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onyxbird · 8 months

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...Just rediscovered this WIP in my files, and I don't foresee it getting fleshed out anytime soon, but I do love the ridiculous scenes I've got, so I might as well release them into the wild. 😉

A Tree Grew on Yavin

Summary: Poe's friends in the Resistance are baffled/skeptical when he describes the animate "Force tree" he grew up with on Yavin IV, but they soon get to see for themselves when Groot, his partner Rocket, and their team of "morons" make contact.

“You know, Poe,” said Rey, as they rehashed the attack run, “that almost sounds like the Force.”

“Wait, is that how the Force works?” said Finn. “Because I've gotten some conflicting reports on that.”

“Nah. I don't have the Force, Rey. I grew up with this tree… It's kind of complicated to explain. But if I had it, I think I'd know.”

“Of course you have the Force, Poe.” Leia entered from the hall. “We all do. It's life's music. The song we make.”

Poe didn't argue, but he shrugged. Fine. Terminology. He wasn't Force-sensitive.

It wasn't until days later, during a lull from the work of settling the remnants of the Resistance in on Ajan Kloss, that the subject came up again.

“We want to know more about that tree,” said Rey, apropos of nothing.

Poe stared blankly at her, and then at the jungle surrounding their new base.

“Which one? And why would I know any more about it than you do? I've never been to Ajan Kloss before, either.”

“Not these trees,” said Finn. “On the Falcon, you said you grew up with a tree, and that's why you're confident you're not Force-sensitive. Why? Rey's been studying the Jedi texts and we asked around a bit, but no one has ever heard of tests for Force-sensitivity involving trees.”

Poe raised an eyebrow. “You've been—who would you even ask about that? Besides the General, of course. She would have been able to tell you.” He frowned. “You also could have just asked me to begin with, you know.”

Rey and Finn eyed him with identical expressions of skepticism.

“You mean, in the cumulative 5 spare seconds since we got here that you haven't been busy setting up landing fields—”

“Building hangars.”

“Organizing patrols.”

“Flying patrols.”

“Eating.”

“Or sleeping?”

“...OK, fair. It's been a little hectic.”

Rey smirked in victory. “So, the tree?”

Poe sighed and settled in for a story. “I warned you it's complicated to explain.”

Both listeners nodded.

“All right, then. So my mother, Shara Bey, flew for the Rebellion—both my parents fought in the Rebellion, but Mom was the pilot.”

A mixed group of mechanics and pilots passing by their table chuckled affectionately. “Everyone knows, Dameron!”

“Er, I didn't, actually,” said Rey.

“Yeah, same,” said Finn.

“Thank you!” He mock-glared at the passing group. “You may think you know all of my stories, especially after hanging around with L'ulo too much, but this context is actually relevant.”

“Someone has to heckle you with the rest of Black Squadron still out on mission!” teased a tech.

“Your mother was a Rebellion pilot, and?” prompted Rey.

“And right at the end of the war, after the second Death Star blew up, when the dregs of the Empire were still coming down, she got pulled onto an undercover mission that Luke Skywalker was running. He needed to get something out of an Imperial research lab. Apparently, the Jedi temple in the Old Republic was built around this massive Force-sensitive tree. The Empire destroyed it, but they kept a few live pieces. For research, I guess.”

Rey's forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “The Jedi texts on Ahch-To were in a tree. I wonder if it was the same type.”

Poe blinked. “Uhhh… maybe? …You couldn't put books in our Force Tree, but I don't know. Can't rule it out, really.”

Rey shook her head. “Sorry! I'm side-tracking your story. Go on.”

Poe smiled. “So when they got there and tricked their way into the lab, they found these two little Force trees. Skywalker was only expecting to there to be one. At the time, my parents were just about to muster out and go settle down somewhere, so Skywalker gave them second one to take with them and plant. He said he wanted it to be safe somewhere.

“Point is, according to Skywalker, that tree just radiates Force energy and is obviously not an ordinary tree. So it seems highly unlikely that I would never have sensed that growing up if I were Force-sensitive.”

Finn looked vaguely let down. “So… it's this amazingly cool thing, but without the Force—or, without being sensitive to the Force—it's just like a regular tree?” He frowned. “You don't think Skywalker was just pulling your mother's leg, do you? Rey said he's kinda sarcastic…”

“Well, not just like a regular tree. I mean, regular trees don't walk around. Or talk.”

“What?!”

“I said, regular trees don't—”

Finn waved for him to stop. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got that. Completely true. You're saying this Force tree does walk and talk? Like a person?”

“Yeah. His name's Groot.” He glanced around at the jungle again, with more satisfaction this time. “He would like it here.”

...

“Commander Dameron! Commander Dameron!”

Poe stifled a groan and rose from his crouch under the X-wing he was working on. “Yes, Threepio?”

“We have just received a communication for you, sir!”

Poe frowned as he ran through the mental list of who might be calling him. Black Squadron was all here. Finn and Rey were here (in fact, Rey was heading towards them now, apparently on her way back from another obstacle course run). If it were his father, C3PO would have led with that. Any of his old navy contacts who hadn't died on Hosnian Prime had mostly found their way to the Resistance by now…

“OK, who is it?”

“He called himself 'Rocket,' sir. He refused to be any more specific and insisted you would know who he was. If fact, he was quite—”

“Rude?” said Poe.

“Indeed!”

“Yeah, I know who he is. Thanks, Threepio. It's not personal. He's rude to everyone.”

Poe replaced the open panel and grabbed his jacket.

“Wait…” He stopped in his tracks. “What codes did he use to call us?”

“I believe it is one of the communication codes we use with our suppliers, sir! I was intending to ask you with whom you had shared it.”

Poe shook his head and sighed. “He didn't get it from me, pal. But Rocket turns up all kinds of things he's not supposed to have. Might be time to start cycling in some new codes.”

He fell into step beside Rey as they both headed for the base's central complex. “Done already?” she asked curiously. “I figured that sort of repair would take all afternoon.”

“It will, but apparently not today. Threepio said a communication came through for me.”

The curious stares started as soon as they stepped through the door. Rey wasn't that much of a curiosity anymore, and Poe certainly wasn't, which meant Rocket must be in fine form today. Rey gave him a sidelong glance—she'd clearly noticed, too.

“Poe!” Finn waved from the command room and jogged towards them, flashing Rey a quick smile before getting back to the business at hand. “There's someone on the line for you, named—”

“Rocket. Yeah, Threepio told me. That's why I'm up here.” He continued his brisk stride towards the command room, running a hand restlessly through his hair. “Who did he insult besides Threepio?”

“What?”

“What did Rocket say? Threepio was in a huff; everyone's giving me weird looks, and I know Rocket—civility is not his strong suit.”

Finn hesitated. “I'm not sure he insulted anyone exactly. He's just… kind of… glowering at everyone.”

Finn wasn't wrong about the glowering. The holo showed Rocket's diminutive arms folded belligerently over his chest, his pointed face twisted into a familiar sullen scowl, and the tip of his bushy, ringed tail swishing impatiently over the ground.

Of course, most of that was just Rocket's default appearance. The gigantic blaster over his shoulder, almost as large as his entire body, was new since Poe had last seen him, however.

“Rocket! Good to see you! You still working with Groot?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Finn and Rey straighten sharply, suddenly laser-focused on the conversation.

Behind Rocket, a much taller being leaned into the shot. The long wooden face split into a broad smile as he boomed out a cheerful “I am Groot!”

Force, it was good to see him again. Poe grinned up at the hologram that now towered over him to capture both of the beings on the other end.

“Beep! Bee-weeoooo!” BB-8 piped up cheerfully from by Poe's feet.

“I am Groot,” agreed Groot.

“Yeah, yeah,” groused Rocket. “Everyone's happy to see everyone. Great. Now that we've established that, can we get back to business?”

“What are you calling about? And how did you get this access code?”

Rocket loftily waved off the latter question. “Oh, you know. Sometimes you just stumble across these sorts of things.”

“Actually, no, I think there are quite a few people working to make sure you don't just 'stumble across' that code.”

“Well, maybe not just lying around, but once you're already in the right computer system…”

Poe sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Threepio wasn't going to be thrilled, but knowing Rocket, he could guess the rest. Apparently at least one of the Resistance's suppliers wasn't Raccoon-proofed. Probably not a huge security risk—just Rocket being dangerously skilled and a compulsive thief, as usual.

“OK. I'm assuming you weren't just calling to make sure it works.”

“No. Quill came across an interesting piece of merchandise that we thought you or your… friends” (Rocket somehow made it sound derogatory.) “might be interested in.”

Poe glanced around the command center, wondering if General Organa was around by any stroke of luck. He blinked. Every one of the unusually large number of people currently in the room was watching the conversation play out in more-or-less open fascination. You could have heard a pin drop.

He glanced back at Rocket, as his full sentence sank in. “Who's Quill?”

Rocket frowned at him, one ear cocking quizzically. Then his expression cleared. “Riiight. You haven't met the morons yet.” He turned towards someone out of sight and shouted “Quill! Poe's on the line! Where's the thing?”

“I told you it's in the aft compartment.” A human man entered the hologram. He glanced towards Poe and frowned. "It's—Wait, that's Poe?” He peered at him for a second. “Weird. I expected you to be a tree."

Rocket stared at him. "Why would he be a tree, you moron?!"

"You said Groot knew him when they were kids! I made an assumption! A wrong assumption, clearly!"

#poe dameron #groot #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars #guardians of the galaxy #Initial lines of dialog are from the Poe Dameron 27 comic #onyxbird fanfic #incomplete fic

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dairogo · 1 year

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For the wip ask thingy:)

I might be onto something and I also might be completely wrong with this one, ahah, but what can you tell about the "Elizabeth" wip? 👀

Ahahahaha, yes, what could an FMA fanfiction called ‘Elizabeth’ possibly be about? XD Well, this one may be a little sideways of what you think, but I doubt you’re far off.

The fic is about Hawkeye, Hughes and Mustang all meeting up after Ishval to discuss how to get him to the top of the military. They meet at Madame Christmas’ bar, she gives them a solemn talking-to to determine how trustworthy they are, how serious about this they are, etc., etc..

The intention is that there’s a lot of discussion of how they can look unthreatening while still speed-running the fuhrership, and so they’re balancing all the codes they can use or may need, and they’re developing the whole concept of Roy being a lazy playboy, and they’re figuring out how they can use it all as a cover for actually Getting Things Done.

As far as the ‘Elizabeth’ codename ... I definitely intended it to come up and for there to be thought on Riza’s side about flirting with Roy, and on Madame Christmas’ side about how she’s gotta keep an eye on this girl.

Here’s an excerpt!

Hughes gestured vaguely towards the other occupants of the room. “So, is this really the best place to meet, to talk?”

“With you two looking as nervous as all that?” Mustang said, a strange light coming into his eyes as the smirk reappeared. But he waved a hand, and toned it all down. “There’s no-one significant there at the moment – and they’re all occupied with the ladies. We’ll get our drinks and head on through to a private room after Madame’s given you a once-over.”

Glancing back at Christmas, Hawkeye noticed that the woman was indeed watching them. It could have been because she was bringing them their drinks, but the look she had was more observant than that. Maybe she had resting suspicious face.

Hawkeye took the pale ale with thanks, and the larger woman retreated back to get Mustang’s drink. As Hughes took a deep drink from his she took a testing mouthful, and she came to the conclusion that if Hughes’ disappointment at the label available wasn’t enough to put him off ordering it, she wouldn’t be trusting his taste again.

“What does a once-over consist of?” Hawkeye asked.

A shrug of Mustang’s shoulders didn’t put her at ease. “There’s certain help she could provide to our cause, if she thinks it’s worth her time.”

This help, which Mustang had alluded to before, was no more known to Hughes than it was to Hawkeye, evidently, because the other man gave a hesitant murmur into his glass before setting it down. “There are better ways to get us to meet your family, Roy.”

“No, really,” Mustang argued. “This could make a big difference. Thanks, Madame.”

A darker beer was set in front of Mustang, and Hawkeye tried not to feel compelled to take another drink of her own in response to the strength of Christmas’ presence.

“So, you’re trying to get my boy into politics, then?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Hughes responded.

Christmas’ stare moved on to Hawkeye, and she realised they were both meant to respond. “It’s a better future than the alternative,” she said.

“He could do well in a military career. Who says he has to be in charge for that to be worth anything?”

Hughes leant in. “Well, Ma’am, if he wants to set the tone of the country –”

“What’s so wrong with the tone that it needs changing?” The woman shrugged, unsettling the fur of her long coat. From some it may come across as a carefree sentiment, but there was definitely a sense of challenge behind it.

#writing #fanfiction #incomplete fic #Riza Hawkeye #Maes Hughes #Roy Mustang #Madame Christmas #ask answered

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thelemoncoffee · 1 year

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hey y'all. instead of a prompt today how about some actual writing of mine, from back when i actually had the motive to write.

this old thing was suppose to be the ending of a much longer pregame au story i had never wrote anything else on. it was inspired by Pork Soda by Glass Animals; it was meant to be about pregame Saiouma growing distant, developing unhealthy coping mechanisms trying to rekindle their love, and eventually successfully rekindling it by reliving the day they first got together.

That last part is what's write below the cut; enjoy :)

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Saihara couldn't help but watch his face as those intoxicating lilac eyes studied the waves their spot overlooked, lazily half-lidded and reflecting the evening sun. warm light highlighted every little detail from the light spray of freckles that danced across the bridge of his nose and chased one another down his neck and arms, to the wisps of night-sky hair tipped with the edge of day's final breath that tousled in the breeze.

A face he looked at a-thousand times over, but one he'd never pass up the opportunity to see once more. For the first time in a long time that face was serene, warmth seeping from relaxed features, not contorted into a fake reflexive expression. it was heavenly to have the honor to see such a thing.

Those lilacs glanced over at him for a moment before Ouma picked himself up slowly, there was a glint in them Saihara couldn't quite place with such a short peek that felt like it was luring him in. 'A welcomed feeling'. a hand was held out to him by the man now slightly hunched over him, silhouetted by the sunset, one he took and couldn't help but smile at the warmth it possessed as it hoisted him up to his feet "ready to go already?". Ouma snorted In response,

"no, dumbass. c'mer" as he spoke he ambled over to the cliff edge, Saihara hesitantly following just a few steps behind.

Once they reached the edge Ouma pulled two phones and wallets from his pocket, one of each looking oddly familiar "hey when did you take my shit?!" an ugly little whinny of a chuckle came from the shorter, lips straining to not quirk up into a true smile. Rather than responding, Ouma simply tossed the items into a small pile on the grass and untied his hoody from around his waist to toss atop them in what seemed to be a lousy attempt to hide them. He commanded Saihara to take his shoes off as he kicked off his own atop the small pile, the odd command made him curious "what do i need to do that for?"

"i guess Shu can keep 'em on, but i don't think he'd want to walk back to the car in sloshy shoes" Oums threaded his fingers together behind his head and leaned into them a bit as he spoke

Saihara paused "slos- wait are you really thinking about-...?"

"why not?" he shrugged and looked over the edge with a smile "we did it last time we were here, and since we're all reminisce-y today i thought it was fitting" lilacs reflecting another hard to pinpoint emotion glanced back over at Saihara "unless you don't wanna"

"No i- i'd love to i jus-"

He was quickly cut off "come on then, take your shoes off, or i'll drag you in with em on" Saihara wasted no time after that, quickly tugging his sneakers and socks off to add to the pile. he stepped up to Ouma's side, who had stepped back quite a ways away, a big grin on his face. Saihara remembered the first time they'd done this Ouma was scared to jump and it was Saihara who convinced him to trust him. it was so different back then, and yet… "ready Shu?"

"yeah" he interlocked their fingers with a smile "are you?"

A cocky smirk graced his lips "you tell me" the sudden energy Ouma took up in that moment took Saihara by surprise as he was tugged into a running start towards the edge. He quickly fumbled to get his feet under him as a laugh tore from his chest against his will, just barely getting up to Ouma's speed before the ground beneath their bare feet came to a sudden drop and they soared off the edge.

It was like time slowed down for a moment; mid air, all Saihara could feel was the cool winds coming off the salty waves below, and the warm comforting hand that held tight to his clammy own, gravity had no effect and he was floating and weightless like a painted cloud in the evening sky with his crush like the first time all over again.

The surreal serenity didn't last as gravity took hold and dragged the duo down by their lurching hearts toward the salty waves that lapped the cliff's base below. The cold air nipped and scratched at their skin before the sting of heavy waves enveloped their bodies and washed away any warmth, air being forced from already weak lungs upon impact. The saltwater soaked into their clothes without hesitation and added extra weight for them to hoist up above the surface, as if the ocean had a mind of its own and was attempting to drown them- something he wouldn't mind doing so long as it was with Ouma.

Saihara didn't know when they let go but by the time he breached the waves with a deep gasp to fill his shocked empty lungs and wiped murky water from his eyes, Ouma was several feet away, heaving out heavy breaths laced with unruly laughter as he floated on his back. His night sky wisps were darkened by waves and plastard to his skin and being tossed about by the water where his head dipped beneath the surface, lips stretched into a wide open smile that let the corners reach his screwed shut eyes.

A sound nor sight more heavenly did not exist.

Saihara felt his own bubbles of laughter rise as he swam over to the free floater. He reached over to Ouma's face and pushed his soaked bangs away, causing those intoxicating eyes to open up like spring blooms. Their laughter quieted down but didn't stop as the shorter sat up right, their bodies being slightly jostled by the never ceasing ocean and the happy sound they made as they smiled together. their gazes never left the others when they pressed close together, as if doing so would allow them to savor any heat the ocean left for them to keep.

hands slowly slithered their way around waists and up chests without much thought behind it, too lost in the other to really tell. The only thing his body did that Saihara could truly process was the sickening sweet dance his stomach and heart were doing, a welcomed and oddly pleasant feeling, but one he'd never get used to. Everything else was hazed over with a fog he missed dearly, a fog that hid everything else in the world from view and only left the man in his arms.

Despite how honed in he was on Ouma and Ouma alone, he still failed to register how close they were until he felt chapped lips press to his own, and like that he was gone. There was no Saihara, no Ouma, no ocean, no cliff, no world. In that moment there were simply two lovers intertwined, reconnected, sewn together tight again as their seam's loose thread was tied up.

Mouths hesitantly parted from one another to allow air to fill breath-taken lungs, but bodies were still pressed close like they'd been super-glued together. a shaky whinny slipped from Ouma's salt flavored lips, wracking his lanky frame with joy, Making Sahara's already sore-from-smiling face break into another. "something funny Mocha?"

"nah" he cleared his throat to ward off a saltwater sore rasp "can't a guy just be happy?"

Saihara shook his head and offered a joking tone in return "nope, you always have ulterior motives."

"aww, Shumai caught me" he played along, playfully booping Saihara's nose to elicit a flinch "while he wasn't looking, i stole something important of Shuichi's"

Saihara raised an eyebrow at the well known kleptomaniac "you didn't take my phone down here did you?" Ouma snorted at him

"good guess, but nope! i'll give you a little hint" the little trickster leaned in and pressed a kiss on Saihara's cheek "it's something i've stolen before, same location, same item"

Saihara paused for a moment before it clicked and his eyes narrowed "i swear to fucking god if you were about to say my heart-" Ouma cackled and in turn was lightly smacked in the back of the head "that's cheesy as hell, you're better than that come on!"

"but i liiilke cheese! my favorite is blue too, truly fitting don't cha think?" wiry fingers threaded through navy locks as another light head smack was delivered with a chuckle. Ouma let out a playful whine "i loooveee youuuu~"

Saihara let out a breathy chuckle and kissed Ouma's forehead "i love you too" the taste of salt on the boy's skin reminded him of their current location and situation, bodies having been on autopilot to keep them afloat in the setting sun-sparkled water "we should probably get out and grab our stuff before it gets too dark."

"fiiinnee" Ouma sighed and pulled away hesitantly, placing one last kiss on Saihara's cheek before they started to swim towards shore. Ouma missed them; it went unspoken, but Saihara could tell in the way he seemed to wait for him to follow. He didn't leave him waiting.

Saihara couldn't help the joy he felt swimming alongside his lover, trekking up the cliff side to retrieve their thankfully still there items, racing to see who could get back to Ouma's car first, riding home with more nostalgic shared memories on their tongues, all while sopping wet and cold. Saihara felt alive again, Saihara felt in love again, and when Ouma took a shower with him and ate dinner with him and borrowed his clothes and crashed on his bed in his arms that night; Saihara felt at home again.

Those murky waters may put fires out in any other world, but in theirs, it was the fuel that ignited their love once, then rekindled it again when they drifted too far away to keep each other alight.

He never wanted to come anywhere near losing Ouma ever again.

---

the formatting on this is yikes, i kinda wanna go back in and reformat, but i'm too tired rn to give a shit

#danganronpa #ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #saiouma #pregame #incomplete fic #my writing #never to be finished

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fuckyeah-hetalia · 2 years

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Status: Incomplete (Last updated 8/8/2022)

Summary:

Hi heam :) if you’re okay with that I’d like to send a prompt that could be part of my prison au but I haven’t had the time and motivation to write it yet 👉🏻👈🏻 I read your darker stuff on ao3 and thought it could fit into that kind of mood?

So what I’ve been thinking of is Arthur meeting his son Matthew after they haven’t seen each other for months (or longer idk..) and basically they beat each other up because of all the unspoken things between them.. ya know they’re both inmates now, see each other and it’s ON SIGHT. And before they can kill each other gilbert (Matthew’s bunk mate) and Ludwig (Gilbert’s brother and one of the wardens) separate them and maybe one or both of them is thrown into solitary confinement. I haven’t really thought this through but like.. Arthur and Matthew fighting. Gilbert holding Matthew back and Ludwig pulling Arthur away and they share a moment as brothers even if they’re inmate and warden most of the time 😭

I’m sorry I’m rambling. Anyways, no pressure this is totally okay to ignore! But if you have the motivation to do something I’d love to see more of your darker stuff ☺️

Chapters: 3/? Words: 2,765

Creator: magictrio1118

Fandoms: Hetalia: Axis Powers

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Categories: M/M

Relationships: England/France, England & Monaco, Canada/Russia, Germany & Prussia, past Russia/America

Characters: England, Canada, Monaco, Prussia, Germany, More characters to be added - Character, like a lot more - Character

Tags: Prison AU, aka the giant fucking soap opera, england and canada have a crusty asf reltionship, also murder and attempted murder, seems like insanity runs in the family, for fieandicelands au on tumblr, this isnt e x a c t l y the prompt just yet but they will go at eachother, yes i am starting a new fic watch me die

#fanfic #fruk #ruscan #past rusame #aph england #aph canada #aph monaco #aph prussia #aph germany #content warnings in post #incomplete fic #hetalia

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makiruz · 1 year

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Another great Gargoyles fanfic, but gotta warn, this one is incomplete since 2013

#Gargoyles #Disney Gargoyles #Gargoyles Disney #fanfic rec #fanfic #my post #incomplete fic #Owen Burnett #David Xanatos #not mine

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the-kittens-of-vol-tron · 2 years

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I never thought I would advertise this fic on my blog but here we are.

Back I January I start a vent fic about things I've dealt with in my life. I didn't know how many people would read it but it got me back into writing fanfiction.

I never wanted to post about it since it covered really triggering topics but I'm actually proud of it and it has helped me and others in our healing journey.

It's not the best fic ever, I have yet to go back through and fix inconsistent details, but it is readable.

If you do check it out, please read all the tags.

Find it below! Updates weekly ❤️

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thepjofanficarchive · 1 year

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Fanfic No. 41: Three Chances

Type of fic: Canon divergent, 1.4k words, incomplete, rated T

“It is the last battle, and the one person on whose shoulders lies the fate of Western civilization is running away. But there is still a chance for him. Three chances in fact. As war rages in both worlds, Percy has to make the most terrible of choices…”

December 21, 2007

Characters: Annabeth Chase, Chiron, and Percy Jackson

Length and format: This was the set up for the rest of a fic that didn’t follow. It is a quick and interesting read but the lack of follow through can leave you unsatisfied.

Content: This fic was a set up to a christmas carol sort of plot that never followed through so the premise is interesting but the plot is never laid out so we cannot really judge on the plot if there is not much of one.

Characterization: We did see a more vulnerable side of Percy overwhelmed by the duty of being a demigod and seeing him experience grief makes him feel more human and not just a ‘main character’.

Reception: There are 10 reviews that are all positive as well as 3 favorites and 3 follows.

Author: Author Scribbledydee is a person named Chris who promotes freerice.com on their page to help end world hunger. They also have up some copypasta, updates on stories, and a list of OCs. There are no ANs either. The account went inactive in 2008 so we can only wish them the best.

Impact: I really liked the premise for this fic, the prologue was interesting, but I wish there were more to it.

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deaddennis · 1 year

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in this new year imma try and read more incomplete fic. i will be brave.

#fanfic #incomplete fic

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zillychu · 3 months

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woke up from a dead sleep last night realizing I could make soroku flavored pitch pearl and no one could stop me

edit: you know what? I'm feral and I won't apologize. more under the cut bc this is my house

I slammed this out all at once so I apologize for the quality but I'm having EMOTIONS

so imagine. bc of the way Danny was quickly resuscitated, his ghost only barely started forming. With the excess blast of ectoplasm from the portal being created, that little whisp was given form even after Danny's soul returned to his body.

except this ghost (Phantom) slowly comes into consciousness while trapped in Danny's body. they're separate entities sharing one body, but Phantom doesn't really have a sense of self right away. he pieces together vague fragments of Danny's memory to get a basic understanding of the world, and is mostly just observing like a backseat passenger.

Phantom starts reflexively protecting Danny, his powers and instincts bleeding through when his emotions are high. Danny doesn't really transform, and his personality doesn't totally shift that much at first because Phantom’s mind isn't complex yet. but as time goes on, and Danny has tense conversations with ghosts, Phantom realizes that's what he is. he's a ghost, somehow trapped in his old body. and even now, this early on, he already feels separate. he doesn't have all the memories Danny has.

this slowly turns into horror. into rage. sorrow, mourning a life he never got and will never get to have. forever trapped behind the eyes of someone else, never able to interact with the world. Phantom's rage eventually boils over until it allows him short bursts of taking over Danny's body. it starts out small–a stray hand moving without his consent, knees locking up, ghost abilities going awry. Danny can start feeling emotions that don't belong to him. get vague impressions, almost hears a voice inside him.

and eventually, Phantom is able to fully take over. this is when Danny “transforms". at first, Danny blacks out because his consciousness isn't used to being shoved into the back seat. but eventually, he's awake for these “episodes", trapped in the back of his mind while Phantom controls his body. this only happens when ghost stuff is happening, when Phantom feels threatened enough. he's not protecting Danny, he's protecting himself. Phantom knows instinctively that if Danny dies, he dies too. he's not a normal ghost, he wouldn't be freed. he'd simply disappear.

at one point after a fight, Phantom can feel Danny struggling to take back control. and he talks to Danny for the first time, acknowledges he's there. asks how it's fair that Danny is the one that gets to exist. but Phantom is tired and weak, he slips back into the passenger seat.

over the next few days, he's able to start talking to Danny even while he's not driving. though he's not chatty, it's only when necessary. and Danny knows, can feel it across the link between them–Phantom hates him. the ghost he created is desperate to find a way to take over completely. and as time goes on, Danny realizes with horror that it might actually be possible for Phantom to do that. he grows stronger every day, can stay transformed longer, controls Danny's body with much more ease.

it's only through a chance meeting with Frostbite that Danny and Phantom fully learn what happened to them. Danny feels sympathetic towards Phantom now. this isn't a malevolent ghost, it's a person who was never given the chance to live. who's trapped. who has to watch someone else live a life they're just as deserving of.

and Phantom feels that emotion from Danny. is so shocked by it, he doesn't know how to handle it at first. it takes him a while to contemplate, to talk to other ghosts like Frostbite. until one day, Phantom realizes… he feels sympathy for Danny, too.

neither of them asked for this. both of them deserve to live. Danny didn't do anything wrong. they're both villains to each other's story. and if anything… doesn't Phantom owe his life to Danny in the first place?

Phantom takes over less often. Danny doesn't feel hatred from him anymore. anger, yes–but not aimed at him. in fact, Phantom starts controlling their body in little ways in order to protect Danny from things that aren't even dangerous. just to avoid pain that would only affect the human tethered to him.

it isn't long before they're separated, either thanks to another ghost or Danny's parents. they're thrown apart in the middle of a horrific fight, and when Danny sees Phantom's equally shocked expression, he's terrified.

this ghost that hated him for so long–at best, Phantom would leave him defenseless. at worst, surely some part of Phantom still wants to kill him for stealing away his chance for autonomy.

and yet, when fire rains down on them, Phantom risks it all to grab Danny and get them both to safety. they're still both shaken and stunned this is even happening, but Phantom is able to nervously be like shit shit shit okay stay here don't go anywhere or I can't protect you, okay?

after the fight is over and dust settles, Phantom offers Danny his hand. they stare at each other and god if this isn't the weirdest thing. like, uh, okay, what now? they decide to go see Frostbite, who confirms that they're fully separate now. they ask if there's any chance of merging again and Frostbite assures it's impossible.

Phantom asks, even if I overshadowed Danny? or stay real close? yes, it's nothing to worry about. they leave, and back in the quiet of Danny's room, they talk. Phantom isn't sure what to do. now that opportunity is in front of him, he feels paralyzed. Danny does his best to let Phantom know that… they might be separate now, but if he ever wants help or even just a friendly ear, he's here for him.

Phantom is quiet for a while. then says maybe he just needs to rest first. he'll think about it tomorrow. they're both exhausted and injured. Phantom asks quietly… if he could rest in Danny for the night.

Danny's shocked, and–really confused. Phantom blushes and is like I don't know what my haunt is yet, I don't know where to go, but I know… you're kind of my home. now that I know I can leave whenever I want, it's not something bad anymore. I miss feeling your heart next to my core, just a little bit.

and Danny is just as surprised when Phantom overshadows him, then quietly nestles into the passenger seat again. he didn't realize how he got used to feeling Phantom with him. it's a feedback loop of contentedness, and Danny sleeps easily. (they also find out while sharing a body, Danny gets to reap the benefits of Phantom's supernatural healing)

anyway that's all I got for now thank u for coming to my ted talk

#I'll be honest. it has interested me. I've read fics. I'm just more interested in other stuff for dp #but the prospect of pitch pearl 'enemies to friends also maybe they kiss about it' has me sweating nervously #the struggle and angst of defining yourself against your progenitor. the defiant sorrowful anger funneled into misplaced hatred #only to slowly realize your progenitor is a sweet person who didn't condemn you. they even fight for you to have your own agency #so once you finally have your own body you'll do anything to protect that person you've come to truly care about #and because you shared a body for so long. because you had the same origin. you know them as well as you know yourself #you're not incomplete but you still hold half of each other #HAHA WOW anyway I'm in danger :)#don't. don't look at me #should i even tag this. yeah okay #Danny Phantom #pitch pearl

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radioactive-earthshine · 1 month

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Thinking about Bart's eidetic memory and how after the reboot they likely lost hundreds of photos of each other that just can never be recovered.

Bart is also an amazing sketch artist and I imagine one day he sketches every last photograph he remembers he saw of all of them ranging from their days before Young Justice through their time with the Titans.

He does it mainly for Kon at first because the whole world forgot him, but he certainly didn't, and while there are no photos of him prior to when he came back they once existed and this is the only way he can bring them back to him. So they exist in the world again and it helps him and everyone remember all their history that the world tried so hard to bury.

#bart allen #kon el #konbart #bartkon #conner kent #this is an incomplete thought and may be a fic later

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fastcardotmp3 · 6 months

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future!steddie; long haul trucker Eddie; firefighter Steve ~1k words

It makes sense to Eddie, an obvious out when his world's gone to shit and he has to get away, that his escape route from Indiana is the same job his uncle left to settle down there and raise a kid with nowhere else to go.

Driving long haul means there's no one looking that close at a face that made it to the national news during his week on the run. It means living on the move, never stopping long enough to get stuck anywhere.

It means freedom.

It means loneliness.

He calls Wayne twice a week, coins in pay phones at rest stops while he's waiting for his hair to dry post-public shower, and that's enough for him.

Wayne has always been enough for him, and it would be hurtful to suggest otherwise; it would be disrespectful to the life Wayne helped him build, keeps helping him build with all that faith that had him never doubting an innocence questioned by everyone else in that God-forsaken town.

Twice a week. It's the only phone number he knows by heart.

Twice a week for weeks and then months and then years, driving cross-country and back again, it's freedom. He keeps telling himself it's freedom, that it's good, that he doesn't need anything more than that.

But driving long haul means there's a lot of time for thinking.

It means a lot of time for collecting thoughts up together and creating new meaning entirely.

It means that by the time he's twenty-one and twenty-five and thirty that he has tape after tape after tape where he's collected those thoughts aloud in the rumbling loud silence of an overnight drive.

Thoughts like who would I be if I'd stuck around? and thoughts like will they understand that this time running saved my life? and thoughts like I miss them, am I allowed to miss them, am I allowed to love them without ever really knowing them?

It means that when he stops for all but the first time in ten years, coming home to Wayne to find that Forest Hills is home to a couple more familiar faces than he expected, there's space for his words. His endless, looping thoughts.

Steve's got his own trailer these days, brings in Wayne's mail for him on the mornings he comes home from the night shift at the fire station and stays for coffee.

Steve's there across the way when Eddie drives up in a new-used flatbed truck he'd bought with his final paycheck on the day he hung up his hat and decided he'd been gone long enough.

Steve's there in stories Wayne only begins telling now that Eddie is home, endless retellings of a brand-new man who became a friend during a time when the name Munson was still a dangerous thing to carry.

Steve's there when Eddie starts transcribing all his dictated notes into something resembling narrative and character and prose and Eddie doesn't know the guy who jumped headfirst into another dimension, hasn't spoken to him since that week that forced Eddie to flee in the first place, but maybe he doesn't need to have those years under his belt.

Maybe it doesn't matter if Eddie knows a nineteen-year-old Steve Harrington, because he knows the twenty-nine-year-old one starting a matter of hours after he comes crawling back home, knows this grown and steady one who looked after Wayne when Eddie had to leave.

This Steve isn't stuck despite still living in the town that tried to kill him. He doesn't seem lost or without purpose.

He lives a simple life, working at the Hawkins FD and feeding stray dogs with the bowls he leaves out beside his porch. Robin comes and goes, seemingly dating her way through the Midwest's entire sapphic population and sleeping on Steve's couch in between live-in girlfriends.

There are old friends on the phone at near constant intervals in Steve's home, and there's that phone being pressed to Eddie's ear without giving him the chance to be terrified about what Erica or Dustin or Max might say to the guy who hasn't allowed anyone but Wayne access to him for a decade, what he might say back after so many years without proper human socialization.

Eddie has been moving for so long, stayed moving through the bulk of his acceptance of everything that happened to him, but there's a different sort of quiet here than what he found on the road, stillness, amongst the casual chaos.

There's similarities to life on his rig, sure, a certain routine to the comings and goings, only Eddie isn't hiding anymore and he's not thumbing through the same staticky stations anymore and he's not lonely anymore.

He doesn't know how to sit still yet, not really, but he stays up all night handwriting poetry on paper he once spoke onto tape on the porch of his uncle's trailer and sometimes when Steve gets home after dark, he'll sit with him.

He'll eat his dinner still in uniform and listen to the scratch of Eddie's pen and Eddie doesn't know him, Steve Harrington, but he's getting to know his neighbor Steve.

Ten years down the line and he's becoming solid right there in front of Eddie's eyes, becoming real, becoming something that can't possibly fit onto the tapes filled with nonsense and insights alike.

"You're never what I think you're going to be," Eddie admits to him one morning over coffee before Wayne or Robin have risen, before the phone has begun to ring, before the world wakes up and brings Eddie's life along with it, ready or not.

Steve smiles at him, amused and curious and cocky in the way he responds, "you're exactly who Wayne said you are."

It's an admission all its own, that Steve has thought about Eddie, spoken about him, in the time they've spent apart, even if it was only because he'd dared to keep Wayne Munson's company.

It's still an admission though, that in his absence, in his loneliness out on the road, Eddie wasn't forgotten by the watercolor skies over Hawkins, Indiana.

"Yeah?" Eddie breathes in those very skies, "and what did Wayne say I'd be?"

Ten years down the line and suddenly it makes sense to Eddie.

It makes sense in the morning dew on the lawn; it makes sense in the too-strong Harrington-brewed coffee; it makes sense in the wheels of his truck on a road that does end, eventually, and it makes sense in the collected thoughts and feelings, fears and dreams that he had to go away to decipher.

The freedom was in leaving, sure, but this? The coming home to Wayne and this porch and the man who lives across the way?

"Stick around, Munson," Steve Harrington dares on a morning like any other, "and maybe I'll just tell you."

Well. As it turns out, this might be the thing that saves him.

#dot post #dot fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #went looking for an incomplete draft to work the 'ole writing brain again and found a much shorter version of this #and now it's finished and yours!

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nelkcats · 1 year

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The Banshee, a JL mystery

A foreign case was being discussed by the Justice League, in general it was not bad, just rare.

It began a couple of months ago, a tourist had come to Star City, but he did not visit the city, he did not even register, he just pop out of nowhere, went to the cemetery, and apparently the cameras recorded him placing flowers in all the tombs and talking with the air or with some of the people engraved in the stones, they were not sure of it.

The strange thing was that the cameras around him were always corrupted, they needed the JLD to even stabilize the image, and ¿was that not worrying? They assumed that something supernatural was following him, the boy looked strictly human, but even the trackers that they tried to put were damaged around him.

Unfortunate for the entire league, although they had the guy features, the image was not clear enough for facial recognition.

The corrupted sound of the camaras sounded like a wail, or a cry, Constantine commented it remembered him to a banshee, so they started to call him "The Banshee" even if Zatanna told them Banshee were strictly women, it stayed.

The wave of visits continued, the boy went through Central City, Metropolis, Washington, Gotham, but it was later where something relevant happened again.

Jason was visiting his own grave when he noticed the boy, he tells, he cared because the young man seemed disconsolate looking at the graves, even yearning if that had some sense.

"Did you know him?" It may be the case of B, but it still had him intrigued. Also, the guy was looking at his grave, he felt like he have the right to ask.

"No, but you could say I already did" the boy sighed, stroking the stone of the tomb "I would also like it-..." Danny stopped, he should not be telling his problems to the owner of the tomb "Ah, no matter, it's good to know he was loved"

Jelousy, the reason why Danny visited the cemeteries was to calm himself, surrounded by what he wants but can not occur, to cry as no one cried for him, Clockwork always said that a part of him died at the moment nobody pay attention to his death, and ¿wasn't that funny?

"¿How do you know?" If someone asked Jason, he would affirm that it was uncomfortable to talk about himself as if he was still dead, but he couldn't do anything about it now.

"Well, he's buried and has a proper resting place, they keep bringing him flowers even though the inside of his grave is empty, you can see the recently removed earth; Many of the dead don't have that luxury, their bodies left somewhere, the missing people were never given a proper burial, I don't know man, ghosts can't build their own graves ¿you know?" He was probably ranting and he knew it, but Danny was tired, he wanted that too, and it was such a stupid rule not to be able to give himself his own resting place, but he wasn't going to burden Jazz, Sam, or Tucker with giving him a funeral.

It was the reason he did this, why he visited cemeteries, laid flowers and talked to the resident ghosts, he wanted to know the feeling, wanted to know what he had lost, wanted to be mourned too.

"Anyway, nice to meet you Nosaj Ddot, be a little grateful for what you have, ¿okay? I know some who would kill for it" he smiled ruefully, starting to pick up his basket of flowers, he had already made his rounds anyway. It was probably time to go back to Amity Park.

"¿Nosaj? What are you talking about-" but the boy was already gone, disappeared into thin air, his communications re-established at the same moment that he noticed his damaged tracker right next to the grave, a short circuit.

"The banshee ¿uh?, he sure is an interesting guy, maybe the League is really onto something this time."

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