why she was having nightmares. “No, it’s fine. I’m okay. I’m sure they’ll stop happening soon.” 

He stopped prodding at her after that and they made their way to their next class. 

Sam felt like she couldn’t breathe and like she was suffocating all through class until their third hour came around. They separated and walked opposite directions down the hallway and she finally felt like she could relax. Like she wasn’t in danger. 

She was still tired and was still nodding off in class but without Tucker sitting behind her she was able to focus on class a little more. She still held her backpack in her lap for safe keeping though. 

She was on her way to lunch when she bumped into Jazz in the hallway. 

“Hey, Sam, have you seen Danny?”

Sam’s heart jumped into her throat and she tried to swallow back the tremble in her voice. “Danny?”

“Yeah. He never came home last night. I’m worried. I was hoping you or Tucker had seen him today.” 

Sam swallowed and swung her backpack around to her front. “I have to tell you something.”

Jazz frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this alone. Maybe you’ll have some ideas.”

Sam opened her backpack and pulled the thermos out a little. Jazz’s eyes opened wider. 

“Yesterday- yesterday I saw something. Tech Hunter had ambushed Phantom and hurt him real bad. Phantom told me to pull him into the thermos but he transformed before I could do that.”

Jazz raised a hand to cover her mouth. 

“When he transformed back, he turned into-”

“Danny.” Jazz whispered. Sam looked up at her, shocked. 

“He told you?”

Jazz shook her head and met Sam’s eyes. “I found out during the whole Spectra thing. He doesn’t know I figured it out.” 

Sam nodded. “But there’s something else.” She looked around them and pushed the thermos back into her backpack. “Tucker is Tech Hunter.” 

Jazz pulled back, her eyes wide and a hand over her chest. “Are you sure? Tucker didn’t really seem like the type to-”

Sam nodded again more vigorously. “I’m sure. He had a helmet on but I’d recognize his voice anywhere. I’m sure it was him.” 

Jazz started walking towards the cafeteria. Sam followed beside her. “What are we going to do? Did Danny say anything to you besides to get him into the thermos?”

“No.” Sam shook her head. “Just that it would put him into a stasis and to get help. There wasn’t time for him to say anything else. He was too badly hurt.” 

They got to the cafeteria just as Jazz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They paused outside the doors for a moment before Jazz pushed her way in. 

“What do we do?” 

They walked to the food line and grabbed trays and grabbed food to set on it. Jazz sighed. “I don’t know. We might have to do some research on some stuff before we decide. This is the most scared I’ve ever felt.”

“Me too.” Sam whispered. 

Sam walked them to her usual table and Jazz followed suit and sat down across the table from her. 

“What about your parents?” Sam asked, leaning across the table. “They might know how to help him.” 

Jazz grimaced. “They might be too biased to see past the fact that he’s Phantom. They talk about what they’d do if they ever got him all the time and I don’t want any of it to become a reality. But worse comes to worse-”

Jazz paused as she looked over Sam’s shoulder. She leaned forward to whisper at her.

“We’ll do our own research first. Then we’ll try my parents. Tucker’s coming.” 

Jazz looked back up and smiled at the boy who was walking up behind Sam. Sam tensed up and she was afraid to look behind her. 

“Hi, Tucker.” 

“Hey, Jazz. Is Danny home sick today?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’d been a week. It’d been a week since Danny went missing. 

No one had seen him since he left school that day. Not a single person. How did no one see him at all? Where could he have gone?

Tucker had even done a few searches of his own. He’d flown around town on his board, looking for any sign of Danny. He was lucky that the ghosts were still gone, otherwise it would pull from him time searching. 

And Sam was still acting weird. He could understand that she was upset about Danny missing but… It was different than that. Any time he saw the haunted look in her eyes he tried to comfort her about Danny. Tell her that they would find him. It  took her a moment to process it, like she had to remember that he was in fact missing. 

School was ending and Tucker had to struggle to find Sam outside in front of the school. He had to look for a few seconds before he saw her already all the way across the grass, walking down the road. 

“Hey, Sam, wait up!” He waved his hand in the air. 

She didn’t turn to face him and Tucker frowned. He jogged up to her and grabbed onto the handle on her backpack and pulled. He must have caught her off guard because her backpack started sliding off her shoulders and she whipped around, pulling it out of his hands and to her chest. 

“Sam, are you okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine.” She said.

He frowned at her again. Then it dawned on him. 

“Are you walking around with contraband in your backpack?” He smirked at her. 

“What?” 

He made grabby motions at her bag again. “What is it? Drugs? Weed?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Condoms?” 

Sam hugged her backpack close to her.

“Tucker, stop.”

“What?” He smiled at her. “What do you have in there?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why don’t you want me to look at it so badly?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Is it a secret? What kind of secret?”

“There’s no secret, Tucker.”

He frowned. “Seriously?” He reached forward and grabbed the front of her backpack and pulled. 

She held on tight and pulled back.

Something was seriously up. He pulled hard and the top of the backpack opened, sending a Fenton thermos rolling across the ground.

Before he could even think about anything beyond the lit up contents screen Sam was shoving him as hard as she could. It knocked him to the ground and she scooped up the thermos and backed away from him.

“What the hell, Sam?” He said as he rubbed his behind. 

“Have you ever heard of respecting someone’s privacy?” She shot back at him as she held the thermos to her chest. 

His mind slowed when he saw how she was holding it. 

“Sam. Why do you have that?”

“Danny gave it to me.”

Tucker shook his head. “His parents offered you one and you refused. Why do you have it?”

“It’s none of your business Tucker.”

He stood back up and took a step toward her.

“Who’s inside the thermos, Sam?”

She took a step back. She looked like she was afraid of him.

He darted forward and tried grabbing the device from her hands. She stepped out of the way and kicked out her heavy combat boot, catching his feet and sending him towards the ground again.

He groaned and pushed himself back up. “Give me the thermos.”

“No.”

“What are you going to do with a ghost anyways?” He turned to face her. “Aren’t you against hurting the ghosts and holding them hostage? What if you let it out and it hurts you? A ghost doesn’t deserve the safety you’re giving it right now.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She leveled him with a cold, hate filled stare. Her expression took Tucker aback. He barked out a laugh.

“What ghost could possibly be in there that you feel this strongly about?” He took another step towards her, followed by her taking a step back. “Ember? An ecto-puss? That dog that ruined Valerie’s life? What ghost is worth this?”

“Why should I tell you?!” Sam shouted at him. “You’re a cold hearted murderer that’s okay with ending a sentient being’s life! How awful do you have to be to want to kill someone?”

Tucker leveled a look at her. How did she get a hold of him? “He’s already dead, Sam.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right. He doesn’t matter. Give me the thermos.”

“No.”

“Why are you so insistent on-” Tucker started but pulled back as Sam started screaming at him.

“You didn’t see what I saw!” Tears were streaming down her face now. “I saw you shoot him. One of my best friends became a murderer. And then I went to go help him. All he asked me to do was put him in the thermos. I didn’t understand and he transformed back before I understood.”

“He transformed back?” Tucker asked, confused. That wasn’t something he was aware Phantom could do. Did he have shapeshifting abilities?

“I don’t think Phantom is just a ghost.” Sam whispered. 

“Ha. Yeah, what else would he be?”

“Our best friend.”

Tucker’s heart stuttered in his chest. “No. That can’t be possible.”

“It is.” She nodded her head frantically. “I saw it with my own eyes. He transformed from Phantom to Danny. It was some bright white ring that appeared around his waist. It’s not like anything I’ve seen another ghost do before. He went from bleeding ectoplasm to bleeding blood after he transformed.”

Tucker’s ears were ringing now. “How? How is he both alive and a ghost?”

“I don’t know.” He could hardly hear her whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

“He’s just in there?” Tucker gestured at the thermos. “Dying?”

“He said he’d be in a stasis if he was in the thermos. That’s why he asked me to put him in there. He asked me to get help. But anyone that could possibly help wants to kill him.”

Tucker’s vision warped and spun. He staggered where he stood and he could feel bile rising up in his throat. 

He tried to kill his best friend. He probably actually killed him. That was the nastiest injury he’s ever seen Phantom get. Phantom never had to go into stasis before. He could always regenerate and heal himself before. 

Tucker leaned to the side and threw up. 

He killed his best friend. His best friend was going to die and it was all his fault. 

“What are we going to do Tucker?” Sam asked him. “You’ve got ghost stuff. Do you know someone who can help him?”

Vlad Masters flashed through his brain. He supplied Tucker with everything he needed to fight ghosts. And for some reason he didn’t understand until now, Danny absolutely despised him. 

“I- No. I don’t have anything that can help him.” Tucker whispered. “I’ve killed him.”

He looked back at her and she was shaking her head as tears welled up in her eyes. “Don’t say that. We have to believe there’s something we can do. If there’s nothing-” 

“He’ll be gone.”

They stood there in silence for a few moments. 

“We need to go talk to Jazz.” She said quietly. 

“Jazz?” 

Sam nodded. “I already told her everything. If we have no one else that can help us, we need to figure out how to talk to their parents. They’re our last option.” 

The pit in Tucker’s stomach grew even bigger. How could he admit to his best friend’s parents that he killed him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tucker sat with Sam and Jazz in the Fenton’s living room. They were trying to figure out how to break the news to the Fenton’s about the situation with Danny.

“Do I just walk up to them like ‘hey, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, second parents to me, I killed your son because he’s also that Phantom menace that we both hated?”

Sam shuffled in her spot. “We just need to start with he’s Phantom and injured in the thermos and that we need their help.”

“They don’t need to know it was you, Tucker.” Jazz said softly.

“Danny knew it was me. That whole time. He absolutely knew it was me.” Tucker shook his head. “Shouldn’t I owe it to his parents to tell them the whole truth? I deserve their anger.” 

“You didn’t know it was him, though.” Sam said. “None of us did. None of us would have been able to tell. Who’s gonna think a dead kid is their living best friend?”

“I-”

“Hey, kids.” Maddie walked into the living. The three of them jumped at the sound. She smiled sadly. “Jumpy today, are we?”

Jazz nodded. “We’re just worried about Danny.”

Maddie’s smile fell. “Me too.” 

Jazz looked up at her mom. “Actually, Mom, can you go get Dad? We have something we need to talk to you guys about?” 

Maddie looked between the three of them concerned, but nodded and went to go get Jack.

“We haven’t figured out what we’re going to say to them yet though!” Tucker whispered. “What are we going to tell them?”

“Just let Sam and I handle it.” Jazz shushed him. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but we need to get it over with. The longer we stall the harder it’ll be.” 

Maddie walked back into the living room with Jack trailing behind her. They sat on the couch that was facing them from the opposite side of the room. 

Jazz took a deep breath. “We know where Danny’s been.”

“What?” Jack and Maddie exclaimed together.

“Why haven’t you told us? Where is he?” Maddie asked. 

“He’s…” Jazz started but petered off.

Sam looked at her and picked up where she left off. “He’s Phantom. He’s somehow a ghost human hybrid. He was shot and he’s hurt really badly.” 

Maddie pulled back. “What do you mean he’s Phantom?” 

“I saw him transform with my very own eyes.” Sam pleaded. “You have to believe us. He’s hurt and we didn’t know who else we could turn to.” 

“Where is he?” Jack asked quietly. 

“He’s in here.” Sam pulled the thermos out of her backpack and held it up in her hands for them to see. 

“He’s in the thermos?” Jack asked, shocked. “How is that possible?” 

“You have Phantom in the thermos?” Maddie stood up.

“It’s Danny in the thermos. Phantom is Danny.” 

“What do you mean that’s Danny? That can’t be Danny.” Maddie stepped forward and reached out a hand. “Give us the thermos.” 

“You have to believe us.” Sam pleaded. 

Tucker raised his arm in front of Sam to stop her. “Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, I didn’t believe Sam at first either. I thought it would be impossible for Danny to be Phantom. But the more I thought about it the more it made sense.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m Tech Hunter. I was the one that shot him.”

Maddie inhaled a sharp breath and pulled her hand back like she’d been burned. 

“I hated him.” Tucker whispered. “I thought ghosts like him were the scum of the earth. But looking back… He never retaliated against me. He always played on the defense and I never thought anything of it. I thought he was a bad shot. He’d joke around with me like he’d known me all his life.”

He stared at the floor, wrapping his arms around himself. “I never thought the reason he’d do that was because he actually had known me all his life. I just thought he was manipulating me.” He choked out a laugh. “It’s like they say. Hindsight is twenty twenty.” 

“If this is true and Danny really is.. In there.” Maddie gestured at the thermos with a shaking hand. “What are we supposed to do? We don’t have anything to help ghosts and an injury of that magnitude might not be able to be helped by us and our medical knowledge.”

“Maybe you could help us find someone in the ghost zone who would know more about how to help him.” Jazz said. “Even if we find someone we’ll need help getting there somehow.” 

Jack and Maddie exchange a glance between them.

“He’s our son, Maddie.” He said quietly. “We have to try, even if he really is Phantom.” 

She turned to look at the thermos in Sam’s hands.

“Okay. We’ll help. Where do we start?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I was able to hack into Danny’s computer.” Tucker said. “He has files with information about all the ghosts he knows. There are ghosts in the ghost zone in some place called the far frozen that have a lot of medical know-how. They’ve helped him before. Maybe they’d be willing to help him again.”

Maddie nodded. “That might be our best option. We could try to do all we can here, but if that injury is as big as the two of you described it, there might not be much we can actually do ourselves.” 

Tucker printed out the map Danny had made of the ghost zone and handed it to Maddie.

“He’s got this all mapped out already?” Maddie stared at the map with wide eyes. “We haven’t even made a trip into the ghost zone a single time yet.” 

“This must’ve been what he was doing some of the times I thought he was blowing us off.” Tucker sighed and took his glasses on and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.” 

“We-” Maddie took a deep breath. “If Phantom is really Danny, we’ll both have a lot to make up for.”

Tucker looked up at her. “Are we horrible for not knowing he was Danny?”

Maddie shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I would like to think I’d recognize one of my kids anywhere… That I know them like the back of my hand, but…”

“We just couldn’t see it.”

Maddie nodded. “But getting to his yeti friends is something we can do to make it up to him. Let’s focus on that for now instead.” 

Tucker turned off Danny’s computer and stood up. “I guess you’re right. What do we do now?”

He followed her out of Danny’s room and down the stairs. “We make sure the Specter Speeder is all good for ghost zone travel. Then we’ll prepare for the trip.” 

“I think Danny’s notes said that the far frozen is cold. We should bring our coats and gloves with us.”

Maddie smiled. “That’s good to know. Thank you.” 

They walked into the living room where Sam, Jazz, and Jack were sitting around the table. They were going over what looked like notes from the Fenton’s lab.

“What are you guys working on?” Maddie asked.

“We’re going over your guy’s formula for ecto-dejecto.” Jazz said as she turned over another paper. “That’s one that you guys just kinda scrapped and never fixed. We’re thinking it could help since it made all the ghosts you tested it on get stronger.”

“Once we find the right formula, we’re going to make a couple batches of it.” Jack said. “Aha! Here it is! Did you guys find anything on Danny’s computer?”

“We found some information on a medical center that’s located in the ghost zone somewhere.” Maddie said. “Danny has been mapping out the ghost zone too so we’ll be able to get there without much fuss.” 

“That’s great!” Sam turned to face him. “Way to go, Tucker.”

“Thanks.” he shuffled on his feet. 

“Jack and I are going to go downstairs and work on preparations with the ecto-dejecto and checking the Specter Speeder. You three gather together enough coats, hats, and gloves for everyone. After that you could start preparing some food for the trip.” 

It took them a couple hours to get everything ready, but soon they had gathered enough clothing and food for everyone and made sure the Specter Speeder worked. Jack loaded a crate of ecto-dejecto in the speeder and turned around to face them. 

“We’re ready to go! Let’s get Danny some help!”

They started the Specter Speeder and flew into the green swirl of the ghost portal. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny groaned. Everything hurt. Where was he? He could hear a faint beeping. Was he at the hospital? What happened? The last thing he remembered was-

His eyes shot open and he tried to sit up but his chest hurt too much. 

He was in the hospital. What were the doctors told? Who found him? Did his parents know? Did the GIW? He had to-

“Whoa, hey. Don’t move.” 

He turned his head and there standing to his left was Sam.

“Sam? You’re here? Where- My parents-”

She shushed him and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re in the Far Frozen. Tucker found the map on your computer.”

His heart fell and he swallowed. “Tucker?”

She nodded. “He’s been waiting outside. He didn’t want to be in here when you woke up in case you didn’t want to see him.” 

He looked towards the door. “He’s here?”

“Yes. He’s here.” 

How did Tucker find out about him? Why is he even here? Danny thought Tucker wouldn’t want anything to do with him if he ever found out who he was. But he was just waiting outside his room because he was afraid Danny didn’t want to see him? 

“Is anyone else here?” He asked.

“Your parents are talking to Frostbite about all this medical equipment they have here. Jazz is off learning how yeti society works.” 

Danny chuckled, but groaned as it rattled his chest. He laid a hand on top of it gently.

“How long have I been here?” 

Sam’s expression turned sad. “It’s been a little over a month. You were in some pod that Frostbite has in a different room for awhile too. It was supposed to help your ectoplasm repair the hole in your chest. You still have a bit of healing left, but the worst of it is behind you.” 

He let out a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“What?”

“You saved me. You got me the help I needed. I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you, Sam.”

“Danny, I-”

She stopped at the sound of shuffling outside the door. They both looked towards the doorway and saw Tucker just as he ducked out of the way. Sam looked back at him. 

“Do you want to see him?” She asked softly. 

Danny kept looking at the door. Tucker wouldn’t be here if he was just trying to kill him. He was respecting his boundaries and keeping his distance until Danny asked for him. Would they be able to go back to how things were before? Should Danny want that?

He turned his head back to Sam and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ll go get him.” 

She stood up and walked across the room and through the door. A few moments passed before she walked back in, hand in hand with Tucker as he followed behind her. 

She stopped beside Danny’s bed. Tucker still wasn’t looking at Danny. 

“I can give you two some space to talk. Unless you want me to stay here, Danny.”

Danny looked at Tucker and the shame and guilt in his face. He turned back to Sam and shook his head. “I think we’ll be okay. You should probably let everyone else know that I’m awake.”

She nodded and turned to walk away, shooting one last glance at them before she left. 

His gaze went back to Tucker. He was finally looking at him. Tears were swimming in his eyes and his lips were trembling. 

“Tucker-“ Danny started but Tucker cut him off. 

“No. Don’t forgive me.” Tucker took a shaky breath. “I don’t deserve it. I was so caught up in my hatred with ghosts that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I couldn’t tell I was fighting my best friend.” 

Tucker pushed his hands up under glasses and covered his eyes. “You joked around with me. You never tried to hurt me. You were still acting like my best friend and I went and shot you.” 

“Tucker-“ Danny closed his eyes. “No one knew. I didn’t tell anyone and no one could tell it was me.”

“Jazz knew.” Tucker said quietly.

Danny’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “She did? How?” 

Tucker shrugged. “She said it had something to do with Ms. Spectra. She didn’t really elaborate much on it because we were focused on getting things figured out with you. 

“Oh.” He looked down at his lap. “I still didn’t tell her though. I didn’t even know she knew.” 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Tucker whispered. “You could’ve avoided so many things if we had just known.” 

Danny fiddled with his fingers. “I was scared. I didn’t want you guys to think I was a freak or for my parents to think I was a monster. You had already become Tech Hunter by the time I was considering telling you and Sam but you hated me, so I couldn’t. I didn’t know if your hatred would overshadow our friendship.” Danny looked up at Tucker again. “But I can see it didn’t because you’re here now.” 

A sob finally broke its way out of Tucker’s throat. He leaned his arms on the side of Danny’s bed and lay his head on top of them. His sobs wracked his body. Danny lifted an arm up and slowly brought it down on Tucker’s shoulder. His sobs wracked his body harder. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” Danny took a deep breath. “We’re okay.”

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #tucker foley #danny fenton #sam manson #jazz fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #danny gets shot #phic phight 2024 #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #phic

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

Hey i read ur gray dying hcs. Can you make some for jamie too?? Thanks!!

(and maybe avery could be after)

people's reaction to jameson's death head canons

avery: she would be absolutely destroyed. she would not get out of bed and seriously consider offing herself (its up to you if she actually does off herself). it would get so bad alisa and the others would have to intervene and get her professional help. she would only get out of bed to visit his grave. i also hc that he'd have a pre-written letter for her if he ever died that he gave to alisa (he told her to give it to avery when he died). she would reread that letter over and over again until her eyes became blurred with tears. she'd also get really mad at the world for ripping all of the people she loves away from her. she'd stop working, eating, drinking, showering, etc. basically, she'd be so wrecked she wouldn't be able to handle anything.

grayson: he'd try to keep everyone together but would fail miserably bc he's also falling apart at the seams. he'd work to try to distract himself but nothing ever took jamie's death off of his mind. he'd visit his grave everyday regretting everything that happened with emily bc of what it did to his relationship with jamie. i think he'd also find a way to blame himself. he'd apologize to jamie every single time he visited his grave for not being the best brother. he'd end up hiring someone to do his work for him bc he just wouldn't be able to do it. yk what emily's death did to him but this would be 1391938 times worse. he'd be crying 24/7 and he'd also wonder if life was worth living (like avery). he would think he deserved to die instead of jamie.

xander: basically the same thing i put in my 'how would people react if grayson died post'. he'd crack is usual jokes in hopes of getting people to laugh and loosen up all while dying on the inside. he'd occasionally slip up and forget jamie was still alive. he'd be working on smth and would think 'huh let me ask jamie what he thinks about this' just to then realize jamie's gone. he'd also visit his grave to leave little gadgets and notes there/talk to him. i think the grief would hit him so hard he wouldn't be able to work on his inventions and experiments anymore. he'd just sit in his lab, dissociating, thinking about jamie and how shitty his life is now that he's gone. he'd check up on everyone, especially avery cause, like i said, she's not getting out of bed.

nash: pretty much the same thing i said in my grayson post. would also try to keep the family going but would also fail miserably. he wouldn't let anyone see him fall apart except for libby. he'd, in a way, think he failed at keeping his brother safe, and, that he didn't do the one thing he was supposed to do as jamie's older brother. he'd become extra protective of his two remaining siblings and avery. he visits jamie's grave balling his eyes trying to think of a way he could've saved jamie. unlike avery, he'd have to get out of bed. staying in bed makes him feel even worse so he gets up and either checks on the others or works. i can also imagine him feeling so depressed he's just numb to everything except anything that concerns jamie or his family. he wouldn't care about the things he cared about before and would just lose it.

libby: the one who's actually keeping everyone together. she's making sure everyone is fed, bathed, etc and makes sure everyone has someone to talk to or cry to. meanwhile, she'd be grieving too. even though she's not as close to jamie, his death would still hit her hard. her baking would get completely out of hand. sm that people had to make an intervention bc they couldn't eat all of the cupcakes. she'd bring the cupcakes to jamie's grave (like i said in my grayson post). she'd start crying at any time of the day when she sees smth that reminds her of him (this is basically the exact same thing i wrote in my grayson post but i wanted to include her cause she's the best. i just think she'd react the same to all of the brother's deaths (except nash))

not proof read so sorry if there are grammar mistakes or smth doesn't make sense.

#the inheritance games #jameson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne #avery grambs #nash hawthorne #xander hawthorne #libby grambs

[exoid-the-locomotive-monarch]

>be a webcomic

>decent popularity and critical support from the fans at the start

>immediate drop in quality over next bunch of updates

>fans hate it

>gets so bad writers and artists are harassed to the point of leaving the team

>endless controversies between writers acting shitty on their personal Twitter account to fans to accusing discord mods of being 4Chan nazis

>comic loses half its funding 8 months in

>bimonthly updates 4 months in return to the sluggish once a month updates from the start

>pause 14 months into the comic’s intended 5 year run.

>announce a month later indefinite hiatus

>radio Silence for THREE YEARS AND NINE MONTHS

>be almost 4 year anniversary of the webcomic’s start, 17 days away to be exact

>drop 4 DOZEN pages

>new director

>new writers union

>new EVERYTHING even the title of the comic changed

>the “it’s so over” from the fandom supercharges back into “we are so fucking back”

>its name is enough to scare half this website into shock

>look at tags

#homestuck #homestuck^2 #homestuck beyond canon #james roach #we are so fucking back bros #this might actually be good #upd8 #holy shit #my heart rate doubled #just seeing homestuck tweet #dont dissapoint me james #is john okay #i love you john #i hope nothing bad ever happens to you again

[cerise-on-top]

ik that you just did something about what dates Valeria and Laswell who take you on butttt can you still do how’d they like to celebrate valentine’s day! Hope you have an awesome valentines 🩷

Hey! Sorry for not posting on Valentine's Day or yesterday, I was extremely busy with work and had some very long days ^^; But I'll post twice to make up for it today! Sorry this was a bit late as well ^^;

Valentine’s Day with Valeria and Laswell

Valeria: We’re just going to assume that she has time to spend with you this Valentine’s day and took a day off or something. Valeria doesn’t think too much about it, it’s just another day where people are taking the money straight from your wallet, either because there’s someone you love or because you’re single and need to eat your frustrations away. She doesn’t care at all about that day, and whether she does something for it or not entirely depends on whether or not you complain about wanting to go on a date with her that day. If you don’t then there will be no date. Because it’s only a cash grab sort of day, Valeria wouldn’t particularly buy you chocolates either. She really doesn’t like Valentine’s day. Complain enough and she’ll get you some chocolate straight from the chocoria, no matter how expensive. A few flowers maybe as well, but that would be it out of her own initiative. She’d much prefer to stay at home and watch some movie with you. One that isn’t about romance, just a normal action movie or comedy or something. Complain enough and she’ll sigh, grabbing her coat and ushering you outside. It’s not often that she does something like this, but you’ll be walking around Las Almas together, chatting a bit, getting some of the yummy street food out there. You’ll do something akin to sightseeing where she shows you all the places there are in the city and around it, except they’re all the places she found when she was still young and reckless. From the berry bush in the park no one knows about, to the abandoned mill by the countryside she used to hide from her parents in. Valeria is normally a classy woman who could buy the world if she wanted to, but her real signs of love would be when she isn’t spending money on you for once. It shows that you’re more to her than just another cost, another person who’s just out for her money. Or, at the very least, she trusts you to not be. While there still won’t be too much sentiment from her side, you’ll also go stargazing together if the sky is clear. She can’t tell you too much about the constellations, but you’ll just stand there and look at the stars. Valeria hasn’t had the time to do that in forever, so she’ll likely take a while.

Laswell: Again, we’re going to assume that she has the time to spend with you and isn’t out and about abroad, risking her life. Laswell has a much greater tolerance of Valentine’s day than Valeria does. She used to love that day much more when she was a teenager and was with her first girlfriend, but stopped caring as much about it as the years went by. While she doesn’t like how romance is being forced down everyone’s throat that day, she’ll tolerate it since she can’t change it anyway. However, Laswell is much more likely to do something with and for you on that day, she doesn’t complain either. Starts the day off with a kiss to your temple in order to wake you up, makes you breakfast, heart shaped pancakes with vanilla ice cream, before she gives you the chocolates and flowers she got for you. The flowers are fairly fancy, roses, dahlias, lisianthus. Anything that looks nice and could show you just how much she loves you is a-okay. After breakfast you’ll lounge around your home for a bit, doing chores together and stuff, until it’s time to leave that is. You’ll be going to a fancy restaurant together, eating at an all you can eat buffet until your hearts and stomachs are content. Of course, all of it goes on Laswell’s bill. Afterwards it’ll be something relaxing for the time being, digesting the food as you take a stroll through the park, for example. Whatever suggestions you may have, you may voice them now before the two of you will go to a jewelry store where you can pick out something gorgeous that fits you, your outfit, your eyes and whatever else there may be. After your stroll is over, you’ll likely go home together, cuddle on the couch and watch TV. It’s not the most exciting day there is, but Laswell is just glad she has a sweetheart she can spend the day with. You’ll end up watching some awful rom-coms together, complain about them and how bad they are, only to be watching the next one right afterwards. You will be eating popcorn together, salted, with caramel and maybe steal a few kisses from each other here and there while there’s nothing interesting going on at the moment. Again, it’s not much but Laswell is usually out and about just about anytime and wants to relax for a bit for once. Even better if she gets to do it with you.

#cod #cod x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #I had to help out at work. I had to help out at home. Yesterday I had a workshop at work as well... #again I'm really sorry for posting this a bit later but I hope it's not too bad #in all honesty I don't care for Valentine's Day I agree with Valeria on that one ^^; #I'm kind of glad I'm single right now because that way I don't have to go out of my way to do something special for anyone #I once gave two friends of mine some chocolate on that day though. they were very surprised but also very happy #it was very sweet to see their happy surprised faces #but I think that's the most exciting thing that's ever happened on V-Day for me #I've only received something once from my co worker and never before #I don't mind that but I wish they wouldn't shove romance down everyone's throat that day. it's really annoying #like what if I don't want a partner? are you going to make me feel bad because I don't? it's happened to me before #I'm glad it's over. I'm really not one for all those fancy days. I prefer regular days where there's nothing going on at all

[unouniuniuni]

Cat.

#art #fanart #drawing #homestuck #homestuck nepeta #nepeta leijon #a friend got me to read homestuck again haha #anyway yes hello I love nepeta #I sure hope nothing bad ever happens to her ( : #doodle #you know like nya #free to use with credit

[meatriarch]

specifically looking at the hewitts since granted i know more on the remakes than the others but,

the hewitts only got vague, limited police action looking into them in '03 after erin chops thomas' arm off and gets away. and even though theres' coverage of it and everything, that literally ONLY happens after 4-5 straight years of the hewitts doing what they do, from 69-73 in terms of solely the remake timeline.

that's still a shitton of time to be ACTIVELY killing people to y'know. not fucking die yourselves. then combine that with the sawyers - their additional family members, their own trails of ruthlessness added into the mix, and this entire combined family unit likely has kill counts all around in the hundreds if not even way past that.

but even with the police involvement in the remakes?

its all SO SLOPPY, its hardly conducted with any real CARE about their own well-beings. like??? ya'll went into that house while THOMAS was STILL THERE... didnt even SECURE THE HOUSE.....

and even with the found footage? no arrests, presumably. the remaining hewitts are still at large, thomas is still at large. like... all ya'll did was corral them to their fucking confusing ass tunnel system and made luda (if we count the comics) far more involved and ruthless in the actual killings than she was in the movies lol

and yes technically speaking with charlie's death that could sever the stronghold they've got on the police and sheriffs' around them - but at the same time - how bad would it look of them to SUDDENLY flip a switch and try to unpack the years worth of missing persons, cold cases, murders, kidnappings, break-ins, assaults, etc etc that they swept under the rug? that's WAY too much man power, esp for back then. no one is gonna do that shit.

so. i truly dont think they have much to worry about even in the event of charlie dying - because the fear and influence they've instilled stands for law enforcement to continue to do fuck all - to save and cover their own asses.

#[ ♡ ] ── * the hewitt family. / 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦. #its incredibly tragic because like. its so OBVIOUS something GOD AWFUL happened to this group of kids? theyre literally needing some rough #medical attention yknow. its so fucking clear they went through something BAD. and yet? crickets. theyre shrugged off. dismissed. #given the cold shoulder. told their friend(s) simply ran away. told they mustve been high or on something and cant recall clearly. #even between maria going missing to pre-basement brawl its like. NO ONES taking them seriously. everyone in towns they search in dismiss #them. no ones seen or heard anything. LEO's are just. useless and rude and telling them not to interfere. telling to go home. telling them #to let them handle things when it becomes VERY obvious they just dont give a shit - that theyre avoiding certain locations #like yes i moved maria's timeline of being missing up but like - even while the searches were still considered active? there was barely any #movement or care or concern or manpower that the depts were gathering or investigating. like. how does someone vanish into thin air? #like they tried to imply maria must've - at some point? they were so out of their league so roadblocked so dismissed every step of the way. #maria with the attempt of a search and youre nearly found!!!....and then youre told your friends all left...and they never came remotely #close to where youre kept to find you. lee with sacrificing himself hoping it gives the rest of them a chance to get away - that someone #lives in order to rain down hell on the family in the sense of justice and yet. not a word is said over broadcasts about him - at least #nothing substantial. no search. no missing persons report. nothing. and then danny? my dan the man? the guy with little family ties? #my guy with a strained relationship with his father? whose only friends are again in the situation of 'no one believes us'? #you think theres even a PEEP about him whatsoever? in any capacity? my guy would be lost to the ether - literally. NO ONE but the #friends would ever give a shit if he went missing.

[meatriarchived]

me crawling out of bed to type this and disappear back to my cocoon right after but-specifically looking at the hewitts since granted i know more on the remakes than the others but,

the hewitts only got vague, limited police action looking into them in '03 after erin chops thomas' arm off and gets away. and even though theres' coverage of it and everything, that literally ONLY happens after 4-5 straight years of the hewitts doing what they do, from 69-73 in terms of solely the remake timeline.

that's still a shitton of time to be ACTIVELY killing people to y'know. not fucking die yourselves. then combine that with the sawyers - their additional family members, their own trails of ruthlessness added into the mix, and this entire combined family unit likely has kill counts all around in the hundreds if not even way past that.

but even with the police involvement in the remakes?

its all SO SLOPPY, its hardly conducted with any real CARE about their own well-beings. like??? ya'll went into that house while THOMAS was STILL THERE... didnt even SECURE THE HOUSE.....

and even with the found footage? no arrests, presumably. the remaining hewitts are still at large, thomas is still at large. like... all ya'll did was corral them to their fucking confusing ass tunnel system and made luda (if we count the comics) far more involved and ruthless in the actual killings than she was in the movies lol

and yes technically speaking with charlie's death that could sever the stronghold they've got on the police and sheriffs' around them - but at the same time - how bad would it look of them to SUDDENLY flip a switch and try to unpack the years worth of missing persons, cold cases, murders, kidnappings, break-ins, assaults, etc etc that they swept under the rug? that's WAY too much man power, esp for back then. no one is gonna do that shit.

so. i truly dont think they have much to worry about even in the event of charlie dying - because the fear and influence they've instilled stands for law enforcement to continue to do fuck all - to save and cover their own asses.

#its incredibly tragic because like. its so OBVIOUS something GOD AWFUL happened to this group of kids? theyre literally needing some rough #medical attention yknow. its so fucking clear they went through something BAD. and yet? crickets. theyre shrugged off. dismissed. #given the cold shoulder. told their friend(s) simply ran away. told they mustve been high or on something and cant recall clearly. #even between maria going missing to pre-basement brawl its like. NO ONES taking them seriously. everyone in towns they search in dismiss #them. no ones seen or heard anything. LEO's are just. useless and rude and telling them not to interfere. telling to go home. telling them #to let them handle things when it becomes VERY obvious they just dont give a shit - that theyre avoiding certain locations #like yes i moved maria's timeline of being missing up but like - even while the searches were still considered active? there was barely any #movement or care or concern or manpower that the depts were gathering or investigating. like. how does someone vanish into thin air? #like they tried to imply maria must've - at some point? they were so out of their league so roadblocked so dismissed every step of the way. #like. maria and lee and danny etc in their dire aus its all just... its so tragic. #maria with the attempt of a search and youre nearly found!!!....and then youre told your friends all left...and they never came remotely #close to where youre kept to find you. lee with sacrificing himself hoping it gives the rest of them a chance to get away - that someone #lives in order to rain down hell on the family in the sense of justice and yet. not a word is said over broadcasts about him - at least pos #nothing substantial. no search. no missing persons report. nothing. and then danny? my dan the man? the guy with little family ties? #my guy with a strained relationship with his father? whose only friends are again in the situation of 'no one believes us'? #you think theres even a PEEP about him whatsoever? in any capacity? my guy would be lost to the ether - literally. NO ONE but the #friends would ever give a shit if he went missing. #does this make any sense idk im half asleep still but yknow- #i see kels' post and my brain short-circuited on this- BFKHD #[ 𝟎𝟎 ] ── * 𝐎𝐎𝐂. { renee. }

[unproduciblesmackdown]

fr both taylor's quants as mirrors to themself. rian Seen as so meritous and deserving and talked to and tasked with and advised and considered but apparently rian's whole thing is going "huh. wha" and having wendy's level of self-reflection (none). winston who is begrudgingly allowed to sit in his corner and ignored b/c he's undeserving so he can't really be meritous and nobody would look in that mirror b/c it's gonna be So not their reflection. while he just won't stop cassandraing and having all these insights and perception and observations nobody even asked or told him to have and is peak taylor understander and just like taylor: isn't guided by a paper-thin ego but also will take criticism / blame / mistreatment Too Much for his own good

#winston billions #the tragedy of the Lose Lose imbalanced [rian is ostensibly a character but actually a plot device] [winston: ostensible plot device but #actually a character] like yknow we could even some of this out a little. but also once again billions' handling of Gender Things.... #that's (mostly) all an issue on rian's side of the Quants Who Are Also You scales #(it's also ofc still relevant re: winston; or anyone; and especially wrt Autistic Character but that's gonna be beyond billions) #(even [society if nonbinary rian] aside like. thinking you simply have one of your rare Cis Women Characters here....come on) #give rian a little more of that '''''worse''''' treatment that would let her be more Funny Little Guy as lets winston be more characterful #even transcending the [they won't give him an arc or C plot that's actually about him or anything] limitations #meanwhile again like Lmfao rian was Meant to be important but that's Only meant taking part in Other People's Plots as [device] #being a plot device is a way to use characters it's not like Inherently Bad but like lmao. rian doesn't get to do anything herself For Real #AND all the plot devicery means she's never gotten to have consistent enough motivations or like. traits to be An Character. #winston's writing is so [here he is to do little a expositing. butt of the joke. minor plot device] that he has way more room to like #just be idiosyncratic & Not have that yanked around by ''prominence''....it happens to All billions characters but it's So bad w/rian #like i can go ''this feels like it's Too Far serving the plot or conflict at the expense of character'' other times w/other roles but like #that'll then also be isolated enough to just ignore. w/rian it's like spent that whole time doing multivariable calculus waiting on more #info more context to conclude anything abt what she's even Basically supposed to be like. even my more generous theories can't hold up #and based on precedent i don't have much hope that remaining [i guess this could be a quality of hers] will either (a) not be contradicted #or (b) get to actually mean anything in any of her arcs which ig now get to be about the [nothing] that is [pay disrespects] #winston isn't bound to get a real arc even last minute but he'll still have felt like more of a character #rian doomed by intending ''importance'' from the start & that they don't seem to have ever had the idea of any more solid foundation #and that billions going ''gender; huh?'' can be like. rian has to go away now; we needed her vagania for diluted cishet man sex scandal #well i for one am really reflecting on Women In The Workplace(tm) now & for what. rian funnier littler guy winston Ever getting a C plot... #a superior tmc timeline....and like as ever rian can be shitty that'd be fine. but if it Means Nothing b/c billions either goes [nuh uh] #and/or b/c either way it just does Nothing with it. that then Is Not character material for her; it more so is For Winston suffering it.... #most likely to end with billions just agreeing rian Was so specially meritous & deserving & winston was too cringefail (autistic) to live #even if we get anything Alright / given consideration & care in his material....which will in turn be like eh. as ever; will take it lol #plus ofc fascinating like. can't draw a hard line b/w the Writing & the Performance but still wondering how much of winston's idiosyncrasy #and that sense of character is big time via will's acting. definitely got that foundation in that the Writing = quant kid 2; one-off joke #and the Performance of that material = furiously writing in multiple winston scenes & despite it all bringing him all the way into s7 #but he's autistic & typecast so also our hands are tied. could've had more for Either/Both quants; which = more for taylor by extension. f

[pepprs]

the bull smashing plates in my brain right now.

#dangerously mentally ill atm. about to snap and start screaming and crying hysterically in the middle of meetings. #purrs #it’s fine btw i just need to be honest and i need to ask for comfort and accept it. but i fucking can’t. but i need to and i have to so hel #me god except nothing is going to make up for not getting to be held at b*rth so……. lol. like you can’t just ask people for that. but it’s #the way that i need to be married so bad so i can finally be normal. im completely serious. i need to be married. being someone’s number on #will fix me. and i also need to not have k*ds i think bc mike birbiglias the new one special made me SO deeply angry and upset and i can’t #even take it. like i think maybe no one in love should have kids ever again. i truly believe that. if you can’t give a kid your deepest tru #truest love then it fucks them up for life and if you can do that then it erodes the relationship you have with your partner so. basically #wish i didn’t exist kinda. and i wish none of the good things in my life had happened to me because it gave me hope for things that can’t a #actually happen and i have just been delusional about someday being healed all this time. i will be wounded and alone forever and i want to #go lie in the trench they’re digging in the backyard about it 💃🏻🥳 #delete later #i just want to play wobboedogs on the switch and forget i am a human being. that’s all. that’s literally it #cominng back to this a couple weeks later um this was one of the most mentally ill posts i have ever made in my life. sorry 😚✌️ x

[royalreef]

#Most secret royal advisor || OOC #(( tbd later #(( yaknow. im not going to feel bad about getting into this drama. #(( because like. its fucking old and crusty as hell and honestly just pathetic in a humorous way as well #(( but i see a certain two knuckleheads wandering around in my general orbit again. #(( hi cat. hi grim. hate to see you around. pleased to see you have learned nothing from what happened. #(( anyhow. catch this block and hope i never see you ever again.