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symbioticsimplicity · 1 year

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Based on an idea @thediktatortot and I workshopped in the tags of this post. Enjoy Tommy, Steve, Eddie and Billy being trapped in a room together!

Part 2! Part 3! Part 4! AO3 link!

The world was hell bent on making Steve Harrington suffer. He was sure of it, dead-set, knew it in his soul.

Why else would he have gotten trapped in the high school teacher’s lounge with Eddie Munson, Tommy Hagan, and Billy Hargrove of all people?

“--you didn’t skip gym every fuckin’ year then maybe you could have kept up, freak.” Tommy hissed at Eddie, his teeth gritted as he leaned against the door a demodog was currently trying to knock down.

“Oh yeah cause tackle fucking football really prepares you for the goddamn apocalypse!” Eddie snarled back, marring the effect a little by tripping over his feet as he brought over a chair to prop against the door.

“Shut the fuck up!” Billy growled at them both, “‘M tryin’ to fuckin’ focus!”

He had his back pressed against the door, and was probably the real reason that it hadn’t been caved in yet. Ever since he’d survived his face off with the mindflayer last summer, Billy had been different. Not just in such that he didn’t try to take a bite out of anyone who got too close to him half as often, but in that he could bench his fucking car. Steve knew, because he’d seen him do it one of the days he’d picked Max up for whatever dumb thing the kids were up to.

“Oh sorry Lou, don’t let us get in the way of your ‘roid rage.” Tommy snitted back, unable to keep his mouth shut for love of life or limb.

“Tommy, for fucks sake shut your mouth for ten goddamn minutes and help me move this vending machine.” Steve cut Billy off before he could escalate what was quickly devolving into a miniaturized Lord of the Flies reenactment.

Tommy aimed an ugly look his way while Eddie snickered.

“King’s callin’ Hagan, be a good little pawn and attend him.”

“Munson, get your ass over here, you’re helping too.” Steve turned his disapproving glare on Eddie too.

Tommy bowed dramatically, “Ladies first.”

“Age before beauty.” Eddie bowed back.

“Hurry. The. Fuck. UP!” Billy was losing ground by inches.

Tommy and Eddie took their places on either side of Steve and the three of them started to push the vending machine, inch by screeching inch, across the floor and in front of the door. It filled almost the entire door frame. While it wouldn’t keep a pack of demodogs out for long, it would give them long enough to get their shit together again.

“Okay, so plan?” Steve looked between the three men he now found himself stuck with, “Anybody got a plan?”

“Munson’s the ‘Dungeon Master’, isn’t coming up with plans to beat monsters kind of your thing?” Tommy poked again, securing his place on the mental list Steve knew Eddie kept of people he would eat first in a crisis.

“What the fuck is your problem, douchebag?” Eddie turned his full attention on him, “We’re in the middle of some supernatural life or death bullshit, and your go-to is still ‘Shit on the Freak’? My fuckin’ plan is to trip you while we’re running so they slow down to eat your stupid jock ass.”

Steve pressed his fists into his eyes, trying to force himself to breathe through the headache he could feel forming at the base of his skull. Of all the combinations of people…

“I was trying to be nice!” Tommy shouted back, and even with his eyes closed, Steve could see the way his hands were gesturing, “That stupid game you play with your weirdo friends has a lot to do with making shit up as you go along! That’s a skill!”

“....did you just admit to knowing what DND is about?” Eddie sounded more confused than angry, like all the fire just burnt right out of him.

“I-! No- I just…”

“Table that,” Billy cut in, “I’m not getting torn apart by another one of those fucking things because you two can’t focus for shit.”

“Who died and made you boss, Hargrove?” Tommy snapped reflexively.

“Your fucking Dad, Hagan. It’s why I’m fucking your mom now too.”

“ENOUGH!” Steve shouted in a voice that sounded so much like Richard Harrington he hated himself a little bit for it, “None of us like each other, we all know that, it’s whatever, old news! But I’m pretty sure none of us want to die, either. You two know better than anyone that this shit is not a game.”

Steve pointed a finger at Billy and Eddie each in turn before turning his attention on Tommy.

He was scared, of course he was. Tommy had always used his sharp tongue to cover up his weaknesses, and right now he had to have been feeling about two feet tall and made of tissue paper. Steve had stopped flinching about bodies years ago, but Tommy hadn’t been by his side for that change either.

So he tried to make himself sound calm, familiar, like they were just talking like they used to when they were dumb little boys sharing secrets during the secret hours of the night where nothing had to mean more than it meant.

“I know it’s scary as hell, but we’re not going to let you die, Tommy. No one here is dying, not tonight. We’re all on the same team here, and that means we’re going to look out for each other. Okay?”

He held Tommy’s eyes for a moment more, before letting his attention move to Billy, then Eddie in turn.

Eddie was the first to respond, because of course he was.

“Alright, fine. For one night only, coming to an amphitheater near you, the freakiest Friday you’ve ever fucking seen, Off Brand Motley Crue!” Eddie imitated the distant cheering of a crowd and to Steve’s surprise Billy fucking snorted.

He shoved Eddie’s shoulder almost affectionately, muttering “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Munson.”

Tommy was still staring at Steve when he looked back at him. There was so much going on in the valley between his eyebrows, Steve could practically hear him thinking.

“Spit it out, Tommy.” Steve sighed while Eddie and Billy wandered off to see if they could scavenge anything of use.

“Is this why you stopped talking to me?” He asked with no preamble.

Fifteen different responses flashed through Steve’s head, all in varying degrees of bitchiness. His patience was more like a roulette wheel than a chord close to snapping at this point. There was every chance he’d say something stupid by sheer chance.

“Kind of?” He shrugged, relieved he’d started off neutral at least, “Some of it, I guess.”

“But not the big part.” Tommy laughs humorlessly, filling in the gaps between what Steve means and what he says as effortlessly as he ever did, “Well shit. Here I was telling myself my best friend ditched me to save me from some crazy horrible death or some shit.”

He laughed again, but the sound was as cruel as it was watery.

“That’s not-- you know that’s not fucking fair Tommy!” Steve could feel his expression folding in on itself.

“Not fair? So you’re saying you didn’t completely bail on me instead of being like ‘Huh we’re kinda assholes and I don’t really like that maybe we should work on that’ like a normal fucking friend would?” Tommy snapped.

“If you’d said you just wanted to yell at him yourself, I would have ceded the floor to you without a fight, Harrington.” Eddie weighed in from across the room.

“Shut up!” Steve and Tommy chorused together, causing Eddie to raise his hands in surrender with a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

He turned back to Billy, the blonde rolling his eyes as he tore through a drawer full of seasoning packets.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Steve.” Tommy said firmly, his expression looking far more present and alert than Steve was used to, like he’d come out of whatever place he sent himself when there were other people around, “I know you hated what we were like. You’re a nice guy, you always have been. Even though you’re also a total bitch sometimes.”

Steve almost laughed, but the noise caught in his throat instead.

“Yeah well maybe I didn’t think about it. Maybe I was too caught up in needing to change that I told myself I had to get rid of everything to do it.” Steve clenched his jaw, remembering how hard everything had been back then, how alone he’d felt in the canyon between who he was and who he wanted to be.

“I would have changed with you.” Tommy said to his shoes instead of to Steve, “You know. It’s never been about-- about popularity. It’s always been about making you happy.”

The admission caught him like a blow to the stomach. He felt his eyes tearing up and pressed his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose.

“I think near-death experiences with monsters from other dimensions are pretty good catalysts for second chances.” Steve said, when he felt like he could without his voice breaking on him.

“Catalysts?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, “You spend a couple years around a group of nerds and suddenly you start using the big words?”

It’s an insult but it’s good natured, it’s barbed, but like one of those foam prop spiked bats they sell for Halloween. It’s familiar, and it’s easy, and God has Steve missed bantering with someone who knows how to tease him without actually hurting his feelings.

“Pretty face isn’t gonna get me by my whole life.” Steve replied, a smile sneaking onto his lips as a matching smile spans Tommy’s.

Tommy claps him on the shoulder, “Damn straight, once you hit forty that hair is gonna move onto your back and then you’re screwed.”

Steve laughed, feeling relieved by the resolution of something he hadn’t been aware was still bothering him.

“Yeah, yeah, you can’t say that like your skin isn’t gonna melt like your uncle Fred’s did when you hit thirty.”

“Don’t you dare bring Uncle Fred into this!”

To Steve surprise, the demodogs didn’t come crashing through the vending machine door. After about an hour, they stopped trying to get through entirely.

They thought for a moment that they’d left, but when Billy started pushing the vending machine aside to check, the growling started back up and he quickly moved it back.

“They’re keeping us pinned down.” Eddie muttered around his thumb where he was nervously biting at the skin, “Out of the way.”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, trying not to let himself think through all the reasons that could be, “Split the party, classic.”

“So you do listen when I talk to you about DND.” Eddie beamed, “Knew it. Closet nerd.”

Billy muttered something that vaguely sounded like ‘closet something’ but he was standing on Steve’s bad side and he couldn’t really be sure.

Steve rolled his eyes, “You try having six kids and a really hyper metalhead talking your ear off about the same thing all the time. See how much you remember.”

“Jock to nerd pipeline not withstanding, you know why splitting the party is a problem, right?” Eddie continued stubbornly on.

“We’re most of their muscle.” Billy answered instead, “Take us out or pin us down, the rest of them are easier to take out.”

“Ten XP to California.” Eddie clapped.

“So you think they’re trying to keep us out of something?” Tommy asked, surprisingly mindful of his tone.

Eddie nodded, gnawing at his nail again, “We need another way out.”

“Not a lot of options.” Steve glanced around quickly, his leg starting to bounce.

“Pretty much just the front door.” Billy agreed.

“So we need a battle plan.” Tommy summarized, “Okay, right. Munson, what are you good at?”

Eddie frowned and Tommy threw his hands into the air.

“I’m not trying to start shit, I’m asking so we can figure out where the fuck to put you. Hargrove is a one man demolition team, Steve has that bat and he’s really good at taking a punch, I’m good at defence and I can lift a lot more than those things, so what’s your deal?”

Eddie thought for a second, and Steve honestly couldn’t tell if he was considering his answer or if he was pausing for dramatic effect.

“Well,” He started eventually, “I’m good with a shield, and I’m pretty strong too. Don’t look like it, but I can manhandle Stevie here pretty easily.”

Tommy shot him a look that he pointedly ignored. There was no way he was explaining any of that right now, or ever if he had the choice.

“Steve is easy to manhandle. Barely even fights it.” Billy replied, “That’s not a good gauge of strength.”

“You could rip an airplane in half, you’re not a good gauge of strength.” Eddie gesticulated in Billy’s general direction.

“I fought him way before that.”

“He’s right though.” Tommy shrugged, “Steve never fights being manhandled.”

Eddie scoffed and Steve was pretty sure he was going to choke to death on embarrassment long before the demodogs ever got him.

“Anyway, back on track, guys. You thinking Billy as the spearhead, you and Eddie flanking and me taking up the rear?” Steve tried to guide the conversation back to safer ground before they did something stupid like bond over having all manhandled him at some point.

“Yeah.” Tommy nodded, “Exactly.”

“That’s what I would have said.” Billy shrugged.

“Jock mindmeld.” Eddie shuddered, “Normally, a sign that conformity is alive and well, but right now? Might just save a life. I hate to say it boys, but sportsball might just save the day this time.”

“I’m telling everyone you said that.” Tommy grinned.

“That tripping you plan can still be enacted.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #billy hargrove #tommy h #steve harrington #harringrove #steddie #mungrove #harringroveson #stommy #is there a ship name for the four of them?#cause if I continue this i'm gonna need one #this was super fun to write #its the bitching for me

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stetervault · 3 years

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Hiii! Been delving into Steter now, in the year of our lord 2021, even though I never really did when I was active in the fandom years ago and I was wondering if you'd have some longfic recs for the ship? Like, fics that are Classics(TM)? But happy endings! And I'm not super into those in which Stiles is still underage 😬 do u have any recs? Thanks!

Welcome to the Steter fandom! I definitely have some long fics to rec, some of them are super old lol, and I'll stick to ones around 20k or over, and most of them are finished. And hmm, considering the ship, and a lot of fics like to start off in season 1 where Stiles is still technically a teenager, I'll try to limit these to ones with Stiles being at least 16/17 before anything starts happening, and only 18+ if there's explicit content. I hope that's okay.

drowning in the sea of you by Corpium

Beacon Hills was perfect for Stiles growing up, but now, with werewolves, hunters, and an anxious best friend running around, it's turning into a place too chaotic for an empath like Stiles to handle alone. And pain killers can only go so far.

Wake Me Up by ToAStranger

Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

Tremors by Corpium

(Stiles has a taste for him now. All Peter needs to do is wait.)

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Bite Down by EclipseWing

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are... different. Namely, he's in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter's heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels... sharply curious.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby by taylorpotato

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

Stiles Stilinski, Disaster Chef by Guede

The zombie apocalypse forces Stiles to learn how to cook.

The Will by Guede

We are gathered here today for the reading of Gerard Argent’s will.

On the Importance of Lunar Influences in Gardening by Guede

“Oh, it’s you again,” Stiles sighs. He puts down his basket and drops the bunch of onions into it, and then dusts off his hands. “Can’t you get your own strawberries? I mean, I have it on good authority that wild strawberries? They’re a thing. They exist. They’re out there.”

“But Stiles,” says the werewolf dangling by one foot from the tree, sticky red smears around his mouth and all over his fingers. “Your berries are so juicy, so ripe. Those ones in the woods are mere passing indulgences compared to the royal feast you have in your garden.”

Genii loci Stiles and his father run a community garden, and it’s all good, except for the werewolf who keeps sneaking over the fence to raid Stiles’ strawberry patch (and the hunter who’s constantly hanging around his father).

Runes and all kinds of things by FeelingsDusk (WIP)

Enough is enough. Stiles is tired of being always a last choice when he always tries to do his best for his precious people, so they better get their act together or face being left behind.

The things in the Argent's basement get nearly fatal, the Sheriff finds about the supernatural, Allison can have a wicked, wicked mind and Peter Hale appears to be everywhere.

Oh, and Stiles can't seem to stop breaking the laws of physics with his magic.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn't mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn't mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride's uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn't like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter's just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

For Great Justice! by Green

Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he's waking from his catatonia.

"Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers suffer. I promise you."

Bone Deep by ShippersList

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Soothing the Burn by Therapeutic_Steter (WIP)

Peter is burnt out and breaking down. Stiles notices and offers him solace, along with the one thing he wants most: Pack.

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks. “Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is. “He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her. The camps……aren’t camps. Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven't spoken to in over five years.)

Uncle Peter Doesn't Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (WIP)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16. “Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,” ‘Bambi’. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous. Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn't been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski...her uncle's boyfriend.

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he's captured. Stiles's first thought is, "I won't die here."

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

The Various Triumphs of Mischief Bilinski by Whispering_Sumire (WIP)

"Hello, Chris," sings a honeyed voice from behind.

Chris' attention snaps toward the intruder, his gun already out of its' holster and aimed at whoever it is — a boy, apparently, with braided russet hair, a red jacket, and wise eyes. He's wearing a gas mask, but Chris can tell by the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way sun-burnt sand swirls in his irises, that he's smiling.

Chris cocks his gun.

"You killed my father," he says.

"No offence, but he totally deserved it," the stranger agrees with cheerful solemnity.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Chris demands. The kid is perched on a windowsill in Chris' office, as nonchalantly as if this were something he did every day, as if they were familiar.

"I was just wondering," the kid speaks softly, fond amusement sewn through with a peculiar resignation, "how you'd feel about putting down some nazis?"

[Or: The one where Stiles goes back in time and subsequently fucks with everything.]

A Curious Magic by Triangulum

Overall, Stiles is very well-known in the supernatural community. It’d be hard not to be, not with how his reputation has grown like wildfire. He knows and is on good terms with nearly all the fae that reside in the preserve, the asrai that live deep in the lake, the Ito pack, the vampire couple that lives over in Beacon Valley (they buy an ethically-sourced food supply from Stiles), as well as almost every other supernatural entity in the area. But Talia Hale doesn’t like him, and a werewolf pack tends to do what their alpha tells them to.

So it’s a definite surprise when the wards at the edge of his property trip, the tingling down his spine telling him it’s a werewolf, the lack of burning sensation letting him know there’s no hostile intent. Stiles, in his office in the second floor turret, sets down the amulet he’s packing up for Marin and moves to the large window overlooking the front of his property. He’s expecting to see an Ito packmember, even though they nearly always call in advance, and is surprised to see a man that he recognizes as Talia’s brother, Peter.

Light in the Dark by cywscross

It still surprises Stiles sometimes, how easily he’s adapted. Seven months in a world filled with train tracks and soul-sucking fae, and it feels like he’s never known anything else.

Or, the one where diverting the Ghost Riders from Beacon Hills to prey on a different town only succeeded in setting them free.

Vengeance Looks Good On You, Sweetheart by cywscross

Just because Scott refuses to see the Argents for what they truly are - prejudiced serial killers sitting proudly on a mountain of innocent corpses - doesn't mean Stiles will. It's about time someone did something about the Argent Empire anyway, and what a coincidence - summer vacation is just around the corner.

Or, the one where Gerard Argent kidnapped the wrong fucking person to torture. Stiles has never subscribed to the policy of forgiving and forgetting anyway, not when razing the problem to the ground and salting the earth for good measure has always been a far better solution in the long run.

He doesn't expect to have company.

#rec list #teen wolf #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #fanfic rec #akielosrises #ask

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seven-oomen · 3 years

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I've been thinking about Grimm/Supernatural/Teen Wolf crossover AUs pretty much nonstop since last night, and now I want ALL the Hank/Wu/Stilinski buddy cop fic. Also, Sheriff Donna from Spn needs to be in it, too. Can you IMAGINE the snark and general grumpiness? 'Cause *I* can... and it's GLORIOUS.

Also Jody Mills. Because hell yes!

Oh my god, I need to write a fic for that. Just all the sheriff’s/officers come together and bitch about what the hell their hunters/kids/supernaturals have done now and they’re so sick of it. It would be GLORIOUS indeed!

“So what has your hellhound been up to, Stilinski? Has he been a good boy?” Donna asks as she sips her coffee.

Wu snorts into his and smirks as he looks up. “Well I will never look at deputy Parrish the same, thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome, sweet cheeks.” Donna laughs.

Noah sighs, long-suffering, and rubs his forehead with a groan. “It’s not his fault but-”

The others around the table lean in, the cafe around them keeps bustling, the other patrons not paying attention to what’s being said at the table filled with police sheriffs, a detective, and an officer.

“But?” Jody presses on. Hank has a look on his face that clearly reads; well out with it!

“But deputy Parrish did manage to set his desk on fire after my son and his friends startled him with their shenanigans.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Hank tries to comfort him, he gives him an unamused look in return.

“It wouldn’t have been if that fire hadn’t reached the armory. How do I even begin to explain the explosion that occurred? The mayor wants to start an investigation.”

“Ooof...” Wu grimaces in sympathy and gently pats him on the shoulder. “Sounds like a rough day, buddy.”

Hank shrugs but gives him a sympathetic smile. “At least you didn’t have to deal with Nick trying his usual bullshit. Do you know how many times me and Monroe had to talk that man out of doing something stupid in the last three days? Jesus...”

Jody and Donna simply share a look and take another sip of their coffee. “Least you don’t have to deal with angels and demons.” Jody pipes up.

“Or the vampires.”

He looks around the table and shakes his head. “Werewolves, hellhounds, banshees, and Wendigos I can handle. Please keep the angels and demons to yourselves. I do not want my son to find out about those. I will never hear the end of it.”

Donna pats him on the shoulder and offers him one of the cookies they ordered, he takes it gratefully and gives her a friendly smile.

“Don’t worry handsome, we’ll make sure our two idiot hunters keep those bad boys away from your jurisdictions.”

Jody nods along with her companion. “Believe me, we also don’t want Stiles to find out about those.”

Her eyes widen a little as she remembers the one time she met Stiles Stilinski. He was a sweet kid but lord she could not handle that boy. And she’s raising Claire and Alex. But the Stilinski boy has more energy than her entire police department combined and she does not have the patience for it. Noah Stilinski, for all of his faults, is a saint for staying so patient with the boy.

“Nobody wants that...” Wu softly agrees and even Hank lets out a breath.

He realizes with a sigh that Stiles is just someone they need to get to know a bit better. He raises his coffee mug and his cookie. “To our respective dumbasses like my son, our kids, our hunters, and everything else. May we survive all their shenanigans...”

There’s a rumble going around the table in agreement and mugs are raised in harmony.

It’s just another Wednesday afternoon for all them.

So that was super quick and out the top of my head. But I would write something like that I guess.

#ben says stuff #superwolf #supergrimmwolf #grimm #teen wolf #spn #noah stilinski #donna hanscum #jody mills #drew wu #hank griffin #exlibrisfangirl #creativity he wrote

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ghostly-cabbage · 3 years

Text

Frigid (Chapter 1)

Danny Phantom fanfic

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends

Fic Rating: M (Language, Underage Drug Use, Violence and Gore)

Summary: Wes and his brother Kyle have just moved to Amity Park. Wes is only worried about fitting in, but all the ghost nonsense is making that harder and harder. Something weird is going on in this place, and his chemistry lab partner is no different. Seriously, what the hell was up with the Fenton kid and why did everyone ignore it?

Danny is a junior in high school, and pressure is squeezing in on all sides. Keeping good enough grades to graduate, and dealing with the snoopy new kid wasn't bad enough, but he's starting to feel like his parents are getting closer to figuring out his secret. Jazz is off at college and he didn't realize just how helpful it was when she was home to cover for him.

Danny's been able to keep his secret at school for one reason, and that's that no one cares to watch him close enough to connect the dots. Wes is different.

AO3 FFN

| Next>>

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"The air is different here," Wes said, looking up at the swath of stars across the sky. Kyle exhaled a plume of smoke that clouded the view.

"Shit. Don't get all poetic on me now." Kyle coughed his way into a laugh and Wes kicked his shin just hard enough to hurt.

"Ow!"

"Shut up dude, I mean it's colder here. More humid or something too."

"Yeah, definitely nothing like home." Kyle swung his legs back and forth off the brow of the roof. "How was your first day of school btdubs?" He offered Wes the joint pinched between his fingers. Wes waved him off.

"Thrilling, nothin' like being the new kid," he said.

Kyle shrugged and took another hit.

“‘S not so bad, my day was chill,” he croaked out while trying to keep his breath held in.

Wes scrunched his nose at the smell. “Jesus dude, that stuff smells worse than normal.”

“Yeah—” he puffed out the cloud of smoke “—the shit here isn’t as good. Missin’ that green triangle right about now.” Kyle let out a wistful sigh. Wes almost wanted to ask how he’d found a dealer already, but it was Kyle. He always found someone. It was like his supernatural ability to sniff out someone who’d sell to minors.

“Anyway, basketball tryouts are at the end of the week, right? Cheer up my man, you’ll get mad chicks once you make the team.” Wes shot him a glare. Getting chicks was the last thing on his mind. He was more preoccupied with the fact their dad uprooted their entire lives to move to fucking Illinois. Illinois!

“Whatever dude.” There was a brief silence, before Kyle bumped his shoulder into him. He took another deep drag off his joint, the static burn filling the air like white noise. The stars continued to glimmer coldly in the sky, and it sent a pang of homesickness through him. It was bullshit.

“Any classes you like?”

“Psh. Hardly… Well. There’s a photography class—”

“Didn’t you mention something about chem at lunch?”

“Oh. That.” Wes started to get angry just thinking about it. “Yeah. Chemistry two. Apparently we have to have a lab partner for the whole semester. Which wouldn't be a big deal but I got stuck paired with a dude that’s ‘banned for life’ from using the chem equipment.” He used his fingers for the air quotes. “So I’m probably gonna have to do everything.”

Kyle took a breath like he was about to say something, but Wes pressed on. “What the hell do you even have to do to get banned for life from using the chemistry stuff?”

“Dude! Maybe your partner got busted for making drugs! That Breaking Bad kinda shit! That’d get him banned fer sure fer sure.” His words slurred around the edges.

Wes almost laughed. “You’re high Kyle. If you saw him you’d understand. This guy isn’t a drug lord, trust me, he’s a twig. No way he’d be involved in anything dangerous. If that guy does anything more exciting than video games I’d eat your hat.”

Kyle gasped. “Brooo!”

“What?”

“Somthin’ to eat sounds wicked. Wanna swing by that... Nasty place, what’zit called? We saw it on the way in.”

Wes rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh.

“Nasty Burger?”

“Nasty Burger!”

“As a majority of you are aware, it’s a new school year, which means as per new school district regulation it’s time to report to the gym for the annual ghost safety course, and later today at an unspecified time there will be a ghost drill.” Mr. Lancer droned at the front of the class. The other students around Wes all groaned like they’d been assigned a pop quiz, rather than that being the most batshit crazy thing they’d ever heard. Uh, what the hell? He raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Weston.”

“Did... you just say ghost safety course?” Kids around him chuckled and shared knowing looks. It was like he was on the other side of an inside joke.

“Regrettably so, Mr. Weston. Everyone single file to the gym please. Leave your bags here, you’ll be back before the third period,” Lancer said as he gestured to the door. Wes stayed sitting for a few seconds longer than the class, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. Ghosts? Like actual ghosts?

“Hey, Fenturd, can’t wait to see how your parents fuck it up this year!” Wes turned towards the back of the classroom to see a tall broad shouldered guy, Dash if he remembered right, shoving past Danny Fenton, AKA his chem lab partner. Danny lurched to the side, stumbling into a desk. There were two other kids that Wes hadn’t seen before standing behind Danny, a goth girl and a dweeby kid in a beret.

“Bro, I still have the picture on my phone from when they couldn’t get Mr. Fenton out of that ghost netting,” said an equally massive asian guy. The small knot of kids around them all laughed and filed past Danny and his presumed friends. Danny was glaring daggers at the back of Dash’s head.

So… Danny’s parents were the guest speakers, and they were giving a talk on... ghost safety… Seriously, did anything here make sense? Wes followed after the crowd, trying to wrap his head around it. The odd trio started following a few paces back.

“Great. Just what I need to kick off the year again,” Wes heard Danny grumble.

“Oh come on Danny, It wasn’t that bad,” the goth girl said.

“Nah, it was pretty bad.”

“Tucker!”

“What?!”

Wes tried to continue listening to their conversation but the person in front of him turned around to look at him.

“You’re the new kid right?” She asked. She had long blonde hair and perfect makeup.

“Uh, yeah. Wes.”

“I hear you’re trying out for the basketball team, right?” A few of the popular kids walking in front of her glanced over their shoulders to look at Wes.

“Y-yeah. I was point guard on my last team back home.”

“I don’t know what that means.” She tossed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. Her eyes were burning into him like she was personally judging where he fit into the social caste system of the school. “But good luck. I’m Star, by the way. My boyfriend’s on the football team so don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh please Star, you’re like, totally out of his league, basketball team or not,” a new voice cut in from just in front of Star. Another girl with dark wavy hair turned to look at him. She had dark olive skin, almond eyes and thick eyelashes. “I’m Paulina, but I’m sure you’ve heard all about me already. People are kind of obsessed with me, they can’t help it.” She said it with a smile and a cute giggle to punctuate her sentences. He’d seen her in homeroom yesterday, and he knew right off the bat she was top of the hierarchy, her and Dash both seemed to have a pretty solid hold on their popularity. If he was going to survive here he needed to make sure they liked him, or at the very least had nothing bad to say about him.

“I can see why, it’s nice to meet you,” he said. The two girls shared a look, shrugged and turned their attention away from him.

He let go of the breath he’d been holding, feeling like he’d just passed some sort of test. He’d never exactly been a popular kid. In elementary school he was small and easy to pick on. Unless Kyle was around, who had a nonchalant courage about him, even as a kid. It’d taken a lot of work for Wes to figure out how to fit in just under the radar of the big fish.

He stepped into the bustling gym along with the rest of the Junior homeroom class. The bleachers were pulled out, and the class dispersed to find their place to sit. Wes bobbed his head over the shoulders of other students looking for Kyle. It took some work but eventually his eyes landed on his brother. He was lounging, taking up two seats worth of space on the far left side of the bleachers. He made a beeline for him, and took the stairs two at a time. The clamor of the student body filled the room, and when he sat down he had to speak over it.

“Dude, can you believe this? A ghost assembly?” His brother had never been the most believing of the supernatural. But this place, openly acknowledging the presence of ghosts? He’d like to see Kyle try and refuse to believe now.

“Yeah man! This school must really love Halloween.”

And there it was.

“Kyle. It’s September.”

“And? Bro they got the Halloween decorations up at wally-world already, why not have a fun Halloween thing?” Wes frowned, and clicked his tongue. He propped his chin against his hand and watched as the school started to settle. His eyes wandered the rows until he found the goth girl. Danny and the kid she’d called Tucker were with her. They were sitting in the section over a row down. Danny had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black NASA hoodie, and a pinched look on his face. He couldn’t exactly say he blamed the kid, the thought of his own dad showing up to give a presentation made him shiver in horror.

They’d set up a stage in the center of the gym. Principal Ishiyama stepped up to the podium, and tapped the mic.

“Hello students of Casper High! For incoming freshmen, allow me to officially extend a warm welcome, and to all returning students, welcome back!” She was way too chipper for the time of morning. “As many of you know we have to review some safety precautions. Now, this may not be new information but I expect you all to pay attention and be respectful regardless. With that, allow me to introduce local ghost experts: Jack and Maddie Fenton.” Ishiyama moved back, clapping for the guests. The crowd gave mixed reactions. Most people looked like they were only applauding out of awkwardness. Wes was definitely included in that category.

A man and woman with brightly colored… jumpsuits? Hazmat suits? Whatever they were, came forward. The man was intimidating from the pure size of him alone. Jesus christ, he looked like a NFL linebacker. Next to him, was a slight and fit woman. She spoke first, standing at the podium.

“Good morning everyone! My husband and I are honored to be welcomed back to run through the safety course with you kids!” Mrs. Fenton was peppy and direct with the way she spoke and the way she moved. “As of last year the manual ghost alarms were installed around the school.” Maddie motioned to the projector screen behind her that had been lowered from the ceiling. “As you can see here.” The picture on the projector showed huge red buttons ringed by yellow and black caution trim. Wes had seen them around before, but he’d figured they were for... tornados or something, they had those here right?

“If you see a ghost you are encouraged to press this button so that the school can evacuate and the correct professionals may be notified.”

“By that she means us!” Mr. Fenton shouted, popping up in front of the projector. She moved on as if the interruption hadn’t even happened.

“Whatever you do, do not engage with a ghost. Ghosts are highly dangerous. Even a low level ecto-entity can be a threat to your life and well-being!” Her voice was grave, and practically oozed with conviction. Wes looked over at Kyle, gesturing towards the stage, incredulous.

“Really? Nothing to say about this?”

“What can I say, they’re pretty dedicated. Dude, Wes, it might be an ARPG, like remember the Halo 2 ‘I love bees' thing?”

“I hate you. This isn’t even anything close to—”

“Shh!” Someone who sounded like a teacher hissed at them. He turned his attention back to the presentation, annoyed.

“Now, let’s go over what to do if you think you’ve been possessed or otherwise overshadowed by a ghost! First thing to look for are gaps in memory or consciousness. Changes in mood or violent tendencies can also occur. Keep an eye on your friends and loved ones. Remember that no one is immune to being overshadowed by a ghost, unless you purchase a Fenton Specter Deflector available on our website!” Almost out of nowhere, the woman pulled out what looked like a metal belt. There was silence in response, and she cleared her throat.

“If you or someone you know has been or is currently possessed please seek help immediately, go to your teachers or parents.” Wes watched as she moved on to the next subject, talking with the fervor and simplicity of an expert. Screw whatever Kyle said, this wasn’t just for shits and giggles or some halloween event. Something was different here. The other students, despite seeming bored, looked like they fully believed her. Maybe people here would actually believe him about what happened when he was a kid.

The hazy memories crept along his skin, making the hair on his arms stand on end. His dad told him he had an active imagination. He knew it wasn’t that.

“Finally, let’s go over what to do if a ghost fight breaks out!”

“A ghost fight?” he echoed, brows furrowing.

“As we’ve said, do not engage or interact with ghosts for any reason—”

“Hey, what about Phantom?” Someone from the crowd shouted. A murmur of agreement rippled through the students.

“Who’s Phantom?” He wondered out loud, and a guy sitting in front of him turned to give him an affronted look.

“We strongly discourage interacting with Phantom especially! When it comes to ghosts, it’s simple. There are no good ghosts! Ghosts are ectoplasmic post-human impressions driven only by their obsession! They are not human and don’t care about the havoc they wreak.”

The crowd murmured again, the disapproval evident. A few kids shouted unintelligible things, but they sounded defensive. Wes didn’t get it, the Fenton lady seemed to know her shit, why argue?

“Quiet! Quiet please!” Ishiyama called over the voices. Eventually the students settled, and the Fentons wrapped up their presentation. Everyone seemed disappointed that nothing embarrassing happened, until Mr. Fenton underestimated the height of the stage, and face planted onto the gym floor. The students broke into an uproar of laughter, and Ishiyama rushed to the mic to dismiss everyone back to homeroom. Wes couldn’t hold back a laugh, and glanced over to see Danny hunching up his shoulders. If Wes had to describe someone that looked like they wanted to disappear, it would be Danny in that moment.

The walk back to the classroom was uneventful, though he was pretty sure he heard Mrs. Fenton repeatedly calling out “Danny sweetie!” Wes was really glad he wasn’t that poor bastard, talk about humiliating. He tried to ignore the pang that twisted inside his stomach. Still, it must be nice to have a mom around.

Fifth period started in four minutes, and Wes was stuck fiddling with the lock on his locker. The damn thing looked like it’d been fished off the titanic. The wheel made an awful squealing noise when he twisted it, and even when the lock popped, he had to yank on it to get it to unlatch all the way. He put in his combo for the third time and pulled. It came undone and if it weren’t for holes on the handle he’d have gone stumbling backwards. He opened the locker and was just about to grab his History textbook, when an ear splitting alarm blasted from the overhead speakers. He jumped and spun around, hands coming up to cover his ears.

It wasn’t like a fire alarm, instead of the shrill school bell ringing, it was a long whooping siren that echoed up and down the halls like a nuclear strike was incoming. Wes had to hand it to them, it sounded creepy as fuck. The emergency lights flashed in the hallways, and the kids around him started to make for the exits.

“Your attention please,” an automated female voice came over the speaker, offering a brief respite from the siren. “A ghost has been sighted in the building. Please evacuate or get to safety as soon as possible.” Holy shit, was this really happening? The siren began its wailing again. His heart thundered in his chest, and he looked both ways up and down the hall. He didn’t see anything, except for Lancer standing at the end of the hall, directing students to an emergency exit. Wes remembered then that Lancer had said something about a “ghost drill”. Of course that’s what this was. Just a drill. Wes let out a shaky breath, and went to close up his locker before he headed out.

Which in retrospect wasn’t the greatest idea. In less than a second, something changed. The hall felt darker, and the air grew cold. Not cold like someone left the window open, cold like he’d just walked into a meat freezer. It prickled against his skin, and he felt a deep sense of dread sink to the bottom of his stomach.

“Little lamb…” Murmured a soft voice. It echoed up the hall, and Wes forced himself to turn and look. He shouldn’t have, he really shouldn’t have. It was the shape of a woman, but she was floating a foot off the ground. She had stringy hair, and bangs that partially covered her empty eyes. In her hand looked like a shepherd's crook. Wes slammed his back against his locker, his knees locking up. He felt his hands start to tremble. Not again, he didn’t want the nightmares again.

The hall was empty, the last few terrified kids were gone.

“Little lamb... separated from the herd… Don’t you know there’s predators?” Her voice echoed unnaturally, it’s clarity sending chills across his skin. She was hardly speaking above a whisper, but it was rough and cracked, like something had happened to her voice. But the thing that was worse was even at barely a whisper, he could somehow hear her over the sirens. Like she was right next to him breathing the words into his ears.

The alarm cut out and the automated message looped. The woman—ghost lifted her crook to point at him. “Little lambs have to come back home,” she said. The sound of panting and low growling filled the hall. A green shape, low and lean flew out from behind her. It closed the gap between them in three strides flat. It’s eyes glowed red, and white teeth slavered toxic green. Wes’ voice stuck in his throat and he couldn’t scream, he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he’d wake up.

Wes felt the air stir in front of him, and he heard a meaty crunch followed by a deafening caterwaul. His eyes flashed open to see the mountain lion-like creature picking itself up off the ground on the other side of the hall. And directly in front of him, it was another human shape, another ghost. They had white hair and a black jumpsuit on.

“Bad kitty! What, did someone forget the catnip?” It was a guy’s voice that echoed around the hall. The shape cast a glance over his shoulder at Wes. He gulped down a breath, it was a boy about his age. His eyes glowed the same neon toxic green that painted the hall in its supernatural light. He looked like he was about to say something, when the big cat hurled itself at his flank. Its massive front paws slammed into his midsection and they disappeared into the wall.

The shepherd moved towards him, and Wes felt like he was going to pass out or throw up. Maybe both, both sounded okay. She was focused entirely on him as she drifted over the floor. She was four feet away, and the expression etched onto her dead face made his stomach twist. This was worse, this was way worse than even the nightmares. Her empty eyes leaked tears.

“It’s dangerous. There’s predators.” She lifted a hand like she was trying to reach for him. A blast of green light suddenly filled his vision, and the girl let out a scream. She was slammed backwards into a set of lockers and she slipped down to the ground. Wes’ gaze snapped to where the blast of energy had come from and saw the ghost boy. He was floating six feet off the ground, and his right hand was glowing green. He had a long deep slash across his side that was oozing and dripping globby green ectoplasm.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said. “What do you want?” his tone of voice was firm and sharp, it felt like ice. The girl looked up at the boy. She opened her mouth and screamed. It was a raw terrible thing that petered off into an agonized gurgle. The ghost boy arched a brow, but before he could say anything else the Shepherd melted into the wall.

“Shit,” the ghost puffed. He turned his eyes to Wes and he stiffened again. Right, he wasn’t exactly out of the woods yet. “You must be new here. Piece of advice, run away next time, okay dude?” The ghost boy looked up at the ceiling that still had the alarms blaring and rolled his eyes. In the next instant he shot through the wall where the shepherd ghost had disappeared.

Wes let out a breath and sunk to the floor, shivering from head to toe. What the hell was that?

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ectober2020 #phandom #phan phic #danny phantom fic #wes weston #kyle weston

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Choice ― V.i. Men Who March Away

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART V ⥽

— Belgium, 1918. She made him promise to bring their love home. This was not their first war, it would not be their last—or so they thought. Cynbel's demons have finally caught up with him as a familiar face plays judge, jury, and executioner.

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

“Just this one,” he promises them, “and I’ll have my fix of war for a long time to come.”

[READ IT ON AO3]

They kept him from the War as long as they possibly could.

They punished him for it to be sure. Physically, emotionally; he skirted along the very edges of his promises to them and worse he knew what he was doing. When he plotted and planned and incited a War to span continents, nations, and history.

And they know there is no altruism in the way he begs them to let him go off to the battlefield. “I deserve this as punishment,” he says but doesn’t really mean it, “what kind of man would I be if I watched others die for the conflict I started?”

“An alive one.” She had said. And he had agreed. They nearly didn’t let him because they knew forcing him to miss the entirety of his love letter to the twentieth century would be the final punishment to force him to get his act together.

But he shines so bright; their Golden love. And this time, like many times before, they are blinded.

They kept him from the War as long as they possibly could.

But it just wasn’t enough.

Belgium, 1918

They are supposed to be his regiment but they are strangers like any other. Food, cannon fodder; he’s called them so many things over the years and none of them pretty but they haven’t gotten any prettier so why should his words?

The poets say absence makes the heart grow fonder but the eyes a mite weaker. The poets can choke on their own tongues. As if he would not recognize a piece of his soul; even if he’s caked in layers of dirt so thick he can’t see a face.

But Valdas isn’t caked in dirt. The journey — and only by night as it’s been — shows in grime on his face but it’s so very clearly him that the noise he lets out is nothing at all like he planned.

Men who served together and have the incredible luck to have survived yet embrace as companions; as brothers. That’s what makes it all the more difficult for Cynbel to restrain himself as he runs towards the truck.

Aren’t you proud of me? Because he stands before Valdemaras towering over him like he always has but also so very different, so very changed. He’s been working on himself so they don’t regret letting him come to the front lines. Do you see what I do and all of it for you?

They cannot kiss here — and perhaps the older Cynbel would and just have peeled the eyes of the witnesses out for his trouble. So how they kiss it is with hands clasped together, soil from the leagues they have traveled apart folding into the lines on their palms. Heart line and fate line and all the other bullshit that has never kept them away from one another before. It certainly will not now.

Cynbel’s eyes flutter closed in euphoria. The hum of approval is low but Valdas knows he can hear it.

“When I got your letter…”

“You’ve taken too many hits, my love, if you think I would not come for you.”

Then those fingers are running through his hair — make him want to drop to his knees and pray as he has prayed every fucking day and every fucking night. Prayers old and righteous and to his God, his Valdemaras.

Who else to champion a battlefield if not the divinity of death?

When he opens his eyes it’s to the sight of his lover in strange reverence. “I joke of how war has changed you,” he answers of Cynbel’s unasked question, “but you have changed, Cynbel.”

It makes him hesitant. “Does it suit you still?”

“It makes me wish we’d shipped you off sooner.”

Just like that. Like no time has passed at all. Cynbel grins.

The War could end right there and neither of them might notice. Cynbel wants to reach up, to touch him; wipe the tears from his Lord’s cheeks even if it dirties him further because nothing else matters.

And judging by the misting in Valdas’ eyes he feels very much the same way.

“Oi, Claude!”

The jagged French accent jars them both out of the world of Him they had nearly been swallowed by. Cynbel is two thousand years old — he has the force of will to stop himself from shedding a damned tear, and thank the Made-God for that.

They don’t—won’t, physically can’t, they cannot please cruel world do not demand it of them they would rather lose those hands if they remained together still—break away even as Cynbel turns to the source of the voice.

Fucking Frenchmen. No doubt even miles away Isseya’s still having a laugh that the French were the only army they could forge him into.

��Have you got your new orders yet?” He’s been suffering the language for seven months now, and each month more he’ll torture his darling girl so divine.

Another jerks his thumb to the back of the supply truck steadily filling up with eager alcoholics. “A couple of us were going for drinks, Claude — should we save you a seat?”

He doesn’t miss Valdas’ stifled laughter behind him. “Later, maybe.”

“Oh come now, Claude,” purrs his lover’s voice low and decadent in his ear, “I could use a drink. All this travel has left me famished.” Of course he follows; as if he could deny his Divinity’s first request in months. And Valdas knows it.

They fall into familiar step. A quick glance is all it takes — has Cynbel reaching out the barest whisper of a touch to the inside of Valdas’ wrist. A touch he receives in kind.

He leans in to whisper low. “I would warn you of how much you’ll come to regret this but you’ll see it yourself soon enough.”

“Good to know you haven’t changed utterly.”

“You think I’m kidding.”

“I think you’re a touch dramatic.”

They are the last to step on and sit across the aisle facing one another. Valdas takes his opportunity when the truck’s heavy engine roars to life and fills the already acrid air with the choking perfume of industry; “I seem to recall a vehement hatred of the name Claude. Didn’t Iss’ set you up as Philip, or Percy? Something with a ‘P.’”

Cynbel nods reluctantly. “Yes, but when I got here I was… already missing the pair of you so much. You know I half thought about turning around and running back to the train?”

Good to know he can still surprise his beloved after all this time. “No, I… really? And after all the moaning and begging you did to get here in the first place?”

“What can I say? I stepped one foot in Paris and was filled with nostalgia.”

Valdas leans back on his side of the bench. Conversation in various regional French all about them and now with human ears more at ease with the rumbling of their vehicle towards town. They trade looks, certainly they don’t need words.

When his God answers it’s in a familiar albeit old tongue. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this has changed you more than our beloved or I could have thought possible.”

“You’re being vague on purpose. My question remains the same.” Please still want me. All of this — for you.

Their boots meet toe-to-toe on the plank floor. Another kiss only they share.

“Long gone, I think, are the days where change frightened me. I’m just glad to see they are gone from you as well.”

When he laughs Cynbel lets his head fall back against one of the canopy supports. That fear of progress did not go quietly; as they both well know. But of course he would if it would bring him back to them.

Preferably with spoils like the wars of old.

His regiment is familiar enough with the pub by now (though were there any word for something smaller they would readily give it such) that they have claimed seats. Which leaves very little option for the men now dissolved into their company — Valdas included.

“Best you find somewhere else to sit.” Cynbel’s hand falls heavy on a burly man’s shoulder beside his usual seat. From the meat of his muscle and the deep way his frown settles familiar in his features the man isn’t used to being the one asked to move.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. A screeching noise that silences the rest of the company and leaves them waiting a little too eagerly for men who have their daily helping of violence.

But Cynbel is immobile, his smile unwavering and unnerving as he continues to look down. The burly man’s mistake isn’t new to him — and the entire room lets out a sigh of relief when the seat is given up without needing to come to blows.

Valdas gives him a chiding look as they settle in, but the Golden Son refuses to feel shame for it. “If I changed too much you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Well your head makes it a challenge.”

Cynbel finds himself running his fingers through his close-cropped hair; grown out from the time gone but nothing like his lovers used to prefer.

By the time they get their drinks the pair have yet again found their own secret methods of intimacy. Lucky that the chairs are small but the tables are smaller. It makes the press of their legs from hip to toe reasonable — if excessive.

But they would risk everything for this.

Cynbel takes a long drink of the swill and watches carefully as Valdas does the same without hesitation. Only… he’s gotten used to the piss-water taste of the stuff. Forced his memories of finer liquors down in order to get through the ordeal of stomaching it. Valdas hasn’t.

He watches with no small amount of amusement; takes in the disgust as readily as he does the affection. And has the decency to wait until his Maker is finished choking on air he doesn’t need to ask the inevitable question.

“So… how is she?”

The Made-God is slow to answer and isn’t that enough to jump-start Cynbel’s long-stilled heart.

“She misses you.”

“As I miss her — as I’ve missed you both.” He does it without looking, without drawing attention. The creep of his hand over the sticky wooden surface to rest their littlest fingers together. Their smiles both wistful, wanting. “How have things been? I mean — the others get scarce letters from home and with such varied accounts of what the world is thinking, doing. Some are bleak, others hopeful.”

Valdas nods. “Sounds about right. The world is split down the middle. The more politicians and commanders-at-arms tout their new strategies and plans for a final confrontation the more foolhardy they sound.”

“You’ve both kept safe, though.”

“Safety is relative. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, darling, but the world is at war with itself.” With a scoff Cynbel shoves him by the shoulder; reaches out just as quickly to make sure the man doesn’t fall. This filthy floor could never be worthy of Him.

“We moved on about a month into your tour,” he continues, “to Zürich. The plan was to find a change of scenery in the Americas — somewhere near the equator, somewhere the nights were warm and calm. But we could not stomach the thought of such distance from you.”

Of course he feels as they do. Even the shadow of the thought—of a sea between them—ignites a jealous spark; selfishness. But it’s just that; selfish. And they didn’t. Valdas is right here. Isseya is closer now than she was in Tuscany.

“Cynbel,” Valdas risks more than he knows when he coaxes Cynbel’s chin up with a two-fingered touch; but he could care less, “You were right. The country becomes her.”

“And is she practicing?”

“She tries where she can. But most doctors still see only a woman—a nurse.”

“Isseya is to a nurse as a nurse is to a butcher!” exclaims Cynbel, bewildered. Valdas finally dares to gamble with his life and a second sip of his drink. It goes down about just as easy as the first.

They trade stories well through the night. Cynbel can’t help but wonder if Valdas, too, finds it incredible and strange just how much there is for them to share. What are mere months compared to the rest of their lives? What makes these more or less than any other?

He’s had ample opportunity in the trenches to think about this very thing, and has come to the conclusion that it must be how fast the world is turning now. Well, not literally, though there were now words, definitions, numbers for that sort of thing. But his eyes—their eyes—have seen much of human history and to deny it would be foolish.

Industry, innovation; mankind is using a new kind of imagination the likes of which their old blood has never seen.

The palm that cups his cheek is warm. The waning candlestick that once was on the other end of the bar now rests dangerously close to Valdas’ sleeve. He pushes it away with an absent finger but soaks in the unfamiliar feeling graciously.

“I travel all this way and you are still so far from me.” The longing drags out in his voice like a single note from a violin. Cynbel dares to hold that hand exactly where it is. He catches himself in a smile as the tips of Valdas’ nails tickle at what they can reach of his earring.

“I think I owe the two of you an apology.”

“Likely,” two fingers tug at Cynbel’s earlobe now and such a simple intimate touch thrills him utterly, “but what for this time?”

“It’s different this time —” —how can he put the feelings into words, he would have more luck composing them of raindrops or the miasma of death that lingers at every soldier’s back— “— or perhaps I’m the one who’s different.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m still determined to see this through.”

“I should hope so.”

“But I think… had Iss’ come with you — had the pair of you arrived together… I may very well have thrown it all aside and deserted with your hands in mine.”

Running is such a cowardly thing. And the Golden Son is no coward. So it’s completely understandable that he leaves the Made-God speechless at his confession. There’s a fragment of Cynbel that can’t quite believe it himself.

“Those are strong words from you, Cynbel,” Valdas admits, and at least one of them is steady enough to speak, “and I won’t say I’m not glad to hear them. She would be too. We’ve both long believed your eyes were bigger than your stomach when you set all this into motion.”

They share a laugh between them; not enough for two but they make do. They always have. Having something wholly to himself feels too gluttonous now.

“How many years do you think she’ll hold that over my head?”

Lips so very familiar curl into a smirk. “What, that we were right? Oh — the full century at least.” Anything less would be an insult. “But you deserve it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

They pull away slow at first; the magnetism of their hearts resisting the sanity of their heads. But the separation ends all at once to the grinding chair legs and rising steps uneven with drink and the headiest of drugs called respite.

Cynbel catches one by the arm before he can stumble out of reach. “So eager to return to the trenches?”

The soldier shakes his head. “Non, Claude. Patrick says he was solicited not five days ago. We’re gonna go see if we can find them.” The Frenchman drags his eyes to Valdas with great effort; focuses on him through the drink and it is suspicion, yes, but not the kind that worries him. He’s grown too used to humans and their funny notions.

“You two want to join us?”

“I don’t think my friend’s fiancée would like that very much.” Though she would wholeheartedly approve of the sharp kick Valdas gives to his shin.

But this is just another part of the ruse and Cynbel’s had months to build it well. Soldiers would always be soldiers would always find themselves wary of brothers-in-arms who don’t join them.

“Mother of Christ,” comes the hiccoughed reply, “another pious one?”

But Valdas takes his answer for his own; though his usual French eloquence is beset with a strange accent — makes it difficult for drunken ears to hear him proper. “Not at all. Unless you count my devotion to her inheritance as religion.”

The vampires watch the tiny wheels turn with shared amusement. Cynbel’s not altogether sure the slurred laughter and “Atta man!” of praise isn’t just to fill the space and carry on.

And there it is; that expectant look and single dark brow raised with it. Cynbel’s sigh is weary on the subject but, of course, his Maker can never be denied.

“I had to tell them something,” he fishes a handful of coins from the breast pocket of his coat and leaves them as payment, “since soldiers are as they’ve always been. They treat fidelity like social treason and only scrape together respect for those they’ve deemed surrogates for their own lack of faith.”

The Made-God and his firstborn walk out of the dingy building with arms linked. Most of the others are either gone or distracted with one another now and the lovers are more than happy for the chance. Even a second is better than not at all.

Though apparently Valdas doesn’t have an opinion on his unorthodox means of staying faithful to them — which, no, that’s utter bollocks; when has he never not had an opinion on anything — “Don’t give me that face. Technically I didn’t lie when I said I was given to my God. They just assumed their God and mine were one in the same; their fault, not mine.”

“I said nothing against it, beloved.”

“Your silence speaks volumes.”

“Good to know you can still listen.”

Listen, indeed. He can listen quite well as his Maker — his lover well knows. And though the warmth of the candle’s flame has left Valdas’ hand Cynbel still takes it in his own because he’s never needed warmth.

All he’s ever needed is the weight of them. Heat can linger but weight is proof something is present; that it exists.

“And it makes me feel like I exist for the first time in months.”

The dark-haired man realizes quickly that Cynbel hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts. Still he takes them just as hungry, just as craven, and refuses even a letter of them back.

That same weight tightens and they’ve moved; beheld to his Holy One’s will. Out of the open and near-abandoned cobbled streets and away from the gas-lit lamps and into a place darker than the night itself.

The brick catches, clings to his uniform. He couldn’t give less of a damn. Valdas could rip the fabric to shreds (and that’s quite the idea and visual that comes with it but practicality wins out) because he’s there. In person.

The weight of him is a sermon and prayer.

“Our darling girl sends her love.” Valdas’ breath croons wet against his ear — with the close-cut of his hair he feels it more. “She sends me.”

That weight shifts to a firmly pressed thumb on his hip. “What a perfect gift, belated from the Dark Solstice maybe?”

“There was a delay with the post —” he falls to his knees (and in that action all other gods, faiths, prophets are banished by the radiance of His humility) as he speaks; the mere sight leaves Cynbel breathless, “— It may have escaped your notice but there’s a war on.”

He throws his head back hard enough for the brick behind to crack. Stifling their laughter is a near-impossible task but somehow they manage. “I… I…”

It seems Valdas has had his fill of Cynbel’s words, though, and his appetite is left wanting.

But only for about as long as it takes for him to undo his progeny’s belt.

The rest of the world may weep for the events of the twentieth century but Cynbel simply cannot remember the last time he felt so much zest for life.

“And she really agreed to it? Surely she’ll miss you.”

Valdas huffs, certainly unamused. “You make me sound like an object to which you’ve shared custody.”

“You know what I mean.” Cynbel knocks their boots together against the aisle. Unlike the rest of the men they don’t need to shout to one another as the truck takes its sweet time trekking them out of town. “Just as you know I would rather you be with her safe and out of harms way.”

“She would rather I here in it — holding tight to that leash of yours.”

“You brought the leash?” Cynbel’s eyes immediately alight almost boyish and giddy. A sight that gladdens his Maker but definitely earns him a long-suffering sigh.

“The leash of your recklessness. Of course I’ll be staying by your side until this War is seen done. All the more swiftly we can get back to her. Oh, and Cynbel, watch your tongue, I won’t say it twice.”

But to say it is unlikely that any of the (very drunk, very boisterous) soldiers riding with them might recognize their tongue last put to print in Alexandria and last spoken on stranger’s tongues a century before that — well that’s giving the French far too much credit and that Cynbel will simply not abide.

He casts a look out into the darkness of the trees and sparse land. Can’t help himself in either his smirk or his wicked thoughts. “Glad I did not ask the same of you, my deliciously talented Divinity.” He braces himself for a blow that never comes — but if Valdas wishes to pretend he’s hiding his smile slowly growing, then pretend they both shall.

It’s such a rare and beautiful moment. Fleeting like youth and innocence but there’s always the potential of it. And Cynbel has missed that smile so much more than he ever thought he would, has taken the distance between them so much harder.

So he dares to allow himself a dangerous thought. Dangerous because the size of it eclipses everything else; the soldiers, the engine, the entire war around them.

I deserve this, Cynbel thinks.

And the war takes up the mantle and reminds him otherwise.

The first shell lands just shy of them; the boom so loud that Cynbel’s ears are ringing far too much for him to hear the cries of enemy soldiers, the firing of enemy guns. And now that they have gotten a decent measure of the distance the second shell doesn’t dare miss.

The first sends dirt and rocks raining down on them with the shots. Cynbel watches with a growing concern as suddenly Valdas is… lower than him? Then his side of the truck falls back to the earth and everything evens out. Until the metal stands on and looses its last legs in the same breath and sends the tire rolling into the dark oblivion of the night.

On the second Cynbel can’t tell if the blood that tacks up dirt on his face is a Frenchman’s or his own and he frankly doesn’t care. All he cares about is Valdas. Reaching for Valdas clawing for him sinking his grasp deep into bone if he must to keep him close and keep him safe.

To his horror there’s nothing on the other end of his hand. Just flesh packed tight under his nails and a blood-smeared palm.

“VALDAS!”

A blinding light suddenly pierces the darkness. A third shell lands lucky on the truck now tipped over. Sends shrapnel and shells and bone and dirt and blood flying out into the smoke-choked air.

Then the engine catches fire.

“VALDAS!”

There are no trenches here. They aren’t safe. And fuck if he will allow cowardly mortals who wait for the cover of midnight to attack.

One brave idiot fires at his back; drives the bullet through his body and makes the honorable sacrifice of being the sustenance he needs to close the hole it leaves. Cynbel isn’t so gracious in the holes he leaves. Another kicks one of the Frenchmen from the end of his bayonet and swings it so wild and unpracticed—amateur—that he feels a little bit like a bully when he shatters the metal in a single fist and shows him how to properly stab a man.

The next one has a brass pair; well he must — grabbing the Golden Son’s shoulder hard and desperate. Cynbel turns with fangs bared, the rest of the jagged bayonet in hand, and thank the fucking Made-God he stops himself before dragging it across Valdas’ throat.

Frozen they stand, each man holding a lover at arms’ length with the same frenzy and fear in his eyes. He feels the tentative touch of Valdas’ fingertips at his brow and sees them come back sticky with blood. Not his own. Cynbel brushes his thumb over a cut in his Maker’s lip and watches it heal before his eyes.

They are fed. They are alive. They are together.

And how many times has one or more or all of those things not been true? What the fuck were the doing out here exposed and in the line of fire — it didn’t matter what they wanted to do. Not when the reality was going to leave Isseya widowed and with no fucking word.

Cynbel grabs his lover and kisses him hard. Feels resistance only for a moment and only because they leave themselves vulnerable like this but the very thought of a quick peck of lips in a dirty Belgian alley being their last settles inside him about as well as acid.

Are Valdas’ ears still ringing? Cynbel’s are. His eardrums not yet healed and giving him cause to shout. Though perhaps he would have shouted it anyway. Perhaps it was just as much a proclamation to the world that would never stop trying to tear them apart as much as it is for his Lord and Light, his Divinity; his Valdas.

“I want to go home.”

He already had the face the idea of an existence without the man and for the sake of what little sanity he clings to Cynbel will never do so again. End this here and now. Before there is nothing left of us to love.

Valdas grips his hair until it hurts and further still. “As if I could ever deny you. My Golden Son.”

On a midnight much like this so very very far away — though not such in distance but in time — where locusts gave their choir to the air and to see the universe one need only look up to the heavens… Cynbel had found himself accosted by a peddler urchin boy.

“Domine so powerful and strong, but does he know his future?” And Cynbel had only humored him because his mind was not with his body or the starving hand that urged him along but in that very future he spoke of. His world ripped out from under him because his Made-God had not made himself at all, but had one he called Maker too. “My sister will know his future. Three sestertius, three sestertius Domine.”

If he’d known then what would come of it he might have commissioned the boy’s likeness in golden effigy.

He could smell death clinging to Nona from the moment they exchanged hellos. He did not feel pity or sympathy or affection at her. She was only as valuable to him as she was useful.

From her sickly bed Nona peddled her seer’s tricks. Things Cynbel had seen long ago in the shamans and envoys of the old tribes. Nothing so concrete as meeting true divinity and knowing it with intimacy.

“Enough of your sleights and suggestions,” he had snapped; because if he had been dragged all this way off the beaten path he would have expected something interesting from it at the least, “you cannot even fathom how little of my time you waste here yet still I am left feeling robbed from it!”

They needed his coin for bread. He didn’t care. Yet still she tried to grab him — one last chance to beg, perhaps — and that’s all it took.

“You slept under an apple tree. You did not know he watched you; the sunlight of you. You only knew the life you had carved into your bones. Some part of you knew he admired you from afar… it woke you — it destined you and he to meet. You asked for him. And like a long-time lover he came to you. Beheld you with his eyes and body even as they blistered for you.

“You blinded the Made-God and it made you weep. You offered yourself to him, pure hands that had spilled blood. And you have been his ever since. From that moment on — to now — to farther than I will ever see.”

At first he kept her company for the feeling of memories hazy with the passage of time. Of his death-into-rebirth; of Isseya’s too when the time came. He did not understand the like of her but there would always be things new and unknown to him. That was what made life worth living eternally.

Then long-ago memories became that which had passed a day before, or that very evening. Surely that, too, would progress. And it did.

And at first the idea of the future thrilled him. No one—not even the mighty Godmaker—could have imagined what civilization, culture, humanity would eventually become but he was so young and wide-eyed and had already seen so much that the Cynbel of that idyllic time was certain there could not have been anything greater than that moment.

And maybe there wasn’t.

“He Made you, named you, claimed you. And you gave—give—everything. But it isn’t enough. It won’t be enough.” She was frail, feeble; human. And he was terrified of her.

“It’ll be the death of you.”

Night after night he drilled her, dug into her, begged with tears in his eyes for the answer. “Why would my love kill me? When? How? Please, Nona, please. I beg of you. You promised. You promised.” But he never did get his answer. Not when Augustine happened, when Sayeed happened, when he had to sacrifice his only chance at knowing why his Beloved God was going to kill him to a bunch of fae folk masquerading as priestesses. Time kept urging them forward, backward; he hoped that if he loved them enough he could prove her wrong.

“Just once,” she said, “I hope I’m wrong just once. All it will take is once.”

So Cynbel finds it pretty fucking hilarious that only now — two thousand years, countless empires and nations, corpses they made high enough to drown in later — does it occur to him that Nona had never said Valdas would kill him. Not word for word. He just wouldn’t be enough.

It’s him. It’s Cynbel… Cynbel wouldn’t be enough.

Based on the uniforms that decorate the body count it’s unlikely that any of his regiment will survive the night. Cynbel intends to make himself among the dead — but that takes a little more these days than leaving a faceless body in his own bed.

“You said you would take me home.”

“Trust me, Cynbel my love. Trust me now more than you have ever trusted me in all our lives and all our years. Please… do that and I vow I will see us both home and whole with her again.”

That’s what had done it — sent him spiraling into all sorts of thoughts on old seers long dead and visions to which he was never given full understanding.

“Do you trust me?”

When a God is made vulnerable the very foundations of their faith are shaken. It shows in his hands and the glassy fear in his eyes and every muscle tense uncertain; unsure. Why does the Golden Son hesitate, asked in every tremor, what has changed?

He needed only see the question to know the answer.

“I’ve always trusted you. Now, and all our years remaining.”

Such silly creatures they were kissing in the middle of a massacre. Not the first time for the likes of them… and though normally Cynbel might find his thoughts wandering automatically to the next time it would be such he can’t say he would mind if it were not for a lifetime or more.

He trusts the Made-God. He trusts his Maker. He trusts Valdas. He trusts one of the pieces of his own soul that just happened to live in a different body.

They flee the ambush in opposite directions. I trust him. Valdas towards the town and supplies and Cynbel back to his station. Not for sentiments or material things but for stripes and colors; what little recognition he’s put effort for in seven months hiding in holes. I trust him.

But it was not that their enemy was lurking on the roads waiting for a truck of soldiers made complacent and easily picked-off.

Their station is burning. Alight with flames that seek to meet one another around corners and bends. Scattered remnants of shells, shots, bodies both together and pulled apart by the explosions and when he slows down in the spaces between leaping fires he can hear the wails of the ones unfortunate not to have died on impact.

He pities them only in that torture is only made enjoyable when there is someone there to enjoy it. But the enemy has moved on by now. This is their warning.

One fallen innocent is a message.

A slaughtered horde—that’s a warning.

Where has he heard that before? Those words sound uncannily familiar.

“They are familiar because you spoke them. Or wrote them, rather, in a letter of intent that should be known better as a declaration of war.”

Ah, yes. Now that strikes up his memory like the tolling bells of Notre Dame. Cynbel forces the recollection upon himself because that voice—too familiar—could not possibly be there with him now. In the middle of a trench station in Belgium where the only living are the souls not yet dead.

“I think I wrote it drunk,” yes, yes he’d definitely been hammered — it was the only way he’d humor the idea, “since we’d always preferred our fists to our words, mine enemy and me. The Order of the Dawn, the Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn, the Mars Tributa, and whatever other nonsense they called themselves… something-Ares. Funny to find something from before even my time.

“But it was the age of chivalry re-imagined wasn’t it? Frock coats and bogged-down brocades and fucking dainty little gloves and duels of honor. I wrote my letter and when I did not receive a swift and gentlemanly reply… I took matters into my own hands.”

Tumultuous; a good word to describe the evening. Isseya would be proud to hear him use it. She’s been nagging him since the turn of the century to try and be a little less… crass.

But the figure across the smoke, that takes up arms against him? Even in a tumultuous night Cynbel can’t say he expected this.

“I led them to the catacombs,” he continues; bats carelessly to smother any spark the embers hovering around the air might think to start, “I made sure they would feel their deluded righteousness and bring the best fight they could because I was bored of waiting around for their next big front. That night was my version of a gentlemen’s glove thrown down.

“And as I seem to recall, Mademoiselle Dupont, I saved your life. You’re welcome, by the way.”

In the middle of a trench station in Belgium, Cynbel wants so badly to be anywhere else. In front of a hearth in Zürich with his fingers tangled in Isseya’s hair. Hidden away in a dirty Belgian alley clinging desperately to Valdas’ coat. Because that Cynbel; he’s enough. But the one here, now?

He isn’t.

And it will be the death of him.

note: each of the titles of Part V is taken from a poem written about WWI read Men Who March Away by Thomas Hardy

#bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #bloodbound #choices bb #serafine dupont #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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makeste · 5 years

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BnHA Chapter 240: PLIFF

Previously on BnHA: Shigaraki “Thanos” Tomura gleefully reduced an entire city to dust while laughing maniacally. You know, villain things. He almost turned Re-Destro to dust as well, but Re-Destro got around that by chopping off his own legs. Like it was no big. I still haven’t quite managed to process that yet. Anyway, so everyone was real impressed by Tomura at this point, because how could you not be, and to sum things up, Re-Destro basically accepted him as his lord and savior and handed the Meta Liberation Army over to him. So now Shigaraki Tomura, noted crazy person and heir to All for One’s empire, who has just upgraded his quirk so as to be able to destroy basically anything within an unknown range without even having to touch the thing directly, and who has also pledged to destroy the entire world, has an army. And he also has Gigantomachia, who was watching him all hearts-in-eyes while he did his thing. So all in all this has been a very productive arc for the League of Villains. And meanwhile, the League of Everyone Else may want to think about changing their name to “League of People About To Be Incredibly Fucking Screwed.”

Today on BnHA: The League of Villains, in what is clearly the best rebranding move since New Coke, renames itself the “Paranormal Liberation Front”, a.k.a. PLF, a.k.a. PLIFF because that’s what it instantly became in my head and you can’t stop me. Among PLIFF’s Finest is newly initiated member Hawks, whose mystery bag is finally confirmed to have contained exactly what we all thought it was going to contain. I don’t even want to talk about that. I’m still in denial. But also weirdly thrilled. I’m terrible. Anyway, so Hawks is all “:) we’re fucked,” agreeing with the consensus the general fandom has come to over the past week, and palling around with his new best friend Dabi as he frantically tries to come up with some kind of plan. Maybe the heroes can try rebranding themselves as “the Supernatural Emancipation Cavalry.” That wouldn’t really solve anything, but it’d be funny to watch the villains come to realize they’re being mocked. Sorry but y’all brought this on yourselves.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

so I received an ask from a very kind anon warning me to be careful of spoilers for this chapter. thank you, anon! rest assured that I have been very cautious, and am pleased to inform everyone that I’m diving in spoiler-free this week. so bring on your Kacchan hero names, your Best Jeanist heads, your new Deku quirks, and whatever other twists you want to toss my way, manga. but especially that first one. this arc has been fantastic, but now that it’s wrapping up, I miss my kids and I would like to check in with them soon. they grow up so fast and time is precious

so apparently the title for this chapter is “Power”, which could mean lots of things, but I imagine it’s not something that bodes well for our heroes. honestly does anything bode well for them at this point. they’re not having much luck on the boding front

oh cool, a time jump! so this is apparently now one week after “the deadly battle.” wow, way to sum everything up in the blandest terms possible while still being accurate. like, yeah, that is what it was, but somehow it doesn’t quite communicate the full magnitude of what actually went down, you know?

anyway so the town basically looks like it got hit by a fucking meteor

new crack theory that a time-traveling Shigaraki Tomura is what actually killed the dinosaurs

wow would you fucking look at this

I guess this is the BnHA version of “an unfortunate training exercise”

also I like how they didn’t think it would be believable that one sleepy boi could cause all of this destruction, so they amped it up to twenty fucking guys instead. sob. why did they even bother giving Tomura an army. he is an army

lol the bullshit continues

“reporting to you live from Deika City, an innocent and wholesome country town in no way affiliated with an extreme right-wing quirk supremacist movement, where citizens recently found themselves victims of an entirely unprovoked attack by no fewer than twenty, and definitely more than six, villains. the brave citizens proceeded to fight them off, and definitely killed them all and didn’t surrender to them and elect their leader as their new god. also the president of Detnerat just happened to be there. just coincidentally. he definitely was not the one who instigated the entire thing. when asked for comment, Mr. Yotsubashi responded, quote, ‘nonsense, I’m no hero. would you call a man a hero just because he fought off an army of villains alone and selflessly sacrificed his own legs to ensure that justice prevailed? would you call that heroic? poppycosh. that’s just the kind of man I am. I wouldn’t call myself brave. ‘humble,’ maybe. ‘handsome’, perhaps. but a hero? no. I’m just an everyday, all-around good type of person, that’s all.’ so there you have it. truly a courageous figure. a gallant example of truly stellar fortitude and virtue. we need more Yotsubashi Rikiyas in these trying times. back to you, Jeff”

anyway, so the media in BnHA. fairly gullible, huh?

so now the report is concluding with a statement that the investigation is still ongoing. uh huh. damn they really got away scot-free with all this, huh

and we’re cutting to a close-up of sushi! oh my god. Compress have your dreams finally come true at last

yesssss oh my god. I’m so happy for him

(ETA: on my second read-through I paid attention to try to see whether or not Compress had finally gotten a new robot arm, but it’s impossible to tell. he’s only using his right hand here, and later on when he goes on stage with the rest of them he’s wearing his usual trenchcoat and gloves. I’m just gonna assume he finally got the upgrade he wanted, though. nice to see you so content, Mister I-Ran-Around-A-Lot.)

excuse me, what, Dabi? he didn’t even do anything?? as opposed to you, who basically just set yourself on fire and glared at Frogurt for half a dozen chapters?? don’t hurt yourself climbing back down from that high horse you punk

lol what

I don’t even have to scroll down to the rest of this page to immediately know this is some bullshit. she’s not dead. out of everyone in the League she’s probably third most important after Tomura and Mr. You-Didn’t-Even-Do-Anything above. her quirk is too plot-critical for her to actually be dead. you’re not gonna kill off the ONLY GIRL IN THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS, either. Horikoshi who do you even think you’re fooling

ah, yep

Togaaaaaaaaa omg. I’d hug you but you’d stab me. but I’m so happy to see you my precious baby girl

and it actually makes sense for Twice to be mourning the clone, though, and I’m glad they showed it. because he of all people understands that the clone is the person to at least some degree. like, it’s nice that he doesn’t just view them as disposable and he respects them. he’s so nice omfg

anyway so it looks like he’s back to being crazy though

oh well, it was nice while it lasted. at least he doesn’t appear traumatized anymore. and he has a boyfriend now too. where is Giran anyway

now fucking Skeptic is walking in like he’s on the set of a fucking sitcom

[canned audience laughter]

nice touch on the following page with Hanabata starting to refer to Re-Destro as “The Supreme...” before catching himself and amending it to just “Re-Destro”

oh wow

damn, LoV, y’all went from poverty straight to the .01%. talk about an upgrade

oh my god there’s a secret passage

oh my god it leads to a secret basement

trying not to think about the last time we were in a secret villain basement. this isn’t like that. relax. that arc is over now. deep breaths

holy shit

this is like the fucking Mines of Moria. complete with a Balrog. jesus christ

omg look who got himself a BRAND NEW SUIT AND TIE ENSEMBLE oh shiiit

is that a fucking fur-lined coat. Shigaraki Tomura has officially upgraded to KHR Villain status. what a little shit. I adore you, you son of a bitch

and I thought he destroyed all the hands?? come on dude, I know it’s like your signature look, but I was hoping we were going in a different direction from here on out. ah well

wow, Horikoshi

just once. just once I would like this man to leave a plothole unaddressed for more than one page. god I love this manga

anyway so they’re fully lampshading the fact that this one hand somehow miraculously survived, and they’re all “I guess it’s his trademark, huh?” yep, that’s right. his lewk. now be quiet, you two. which of us is doing the recap here

so now RD is up on stage showing off the weirdest fucking wheelchair I’ve ever seen, and singing Tomura’s praises

it’s remarkable how quickly his ego adapted to his brand new role as head of Tomura’s PR. he almost seems to be enjoying this more than when he was the leader

oh shit??

A NEW NAME?? oh my god. edge of my seat. can’t wait. take it away boys

LOOOOOOOL what

sob this makes it sound like they do ghost investigations. is there a League of Villains Buzzfeed Unsolved AU. this is what happens when you put the otaku in charge of the name

just. why paranormal. they thought it sounded cool?? and am I really supposed to type out PLF and not pronounce it like “pliff” in my head moving forward?? yeah, that’s not happening. you guys are now PLIFF. congratulations

thank god they’ve still got Tomura to lend legitimacy to this whole ridiculous operation. god, there’s something I never thought I’d say. Tomura why are you now the part of the League -- excuse me, PLIFF -- that I actually take the most seriously. god

y’all heard the man. whatever we want. this is happening. just remember kid, you gave me permission

holy shit you guys is that motherfucking Carvel!?!? I was staring at the panel all “WHO IS THIS” and wondering if they’d somehow brought Kizuki back to life, oh my god. I’m fucking dying send help. he looks like Galaxy Express 999. my brain is short-circuiting

anyway so everyone is all HOORAY WE LOVE THIS and they’re all cheering

HOMBGLKDF

DSLFKSHDLGK HEY BOY, HOW ARE YOU LIKING BEING A MEMBER OF THIS NEW HERE VILLAIN CULT. WHERE’S THE FUCKING BAG, HAWKS

SDFKSJDLFKSDLKFH A FLASHBACK AHHHHHH

I CAN’T TURN THE PAGE OH GOD NO SOMEBODY ELSE DO IT

OH MOTHERFUCKING SHIT

my jaw just. fucking. -- -----------

okay Hawks. fucking explain. how did you do it. is it a fake?? surely it’s not the real deal?? oh god, the memes have now become terribly real. I have no choice but to embrace this with even more stupid jokes and memes as a coping mechanism or I’m gonna lose it

but for real, they didn’t seriously do my boy Jeanist like that. Paramount Optimal Jeanist did not survive a point-blank attack from motherfucking All For One just to get shanked by Hawks so that he could get good with PLIFF, only to be, and I quote, “too late...!”

(ETA: and on readthrough #2, Dabi does indeed bring up the fact that this might not actually be Jeanist’s corpse. “setting aside the issue of whether he is who you say he is...” so even he acknowledges that shenanigans could be afoot.

but he seems convinced it’s a real body at the very least. though did it never occur to you that he could have just picked it up from the morgue, dude? that’s gonna be my go-to theory for now at any rate.)

is now a good time for me to bring up something I’ve been wondering about for a while, which is how Bakugou is going to take this? yes, Bakugou. “okay makeste, I know he’s your favorite and I know you miss him, but what kind of mental cartwheels are you doing in order to make this situation with Hawks and PLIFF somehow relate to Bakugou Katsuki, whom we last saw twenty fucking chapters ago, and who has absolutely nothing to do with this?”

well I’m glad you asked, and you see, it’s because (a) the internship, and (b) because we already know Katsuki blames himself for at least one hero’s downfall as a result of what happened in Kamino, and I could easily see him having a similar response to Best Jeanist’s injury and subsequent disappearance. like, we already know this shit is all over the news. and Bakugou knows Jeanist personally. and so now what with him being missing, I can’t help but wonder if he’ll blame himself again for being the reason Jeanist was there at Kamino, and lost a lung, and so forth

and I realize this tangent is coming sort of out of left field, but seeing as this arc is finally wrapping up, and we can expect to cut back to the U.A. kids again soon, I just figured I’d bring it up now, because we’ll see if I’m right or not shortly

anyway. so let’s get back on topic. best dead Jeanist. oh god

but it seems like it did, at least, finally convince Dabi of Hawks’s sincere villainous intentions. so we have that one minor win, I guess. congratulations Hawks, now you know about the secret villain basement and their new rebranding. was it worth it you bastard

oh shit. actually, maybe it was. because now he understands just how incredibly screwed they are sob

so he doesn’t know for sure about the Noumu yet. so Tomura still has that little ace up his sleeve. fucking great

but him knowing about the Detnerat thing is big, though. so now the heroes know not to trust any of their equipment, or any of their lackeys like fucking Slidin’ Go. that’s something, at least

and you gotta love the whole “equal to, if not greater than” bit, sob. never in my life have I ever seen something so egregiously understated. “Shigaraki might be more powerful than the heroes at this point” yeah, you think!? god

holy shit Re-Destro calm the fuck down

Tomura’s telling him to get lost, and he’s immediately making himself scarce lol. good riddance

and Tomura is now kneeling dramatically and pounding his fist on the floor. okay

hey

I take offense, sir. “League of Villains” had a timeless air about it. and more importantly, you couldn’t abbreviate it to the sound that someone makes when they plop down tiredly onto a couch

oh shit!!!!

THIS LAST PAGE HAD BETTER BE A TERRIFYING PANEL OF THE HIGH END NOUMUS, OMG. I’M HOLDING MY BREATH

GODDAMMIT IT’S JUST ANOTHER SEXY CLOSEUP OF TOMURA’S FACE

I mean, can you actually call it that at this point? can you actually “grant” something to someone if they already have more of it than they know what to do with?

but I mean, we know what he really means though, so fair enough

oh ffs now he’s saying “but first there’s something I’d like you to do for me” oh my god enough with these side quests!

he wants him to transport something, apparently. ARE YOU HATCHING SOME NEW SCHEME oh gosh

oh my god and meanwhile Hotwings is becoming canon right before our eyes holy shit

of course!! he’s fucking thrilled!! everything is just!! so great!! right now!! :)!!!!!

oh my god Hawks

“Endeavor, and everyone” I see what you did there kid

(ETA: and as far as I recall, Endeavor doesn’t even know about his undercover mission yet. I wonder how he’s going to react when he finds out. your adopted son is now best friends with your presumed-dead son! and in mortal danger omg.)

wow. wow. and that’s the end of the chapter. fucking shit

so! lots to process! Hawks really did it! the absolute madman!! and Dabi fucking loves him now, which is great, if you like things that inevitably end in tragedy. then that’s great for you. but otherwise I guess it’s not so great

so I wonder if our next arc will be the Undercover Hawks Antics arc, or if we’ll be getting back to Deku and the gang. I’m guessing the latter because it’s been a while, but it’s definitely exciting to see this particular plotline finally advancing and becoming more intricate

so basically I have no idea what to expect next week. which is amazing. I’m so fucking excited. now if Horikoshi could just leave us all a little pity disclaimer clarifying that no Jeanists were actually harmed in the making of this chapter and that it was all CGI or some shit, that would be great :/

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha 240 #best jeanist #hawks #shigaraki tomura #league of villains #excuse me -- pliff #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #so. hawks #like do you ever just straight up refuse to believe a guy is capable of murder #just because he's so handsome and charming #hawks: 'so anyway here's a bag with the remains of the man I killed inside'#me: 'nah you didn't kill anyone'#hawks: 'literally you saw me corner him in his apartment and draw a weapon and now I'm presenting you with a body and saying I did it'#me: 'nope. clearly there's some other explanation'#I'm joking but I'm also deadly serious lol #he's too soft. he pretends like he's not but he is!#mofo is out here feigning being all hardcore #but dammit we know the truth #anyways #rip to whoever's corpse that actually is #jeanist you punk I hope you're enjoying yourself wherever you are

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winteriron-trash · 6 years

Note

Ok, so that fanfic questions ask meme? You wanna do ALL OF THEM?!

YES, LET’S DO IT, HERE WE GO, PREPARE YOURSELF I’m copy and pasting answers I’ve already done just so I don’t have to retype them and there’s a break because god this got long. I might link this on my About Me post, cause holy shit I spent time on this

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in?

Actual fandom? Probably DC. That’s when I started reading fanfiction and really poked my head around online communities dedicated to media and all.

2. What is your latest fandom?

I don’t know, probably Marvel? Maybe Riverdale, but I was a fan of the comics before so

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in?

If I’m assuming this question is about the actual fandom and not the source material and the people in the fandom and its community as a whole? Probably the Percy Jackson fandom. Not really into it anymore so I don’t know the state of it now, but it was a pretty wholesome and positive community. Any community that calls it’s creator “Uncle Rick” has gotta be pretty dope.

4. Do you regret getting involved in any fandoms?

Oh lord save my soul for admitting I like this, but definitely Five Nights at Freddy’s. The indie gaming, creepypasta, underground subculture as a whole is something I regret getting into. Don’t get me wrong, I usually love the source material, but the fandom is just so bad. You probably know what I’m talking about, the fangirls who insist they’re insane and are in love with Slenderman or something.

But specifically on FNaF, lord, I don’t even know what the fandom is anymore. It’s a meme, a fetish, and a hellspace all at once. And I’m not gonna fucking lie, I’ve been in this hellhole long before any of that. Like, I can’t even try to escape it, I’m in it for the long haul. I was just someone who joined for the lore and now we’re here with fucking casual bongos and trash gang and fuck I didn’t ask for this. I can’t escape. I know so fucking much about the franchise it hurts my fucking soul. I remember when the FNaF 2 trailer came out and we were all micro-analyzing London Bridge Is Falling Down. I remember when Springtrap didn’t have a name and we called that fucking Spring Bonnie or Golden Bonnie. I survived that era and I have PTSD from it, trust me. I remember when we were naive enough to think FNaF 3 was the last game. I know what channels were born and what channels died because of that series. I know it all.

I’m sorry, I got off topic. BUT I DON’T GET TO FUCKING RANT ABOUT IT ENOUGH, FUCKING FUCKSHIT

Oh, and a lot of bandoms I was in too. I went through an alt phase where I’d only listen to shit like BVB, BMTH, MCR, PTV, SWS, and so on. Once again, that sort of fandom was the same as the indie/creepypasta in being ‘different’ and ‘insane’ and all that and I was no different. I was a weird fucking kid when I was like 13. I regret all of it.

5. Which fandoms have your written fanfiction for?

Marvel, DC, and a couple Riverdale.

6. List your OTP from each fandom you’ve been involved in.

Not in many fandoms but

Marvel - WinterIronDC - SuperbatStar Trek Voyager - Captain Janeway/Seven of NinePercy Jackson - Solangelo

7. List your NoTPs from each fandom you’ve been in.

Marvel - Stucky, Stuckony, Romanogers, Clintasha, any incest ones, (save me for admitting this) SpideypoolDC - Any batboys shipped together, Bruce/Talia

And I don’t really have NOTPs for my other fandoms? Marvel and DC are really the only two things I’m invested in the fandom of. I guess you could count Wincest as well for Supernatural.

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?

What even is my latest fandom? Um, we’ll just say Marvel because I’m really not into joining fandoms much anymore. Honestly, I was a big DC fan who felt the need to hate Marvel because no shit. Eventually, I just got sick of the absolute shit movies DC had and I decided I had nothing to lose by just watching Iron Man. When I watched it I realized “wow, superhero movies can actually be good???” and I just binged the entire MCU in one month and was ready to see the next movie in theatres and I think I’ve seen every single MCU movie in theatres since Civil War? Definitely since Homecoming. I gave up on DC movies. The new Aquaman looks like shit, I’m so fucking pissed they redid Mera’s look when she looked perfectly fucking fine before and now she’s oversexualized and it’s gross. I’m excited for the new DC Batwoman TV show because I HAVE BEEN WAITING TO SEE A LIVE ACTION BATWOMAN SINCE THE DAWN OF FUCKING TIME

9. What are the best things about your current fandom?

Probably the Tony Stark Defense Squad. As a collective whole, I think the Defense Squad is one of the sweetest, nicest corners of the fandom. We’re incredibly kind to each other, write great meta and fic, and it’s just a great community. Of course, there are assholes, but you know.

I might get flamed for saying this, but also the HYDRA Trash Party corner of the fandom is actually really nice? Like, they understand consent and abuse aftermath and all the real shit better than the rest of the fandom, not gonna lie. Like, for as dark as the fic is you’d expect the people to be fucking nasties, but I have never met a rude HTP enthusiast. Or even one who’s unaware of how consent and whump work. They’re all very aware and kind. It’s bizarre, considering the source material. They get an awful rep though.

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in?

Literally any fandom I’m in besides Marvel and DC. I think I wrote like 2 Riverdale fics. Getting into reading fanfic and getting into writing fanfic are two entirely different ballparks. I don’t really read that much fanfic anyway, especially not anymore. I read Marvel and DC, but even then. I think it’s hard because sometimes you can’t switch off the whole ‘reading like a writer’ thing. That’s why I enjoy classic literature. I’m a slut for some good ass prose and symbolism.

11. Who is your current OTP?

WinterIron, of ducking course.

12. Who is your current OT3?

I’m not really a fan of OT3s, to be honest, I find I’m personally pretty weak with writing poly relationships and I don’t really enjoy reading them because one character is usually focused on a lot more than the other two. But if I had to pick, I would say T’Challa/M’Baku/Bucky only because I am solely responsible for the creation of that abomination and you have no idea how much people begged me for a series after the first one, it astounded me.

13. Any NoTPs?

As before listed, Stucky, Stuckony, Spideypool, Clintasha, Romanogers

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs?

IronWidow is my top BroTP, but I also like WinterWidow as a BroTP. Stucky is good as a BroTP too, as well as Tony & Rhodey.

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?

Literally any ship I have. Yall I’ve been here since WinterIron was obscure. But to name a specific one I’m just gonna go with Pietro/Tony. I don’t know, I just had an idea I was writing for them and I was thinking about how much missed out potential there was between them. And with Pietro as a whole, but you know. Marvel has to kill off the only good Maximoff they had.

Oh, Natasha/Pepper too, but they aren’t as obscure, I guess.

16. Are their any popular ships in your fandom which you dislike?

Stucky, clearly.

17. Who was your first OTP and are they still your favourite?

Stony, and no. They fell apart for me, at least MCU-wise.

18. What ship have you written the most about?

By now, WinterIron, I believe. I recently passed my count of fics for Superbat.

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them?

Pepperony, probably. I think it’s actually a cute and sweet ship and I like their in-canon moments, but I just can’t get behind reading fanfic of them? It never works out for me, I don’t really get it. It sucks because I do enjoy seeing their cute moments.

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?

I’ll do a different answer I thought of besides the first time I answered this. But Thruce was a big shocker for me. I didn’t even think about it during Ragnorak but then I saw an incorrect quote for it and I was like? Oh? This? This is a good, pure ship right here. The funny thing is, I actually wrote a fic with them as a side ship long before they hit it big so like, I was shocked when they came out of nowhere. But hey, I’m fucking here for it. I’ll probably never write it, but I’m here for it.

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?

Goodnight, My Angel. It was a Superbat fic and really sad, but I still love it.

22. Is there anything you regret writing?

Probably... You Deserve Love And You’ll Get It. No, I won’t link it because I hate it that much. I’m not even gonna talk about it. It’s my most popular fic too why

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.

Super dorky, but The (Un)Wanted Kiss. It’s my first finished chapter fic, and the first chaptered fic I did on Tumblr and it just brings me a lot of nostalgia. It reminds me of where I was as a writer when I started it and it was an entire fic spawned from people wanting more of a simple 500-word prompt and that just blows my mind. It reminds me of the power of fans and how much love and support I got from it. It really kicked me off as a “serious fanfic writer” I think.

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit?

All You Are Is All I Need. That is a hot fucking mess. Probably The Red Halo too.

25. What’s your most popular fanfic?

*sigh* You Deserve Love And You’ll Get It

26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles?

I bullshit my way through them. My most recent fics have actually followed a trend of being named after songs.

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

Summaries. I always make them so fucking corny, I hate it.

28. If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of?

One Foot In Front Of The Other, probably. Just because I want more fem!WinterIron fanart. I can’t say what scene because spoilers but.... yeah, anything from that would be great, really.

29. Do you have a beta reader? Why/Why not?

Sort of. I make some of my friends like Pizza read over my shit before I post it, but that’s not often, only when I think I need it. I don’t just because I write a lot and I’d feel bad for constantly annoying someone with making them read everything I write. I hate inconveniencing people.

30. What inspires you to write?

The better question is what doesn’t. I never stop thinking like a writer. My brain forgot how to turn off that feature.

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

Ummmm, I can’t think of an exact thing? I get so many beyond sweet comments and messages, it’s hard to pin down one comment. I think if I had to pick, I once got a message from someone on Tumblr who was old enough to be my mother complimenting me and telling me I didn’t write like a teenager and I think that was really sweet.

32. Do you listen to music when you write or does music inspire you? If so, which band or genre of music does it for you?

Yes, yes, yes, yes. And honestly, any genre. I listen to everything. Everything. But specifically, Emilie Autumn has inspired a lot ideas/fics I’ve written.

33. Do you write oneshots, multi-chapter fics or huuuuuge epics?

All of the above.

34. What’s the word count on your longest fic?

Around 23k, I think?

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about?

Yes, and whatever I get prompted for, really.

36. What’s your favourite genre to write?

For fanfiction, I guess romance? I mean, that’s really all my fanfiction is. Otherwise, I’ll write quite literally any genre I feel like. I go wherever an idea takes me. I’m character based, not genre or plot based.

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why?

Third. I fucking despise 1st person. I just do. That’s an entire rant we ain’t here for today.

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create OCs?

Usually canon characters. I only use an OC when I absolutely have to, to make the plot do the plot stuff.

39. What is you greatest strength as a writer?

Nothing. My writing sucks. All of it is shit.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

Everything. I screech the most about pacing and sentence structures though.

41. List and link to 5 fanfics you are currently reading:

Most of these are actually on my to-read list but whatever.

Winter's End by ali_aliska Winter is Coming (aka Fifty First Avengers Dates) by 27dragons, tisfan My Love is Vengeance by seikaitsukimizu The caged Hawk by asamandra Fertile Ground by 27dragons, tisfan

42. List and link to 5 fanfiction authors who are amazing:

27dragons tisfanChiaki_Hamano arianapeterson19 thepartyresponsible

43. Is there anyone in your fandom who really inspires you?

Not really? I’m not knocking any of the other ‘big names’ in the Marvel fandom, but I don’t really draw inspiration from other fanfic writers. Not for plot, and definitely not for writing style. I get inspiration from fanart I see sometimes, but it’s never one main artist who I stalk to be inspired, just whatever I happen across online.

44. What ship do you feel needs more attention?

WinterIron, duh. I will not rest until WinterIron is the biggest ship in the Marvel fandom.

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?

I’ve mentioned this fic before and honestly, it hasn’t been topped yet, but In the Company of Monsters by Chiaki_Hamano. It’s not even a Marvel fic, and it’s not even a ship I like, but god, I fucking adore it. I’d love to write something like it, but with WinterIron if I had the time, I think the entire world and setting would fit WinterIron beautifully.

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?

Well, that all depends on what they’re looking for in my fanfiction. If they’re looking for WinterIron, I’d probably tell them to start with The (Un)Wanted Kiss just because that’s one of my most loved fics and I think I did really well with it. But if they just want a general fic, A Great Connection is one I’m really proud of and I still get gushing feedback about.

47. Archive Of Our Own, Fanfiction.net or Tumblr - where do you prefer to post and why?

For just writing fanfic, Ao3. Tumblr can be a pain in the ass, and I don’t even use ff.net.

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why/Why not?

Yes. But only if 1, I really, really loved it or 2, I don’t think the fic has enough attention. It also helps if the writer responds to comments. I don’t see the significance of saying “I loved this!” if the fic has dozens of other comments saying the same thing. As a writer, I know what comments writers prefer. Longer ones, deep comments pointing out what things they liked, and so on. However if I write a comment that long, I like to get a response because you know, I love seeing the writer talking about the elements of the story I liked.

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not?

Not really, to be perfectly honest. Yes, I love and cherish every kudos and note I get, and the sweet comments make me want to die of joy. But I write for me. Even when I take prompts, in the end, I write because it makes me happy. Yes, I love the validation. But even without it, I would still write. I do not write fanfiction for you, I share fanfiction with you. There’s a difference. Writing makes me happy. If I only cared about the validation, I wouldn’t have a folder reserved of fics I’ll never post but I wrote just because I wanted to. I write to write. The moment I start writing for validation, I might as well stop writing, because it’s not worth it.

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?

Ummmm I think I was just curious? I was new to internet culture, I saw fanart of Superbat and I discovered Ao3 and was like “wow, this stuff exists??? Words for free????? About my favourite characters being happy and dating each other??????????” and it was a downward spiral. I was like, 11 when I read my first fanfiction. I was obsessed with Superbat fanart, and I thought, what would it hurt to try actually reading it? Like, that was so taboo to me. And now we’re here. Tadaaaaaah

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

Oh, a chance to ramble. Yay. I’m gonna rant because I’m a rant-y person.

I think something that annoys me about fanfiction is not necessarily a probably within fanfiction, but rather the outward view of it. Fanfic has an awful rep within the real world. The one-time fanfiction really took centre stage was when Fifty Shades came out, which only hurt the platform by furthering the stereotype that it’s all porn made for horny freaks who just want to get off.

I should not be ashamed to say I write fanfiction. I should not feel childish saying it to myself. No one should. At least half of my ‘fans’ are nearly a decade or more older than me. It’s clearly not something that’s immature or silly. Of course, it can be, but any hobby can be dumbed down to a kiddy version.

But fanfiction at its core is ignored for what it really is. When adults talk about fanfiction they belittle it and only see a tiny subsection of it, ignoring what it’s supposed to be about. It’s about creating transformative works for media you’re passionate about.

Fanfiction gets a worse rep than other transformative works such as fanart or whatever. Writing as a whole does. Fanfic is painted as this utter trash.

I’ve read fanfiction that made me cry, laugh, feel shit. I’ve read fanfiction that tackled heavy topics. Even on a sexual standpoint, I’ve read fanfiction that was willing to write erotica that published authors wouldn’t fucking touch. Both in a kink sense, but also in terms of how the relationship functions. I’ve read shitty fanfictions, sure. But I’ve read fanfictions that were better than 90% of the published books I’ve read. Even fanfics I didn’t like.

To put fanfiction into perspective, the average YA novel (the age group fanfiction is generally but not always aimed at) is 70k words. I’ve read fanfiction that blows that word count out of the water. And it takes fucking skill to write something that long. It’s not just writing a bunch of porn or cute scenes, that takes serious world building and character arcs.

Fanfiction kills so many tropes that are common in YA and literature in general. I read a YA after reading nothing but fanfiction for a long time and I was fucking appalled? It was a popular YA too. I won’t name what one because you could literally imagine anyone and it’d probably fit. The characters were flat, the romance was outright manipulative and toxic, the plot was dull, even the writing itself was bland. This was the type of book years ago I would’ve loved. But compared to most (of course, not all. Shit exists, but I think in fanfiction, we’re able to better filter out the shit) fanfictions, it was fucking trash.

When I started reading fanfiction, I assumed it’d lower my standards. The first time I picked up an actual novel I was relieved, excited to not have to deal with the problems that are in unpublished writings. But I quickly realized it was the complete opposite. Fanfiction threw my expectations through the roof. I expect fiction to include representation, fresh plots, interesting characters, thrilling romances, and decent fucking sex scenes if they’re there. But it just wasn’t there. It all fell flat. As someone seriously into the writing and reading community I hear so often that it’s hard for plots to be original and you shouldn’t judge on originality, but then I read fanfiction written by fucking teenagers that’s fucking mind-blowing with plot twists and original ideas, and I have to wonder is it really that hard? It’s clearly doable, you just have to take away the fanfiction part.

I have YA novels sitting on my sheld I know I’ll never read and enjoy because fanfiction just made my expectations too high. Which is good in a sense because I pray some of these amazing writers, when they get older will go on to write mind-blowing original novels and I hope that this generation of writers will put out great literature in ten to fifteen years, but for now I’m just… underwhelmed. I think it’s why I read a lot of classic literature too. Shit was better back then.

And yet despite all that, fanfiction is still made to look like shit in the modern media. It sucks so badly for fanfiction writers not to look like serious writers. I could publish one book, have it get the amount of attention my biggest fanfic got and be considered a serious author. My biggest fanfiction currently has 40k notes on Tumblr. Imagine if that were a published short story. It’d be a fucking hit. And there are others that make my numbers look small. And yet it’s brushed aside as unimpactful.

I think a lot of that stems from the fact that fanfic writers do generally start out younger. I’m 16. Others either are or were my age. But age does not equate to skill in writing. Sure, that is a factor, but it is not the entire story. I know a 14 yr old who writes some of the best prose I have ever seen. And even if younger fic writers aren’t on level yet, fanfiction is what’s helping them grow as a writer. But because we’re teenagers, we’re turned away just because of that. Even more specifically because we’re teenage girls (for the most part, I’m not saying other genders and/or age groups aren’t writing/reading fanfic) and we all know how society feels about them. It’s just a fucking shame that fanfiction can’t be respected for the legitimate form of writing it is because of the stigma. I’ve seen fanfic writers say they aren’t real writers because of the stigma, it’s awful. We feel the need to tear ourselves down for an admirable hobby. I can’t say my favourite book is a fanfiction I read, when I has every right to be a valid answer.

We’ll cut this ramble off here because wow I really went on didn’t I.

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lilbreck · 6 years

Text

AGoT Prologue - Chapter 3: Daenerys I

Notes:

Since I’m going to be more than likely addressing GRRM in a… less than praising manner a lot of the time, I’m going to call him Mr. Martin here. It’s my way of trying to soften my attack.

To the people who refer to the chapters only as the POV [insert number], what did chapter numbers ever do to you? Did they poison your dog, dry up your well, and run off with your girl? What the fuck did they ever do to you? To whoever didn’t put the chapter number in the actual chapters of this book: I fucking hate you.

Mr. Martin, have you ever actually interacted with children? Because, going by your writing, it doesn’t seem like you have. While Dany’s advanced mental age could be due to a life the run due to her brother’s paranoia and his probable mental, emotional, and physical abuse, I side eye why Bran is written so old.

Having said all that. I have the maps open, the appendix with children’s ages a click away, and I am ready to read.

Prologue

Royce is pretty much a young Hot Topic manager that everyone who works with him secretly (and not-so secretly) thinks is fucking useless and full of himself. He also apparently has the survival instincts if a particularly stupid rock.

But, hey, he’s a sharply dressed pretentious idiot!

They do a really good job of describing how it feels to freeze to death. Damn. I also like the that Others don’t appear to be mindless. It makes them far more threatening, IMO. I also like that it’s not just the dead coming back, there’s that supernatural cold that comes with them that just adds an edge of terror to it all.

Question: To those who use this prologue to speculate on Jon’s future (because of how it kind of mirrors his death), does the fact that Royce was blinded before he died change the idea for you that Jon might lose an eye? Just curious.

Chapter 1: Bran I

Age 7

And we’re going to have a seven-year-old see a man beheaded. Life’s hard, y’all. It’s the third guy from the prologue so I guess he ran fast enough for the Others not to get him? It’s interesting that, apparently, Ned didn’t tell them any of what was going on, just that they were off to behead someone. I say this because Robb was under the impression they were going to kill a wilding sworn to Mance Rayder. Speaking of wildings, can I just say, there is some major anti-wilding propaganda coming from Old Nan. I wonder how much of it is close to what they’re like. Obviously not the laying with Others bit.

You have to wonder, if it’s not even winter yet, and their breath is already showing… how fucking cold does it get in the North? Also, how many thirty-five-year-olds is Bran seeing to recognize that his father may look older than thirty-five? Most kids I know either think their parents are forever the same age, or always old. Or, you know, both.

Theon (who is about five years older than both Jon and Robb) is an ass. He just straight up laughed when a man got his head cut off and then kicked the head away. I’m with Jon.

I see we have the first sign that Jon sees a lot that others don’t (the man was afraid). Also, I wonder how long he’s been calling Robb “Stark”. I wonder if this is only under certain circumstances, or if it’s all the time. It’s been a long ass time since I’ve read this.

I’d like to take a moment to say that I’ve been thinking a bit more harshly of Cat than I possibly should have. I forgot that Jon and Robb are the same age. What this means is that, as far as Cat knows, as soon as Ned got her pregnant, he fucked off South and got another woman pregnant. Now, we know that’s not what happened, but still.

I also completely forgot that the direwolf they found had been killed by, presumably, a stag. Damn, but Theon was fucking eager to kill the pups. I mean, it’s easy to say “of course” since when know what happens now, but still…

And Bran noticing that Jon had deliberately excluded himself as Ned’s son, even called him “Lord Stark”, in order to save the pups. I’m all emotional over here.

This chapter we see that Theon’s an ass, Jon is willing to draw attention to what probably hurts him the most to save even puppies lives, and Jon either has some freaky sensitive ears, or there’s already a call between the direwolves and the Starks. I’m guessing the latter.

Chapter 2: Catelyn I

Age (32 or 33, IIRC)

Married to Ned – 15 years.

I really like how the differences in religion really say a lot about the mindsets of Southern houses and Northern houses. Now, when she (and everyone, I assume) refer to “the children of the forest”, I’m assuming they mean a people, not just actual children roaming around the forest. I’m putting that out there, because you can never really tell in fantasy.

I think it says a lot that, even after years, and a political marriage turned to love and trust, she still doesn’t seem comfortable with their religion. She even talks about how the eyes of the heart tree followed her. She still very much views herself as a Southerner. I wonder if, when she married Ned, she brought any lady’s maids or anything of that nature with her. Other Southerners to help her feel less isolated. I’m thinking not, and I feel so much for her.

Chapter 3: Daenerys I

Age 13

Okay, give that she’s a year younger than Jon, I want to know the timeline for Rhaegar’s death, Aerys’ death, and the birth of these two. I’m sure there’s a timeline somewhere, I’ll look it up later.

I like that Dany is smart enough to question what Illyrio wants from them if he’s giving them so much, though I have to wonder what she went through to make her ask that. Also, I don’t like Viserys right off that bat. He fucking twisted her damn nipple, painfully.

Okay, so I’ve got a bit of the answer to the timeline question I had. During Robert’s Rebellion, Viserys was eight, but Dany was still an early stage pregnancy, if I’m interpreting “only a quickening in their mother’s womb” correctly. So, while not exactly a year younger than Robb and Jon, it’s close enough. And she’s going to be riding to “reclaim” a home she’s never had, seeing as she doesn’t even remember Dragonstone, and she was still with a wet-nurse when they fled there. Already I just want this poor girl freed from her brother and taken some place safe and warm where she can be a child like she obviously wants to. Maybe find a w ay to return to Braavos.

It’s also interesting to see the different views that we have on the Rhaegar and Lyanna story. The first we hear of it, he was battling and dying for the woman he loved. Of course, Dany’s only getting her information from her brother, so everything has to be taken with a grain of salt. Also, how much of their wondering was actually because of people after them, and how much was her brother’s paranoia. After all, Dany does say she never saw anyone.

Just going by Dany’s descriptions, Viserys has been full on mad for a while now. IIRC, in the show, the bath scene with Dany was mean to show that she was resistant to heat. However, in the book the servants/slaves never comment on the heat. Dany does, but she only says she likes the heat because it makes her feel clean and her brother is telling her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. So, yeah, I’m thinking that “heat resistance” in the show has nothing to do with the book.

Poor Dany doesn’t even have a moment to pretend this is anything other than her being sold. She quickly makes the connection between the young slave’s comment about Drogo’s slaves wearing gold collars and the gold collar that’s put on her. Fuck Viserys.

Oh, I didn’t realize we got a reference to the red priests and the Lord of Light this early on. Heh. Wow, they are spread far and wide, aren’t they?

I’d like to point out that Dany has a far better bullshit detector than her brother. She’s probably had to develop a habit of being able to read people because her brother seems quick to lash out. Also notice that Viserys claims to be the last dragon… while his sister is standing right next to him. He is damn far gone.

Okay, there is obviously so much wrong with the Dany and Drogo pairing. Let’s skip over the fact that her brother is selling her to him, because that’s a common thing through this series / time. Dany is thirteen here, Drogo is about thirty. Aren’t we all glad they aged a lot of the characters up for the show? Another thing that should set off red flags is how much Drogo frightens Dany just from how fucking mean he looks.

“I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.”

Yeah, everyone involved in this (save Dany, of course) needs to die painfully. Like, you know how Vlad would impale people and the pole would go through them from ass to brain, but sometimes it wouldn’t get the brain and they’d be left up there to slowly die? I want that to happen to these people.

We’ll leave off here and read three or four more chapters tomorrow. Hell, maybe more. We’ll see. However, feel free to comment away. Let me know if there’s something I missed, or if you want to talk about any specific thing.

Just remember, it’s been a long time since I’ve read this, so I’m only familiar with the first three chapters so far.

#asoiaf #asoiaf:agot #tonya reads books #tonya rereads asoiaf

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49scribes-a · 7 years

Text

Starters From Shit Said In Gaming Streams:

Some NSFW and potentially triggering content

“Yeah sometimes those big zombies just don't take the hint and then half their bodies come after me.”

“Stop throwing up zombies. Its unsanitary.”

“Thigh highs fit for any _____.”

“BARREL ROLL.”

“Stop keeping quotes about the shit I say when I'm _________.”

“OH, RAPID FIRE. RAPID FIRE. LOOK AT THAT.”

“...whatever the fuck that shit is.”

*sarcastically* “Oh nooo... an ambush. Like, whatever will I do.”

“Y'know I would've fallen from whatever height that was and I would've gotten up.”

“OYNO. Where is it? KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT.”

“Ew it popped.”

“____lord disapproves.”

“Rocking that [name]licious scarf.”

“SHIT ITS BOY/GIRLFRIEND IS COMING.”

“Oh, shit, that's a lot.”

“Of course half of them had to live.”

“Oh did you die finally? Thanks for the money! Even if you only had ___.”

“You made people suffer enough when you were alive. Can't you, y'know, give it a rest?”

“I'm little red riding hood~”

" 'Just got [name]'d'. WOW. You really gonna go there?”

“Already went there.”

“Okay I'm bored. I'm gonna leave it. I'm gonna leave it alone.”

“Op she's vomitting zombies.”

“Deeeeaaaaaath.”

“[name]licious used Swift! Its super effective!”

“Please stop.”

“Whoa that star kinda freaked out.”

“Pop goes the zombubble.”

“Y'know whenever people say [ran him through with a sword] I think of someone like literally running and PLUNGING their sword through someone.”

“If ur sword-running game ain't as strong as Season 2 Suzaku's y'ain't doin it right.”

“We don't talk about that ending. That still hurts me.”

“OF COURSE WE DO. You know what we REALLY don't talk about?"

“WE DON’T TALK ABOUT _____.”

“The goat people!!! And the trees...”

“We've got demonic goat people, I think some frogs... yep, definitely a frog.”

“This house is on fire but it wasn't me.”

“Ooooo legendary shoulders.”

“Oh great, they explode.”

“Biiiirb. Birb birb birb birb. Caw caw motherclucker. BIIIIIRB.”

“I'm going to name this bird ______, and it will be the best ______.”

“Did you just name that ____ after [name]?”

“[name]licious and [name]. Nice(tm).”

“You could've lived if you just stayed still like a good tree.”

“Swift Game Intensifies.”

“Cat Fight!”

“Long time no dick shot.”

"[NAME] YOU ARE BANNED.”

“Holy shit that was a trip.”

“The sweet sound of projectile evisceration.”

“Anybody alive on this side? Okay good I don't need that kind of drama in my life.”

“I COULDN'T STOP PUNCHING HIM.”

“Story of my life.”

“I love how you got literally blown away.”

“Fuck your _____-- SHIT, FUCK--”

“We forgot to start a swear count.”

“Explode, explode, explode-- yyeeaaaaa.”

“I HATE LIFE WHAT IS THAT HOW DID I MISS”

“RIPPERONI SWISS CHEESE”

“Don't you give me your patronizing pats I don't need them.”

“See if I ever give you sympathy pats again.”

“I'm still keeping quotes just fyi.”

“Fucking gasp.”

“BLOWUP BLOWUP BLOWUP BLOWUP.”

“STOP TAKING QUOTES, [NAME] oh my god--”

“I need to take that guy over there with that freaking shotgun Hell nya.”

“YOINK.”

“Eeeeew he ragdolled...”

“Uuuh what did you guys see-- actually nope no I take it back I don't wanna know I don't wanna know what you guys saw.”

“2 much swear 4 utube.”

“I... read that as [do you know how many brain dead dick heads I've hung in my life] and I was like... since when did you kill people?”

“If I killed people you would know because I wouldn't be able to keep my disgusting disection pictures to my fucking self.”

"[CHECK OUT THIS ORGAN LOOK HOW WEIRD IT IS].”

“I was going to laugh if you pole-vaulted to your doom.”

“Well, no, you can swing across. Me? I'm gonna get fUCKED.”

“HIS LEG WORK.”

“I'M IN ATUAL TEARS.”

“I'm like... expecting something to blow up at this poi-- aaand there it is.”

“I don't know what you're reaching for cuz God ain't gonna help you.”

“Wouldn't it be funny if he hit the window and he just... didn't go through it. Just hit the window with a loud THUNK like a bird hitting glass.”

“That rocket launcher is gonna become my best friend.”

“YOU STILL FUCKING SURVIVED THAT SHIT? YOU TOOK IT TO THE /FACE/.”

“Fuck off, I don't want what you're selling-- I DON'T WANT WHAT YOU'RE SELLING.”

“Fuck your turret gun.”

“Fuck it.”

“YEAA-- NOOOOO.”

“How did that not just shove his nose into his skull?”

“I wouldn't have gotten back up, I would've been down. I would've probably been knocked out or... winded... and crying.”

“Yea fuck you _______ I don't like you either.”

“Her name is _____ lady and _____ lady it shall stay.”

“I can't wait to-- Oh look another fucking _______.”

“MAN, HE TWIRLLLED.”

“When I die, I want to ragdoll.”

“Why ragdoll like an Uncharted NPC when you can ragdoll like a Skyrim character leaping off the top of the Throat of the World on the back of a horse.”

“The music is so nice when you don't pay attention to the destruction around you.”

“I want to glitch through the ground, stretching for miles across the land while twitching enough to unnerve the most bad ass fucker before flipping off into space like a goddamn hyper speed rubber band.”

“You want the weirdest things...”

“But they are simple things.”

“How is her makeup still straight. Eye liner still on point.”

“HEY LOOK ITS YOU-- I'm just kidding.”

“You hurt my feelings, that IS totally me.”

“Worship me and my big blue ball.”

“Oh that werewolf fucker. Fucking closet furry.”

“Manicure my _____ nails.”

“I know, I have to fix your ass because all your shit is where its not supposed to be.”

“WELL ITS NOT FUN IF I MAKE IT EASY.”

“DO U THINK I WANT PEOPLE IN HERE TOUCHING ALL MY SECRET SHIT.”

“I GOT PORN MAGS IN HERE.”

“You know I just kinda realized how weird of a pose that is.”

“Tbh -- its taking a huge shit.”

“For some reason I forgot the water drains and thought the statue's loin cloth lifts to reveal a doorway between its legs.”

“God damn it, tired of your bullshit. Have to keep fixing your stuff. Keep fixing your ______...”

“This isn't a dagger. Its a _____. But I'd still stab someone with it.”

*Opens my chastity belt.*

“You know its actually kinda romantic down here---no its not.”

“I transcended the ban like a boss.”

“YOU'RE STILL BANNED, [NAME].”

“GET VORED BY THE STATUE.”

“WE ARE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS.”

“I really hope I get that job so I can buy that shirt that says [_______] I've been wanting.”

“No, the part with the ice caves, before you meet Furry McFuckgoat.”

“While that is a very metal fucking way to die -- it also seems extremely uncomfortable.”

“I was surprised there wasn't anything supernatural... or weird. I mean besides the exploding mummies.”

“WE DON'T TALK ABOUT THOSE GOLEM POSERS.”

“What a dick! Making me throw that grenade without meaning to!”

“You know I just shot him... a clip full... in the dick. I didn't mean to but... it happened.” ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Have a grenade.”

“Yeah you're not allowed up here. You have a ______. We don't serve your kind here.”

“New user -- who dis”

“I might regret this decision later.”

“[Name], please, stop playing peek-a-boo.”

“That dead guy just... waves goodbye as he ragdolls.”

“I HAVE REGRETS.”

“You know what, just as well. I have regrets. I didn't mean to throw that grenade.”

“PANICKING. PANICKING.”

“THINK YOU'RE FUCKING FANCY WITH YOUR ROLLING?”

“Okay that guy was defying gravity for a while there, that was kinda weird.”

“YOU'RE NOT FANCY-- Oh my god he twirled.”

“I FOUND WHAT I WANT.” *runs*

“REGRETS. Aaaah, regrets. A lot of regrets.”

“That death twitch... as seen on Twitch TV.”

“Little man, compensating much.”

“Right in the Shnoz.”

“ZIG ZAG, ZIG ZAG.”

“I DON'T THINK ZIG ZAG WORKS WITH MILITARY RPGS.”

“Make-up still on point. Hair still flawless.”

“LAMINATE YOUR FUCKING MAP. ITS RAINING. IS THAT MAP EVEN RELIABLE AT THIS POINT.”

“Where would you laminate a map in ______? What do you think there's a Kinkos around the corner?

“GOD IDK, BUT PUT IT IN SOMETHING MORE WATERPROOF THAN YOUR ASS POCKET.”

“Oh man that is the best twirl I have ever seen.”

“Fab. He practiced.”

“I just had to process Impressed because I heard it as Imp Breasts.”

“Drama queen. Fucking clutching his chest to die. Just ragdoll like everyone else.”

“Hey, what has more brains than the gunmen right now? The wall behind them.”

"[that didn't attract too much attention] YOU RAN A TRAIN THROUGH A BUILDING.”

“I am just a soggy man.”

“I have water logged fingers.”

“Yeah. YEAH. I forgot about these actually. Ah... ha ha... I forgot about these...” *cries*

“Her tits are always bigger from the side. The fuck is with that. They never the same size either. Watch. Watch them titties grow.”

“All Aboard the Pain Train.”

“Push your ass off the train-- BYE.”

“REALLY. YOU-- who has the strength of a shit ton of fucking monkeys... can't kick that through?”

“My heart just did A Thing at being called [they].”

“I never actually see the scenery on this train because I'm always dying.”

“BANE OF MY EXISTENCE RIGHT HERE. Guess my streak of Not Dying is gonna end right here.”

“AAH I ALMOST DIED-- I almost died there too.”

“SPLAT.”

“Railroaded.”

“Oh, I'm gonna have to fight a big guy. I really-- please don't make me fight a big guy.”

“Damn he thicc.”

“Here, its a present~” *throws a grenade*

“I think they want a receipt for their present so they can return it.”

“Bye-- I think that was a dick shot.”

“I love the sound of glass breaking.”

“I missed...” *tsk* “That's a problem.”

“Hey. For stress relief, fling yourself. Right there. To the left.”

“LAAAAAAAAUNCH.”

“Just fucking launch into oblivion for stress relief.”

“I just ate someone else’s half eaten burger like the trash goblin I am.”

“I am both mildly disgusted with myself and yet satisfied because it was a good burger.”

“Oblivion is to the left. Just launch into it. Embrace it. Fly like the majestic fucking eagle you are.”

*singing* “Life... hates me. I hate life.”

“Did he just die crab walking.”

“Died doing what he loved. Being a crab. Snip snap.”

“Am I the only one here who sees perfect opportunities to fling myself off a cliff and actually does it?”

*whimpers* “WELLIguessitwasallfornothingbecausenowIhavetodiebecausethisasshole--”

“That's the sound of when you get your ass shredded.”

“Good lord--”

“Shredded Wheat [name]s.”

“I hope if I ever die by gun, its to one of those. I wanna look and feel like swiss cheese.”

“You gonna one-punch fuck me like jason borne?”

“ONE PAAAUUUUUUUUNCH.”

“FUCK I got stuck in the wall...”

“HOW THICK THAT DUDES ARMS ARE.”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME I was trying to get away from you.”

“That cat is looking at me like [Why are you yelling so much?]”

“Man you eat more bullets than dogs in Resident Evil.”

“Fuck my life, Terminator.”

“That's not his liver...”

“That's totally his liver.”

“Well that's what you get for not paying for your train ticket.”

“Train stops here.”

“Guess they got... sidetracked.”

“You could say he's got a one-track mind.”

“You could say its been derailed.”

“I don't think this is the best train of thought for this situation.”

"I think I can, I think I can...”

“YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE, SNEAKING UP ON ME LIKE THAT.”

“I hope I took them out wiTH MY DEATH.”

“Fucking gave him a sliding icy nut shot.”

“Packed some powder onto those donut holes.”

“I didn't say I was coming naked to this place.”

“Just barrel roll over a fucking corpse it coo'l.”

“Where do these fuckers get grenades at like... they need to shove their grenades up their ass.”

“I don't know what the fuck you think you saw but it wasn't me.”

*Hands you voreos*

“Get out of here with your voreos.”

#RP Prompt #crack #*jazz hands*#lookit me #makin' my own RP prompts

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