#yes i did in fact crawl out of the sewer to post this and only this and then run | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daydreamed-snippets · 3 years

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hello! i absolutely adored your addition to gingerly’s prompt ask :) i was wondering if you could continue it, and no worries if you can’t! thanks <3

I realize the more I write this the longer it’s getting. I probably have imagined six parts or more???? I have other WIPs that need attention, but I am so, so, so, so thankful that you like the first part of my prompt response to @gingerly-writing I’m going to post this and then part 3 hopefully tomorrow 👀 👀 👀 👀Maybe??? then take a small break to post some other stuff. Lol this is a continuation I didn’t really plan for, but am definitely excited about!!

@chibicelloking @lolafaiy

Part One Here

A dull thrum of voices stirred sidekick out of surly drowsiness. The articulation of words was muddied, coming across as garble before snapping into clarity the more they roused. There was “monitor vitals”, “recommended range”, “even by a fraction” that registered in the back of their mind. Teammates must be running some tests again.

But they couldn’t move. Not a muscle. They weren’t paralyzed, they were just restrained. Which was odd because that wasn’t—

They felt the string back around their neck again. That feeling of dread rustled, usually abating when they returned to headquarters and the familiarity of their bunk. Memories came no longer concealed by lethargy. Of the teammates being pinned down by supervillain. Of their oh-so-brave self-sacrifice. Of teammates using The Machine to pry open a portal. Of sidekick losing consciousness in supervillain’s arms.

Sidekick held their breath, letting out a quiet moan. It didn’t work, did it? Teammates didn’t make it to that sewer way after supervillain choked them into unconsciousness. And if they did, they were unable to save sidekick. They were captured.

So what now?

Policy would have them stay mute. To be uncooperative. To trumpet bravado and bare their teeth.

Policy would have their self-sacrifice complete its course to martyrdom.

Feeling their sinew stretch to uncomfortable lengths, the sidekick’s mind fortified itself, resolved to do their due diligence. They could die for the cause. They were trained to do so. Engrained by doctrine, encouraged parables of valor, and promises of glory. They weren’t a hero, yes, but they’d surely get a hero’s burial. A hero’s honor, and admittance to the halls of the nobly fallen. After all, it was promised to those slain for the cause.

Noting how their wrists were held high above their head and were bound together, sidekick tensed their muscles against the wire to test how well it held their arms, chest, hips, and legs still. They were hanging in midair, everything was drawn taut, everything perfectly balanced so that the threads bowed them back like a rag doll on display; fraying and terribly exposed.

At least it didn’t cut their skin this time.

The easy solution: they could mount a daring escape by making a portal around themselves. No on second thought due to calculation risks, they could make approximately 47 mini portals, severing the strings. Then once they got a better gauge of the room, they could make one large enough for them to drop through. They doubted they would be able to go far, maybe outside this room after they opened their eyes and calculated the circumference of it. Their weakness lies in the fact that not knowing where they were meant they were limited in where they could go. Power hinging on all of the maps in their head. If they could just see it on the map then they could calculate the needed trajectory and portal to it.

But they had neither the time nor the luxury for that now.

Taking all 47 at a time, sidekick opened dime-size portals an inch above where the wires met their skin. Calculations playing in the background of their psyche. They had to be precise—they must have caution or risk searing flesh from bone. Wire fractured and cracked in midair, and sidekick dropped a small length, feet hitting the floor, knees buckling.

They barely had a second to get up.

A shrill alarm, jarring, and ear-splitting sounded.

Fire followed, blazing across their skin, only somehow from the inside radiating out, originating from their neck, and spiraling down. They writhed under the voltaic ministrations, convulsing until it ceased, finally falling limp.

Someone came to stand before them, and sidekick considered the familiar boots warily before flicking their gaze up, proximity kick-starting their heartbeat. And it ran wild. Supervillain settled before them, appearing polished, normal costume hidden under a button-up shirt loosely tucked into a pair of trousers. A light pea coat pulled the ensemble together. Their expression, however, looked like they were ready to pounce, eyes veiled behind a tight expression.

“Perfect. You’re awake.”

Should sidekick go for bravado, or would a more fearful submissive approach best serve them, now that their escape attempt has failed? Unsure, sidekick opted for a mix of both, figuring, at any rate, the body count associated with supervillain alone would suggest that they tread carefully. “Wh-what did you do to me? My teammates—”

“Your teammates don’t know where you are, and it’s going to stay that way for a while." They crouched agilely, a panther before a frightened yearling, tucking a finger under their chin to hold their complete attention. "I would advise against doing anything that would jeopardize your standing with me, puppy. Like trying to use your power to escape. I am not what one would call longsuffering. I may have shown you a smidgen of my mercy but don’t expect it to be par for the course." Supervillain motioned to the room with a nod. "If you’re wondering where you are, may I present to you my humble garrison. This is the medical wing, with medic and assistant behind me. We’ve removed the association’s tracking device, and replaced it with something far more fetching.”

Trailing a thumb down their neck, supervillain fiddled with the band around their throat, a neatly fitted collar. How did sidekick not notice that? It felt not much different from supervillain’s wires—something foreign and constricting. Ears burning, their face paled, sweat lining their brow. If this could get worse or more humiliating, they weren’t sure how.

Threading a finger through the ring, supervillain wrenched sidekick off the ground, onto their hands and knees like a true dog.

A strangled mewl tore from the sidekick’s throat.

“You do get the gist of this, don’t you, darling? You’re a clever one. Make a portal without my direct order, and this device will give you an electric shock that will render you immobile at best, unconscious at worst.” Their shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “And it hurts like hell, or so I’m told so that should be incentive enough.”

Oh no.

This was worse.

So much worse than anything sidekick had endured at the Hero’s Association. Ignoring their basic human needs, ok. They can handle that. Belittling them, playing passive-aggressive games? Cool, cool, cool, cool. The occasional punishment? Everyone endures the intermittent blow or two. Suck it up, sidekick. But humiliation like this? They wanted to crawl under a rock and never be seen again.

“Y-you,” they stammered, dread churning, turning into something they hadn’t felt in a while. Rage. “You, you, you jerk!”

“You jerk?” supervillain echoed a deep chuckle. “Dear lord, you know you should be thanking me, my very young and inventive labradoodle. One, for not taking your life as I had wanted. Two, for not ringing out your delicate neck despite that little stunt just now. And, three for rescuing you from such neglectful owners—”

“I will never thank you for that!”

Silence filled the room, allowing the mechanical hum of lab equipment to permeate. Medic and assistant tossed glances at each other over supervillain's shoulder, as a shadow passed over supervillain’s face. That thumb returned to sidekick’s lips, the latter’s breath catching at their misstep. “You said they.”

“W-what?”

“When you spoke about your teammates, and how they’ve been fighting me all of these years. You said they. Not we’ve been fighting, but they. You haven’t used a single possessive pronoun when speaking about the six of you—or anyone in the association for that matter.”

No. No, sidekick didn’t mean it like that. They belonged. They were a team. They are a team.

“You keep them separate from yourself,” the supervillain continued, stoking their cheek absently. “Whether consciously or unconsciously, you do. From the short time I discovered that it was a person and not a machine behind the Hero’s Association’s success, I’ve learned this: your ideals are of self-immolation. You offer yourself up as a lamb for your teammate’s success; for the association’s success. You foolishly stare down your enemy in hopes for what? Recognition? Adoration? That’s clearly not working, is it? I simply called you a dazzling diamond in the ruff, and you flushed like someone newly in love.” That tone was back. A wanton timbre for power, and sidekick face colored on command. They brought their hand up to hide it. “Your actions are like a puppy: young and misguided. Training will fix it.”

Throwing them a salacious grin, supervillain called another thread to their hand and knotted it around sidekick's collar ring. Easing off of their haunches, they stood, the wire going slack. “I will delve into these mysteries soon enough. Just as you will come to discover, in due time, that you are much better off with me than against me.”

Sidekick blood boiled, finally at the tipping point.

They saw red.

Supervillain thought they knew them? Thought that they were such an open book? Palms fisting, sidekick wanted very much to strike out at the supervillain. To wipe that knowing looking off their face. A feat, they realized, that could accomplish with words. And something this time with more punch than ‘jerk’. Screaming, they let out an uncharacteristic string of curses; ones they’d heard in passing, ones that had even been directed at them. Being a human gateway didn’t afford them many friends their own age or otherwise, and the other heroes were quick to ruffle their hair, and blame them for mishaps than befriend them.

Supervillain didn’t move. Even to tighten the leash.

But medic spoke out.

“Eh, yo, villy, your puppy be barking at you. Want me to shut them up?” Their crisp white coat stood in neat contract to their rich skin; voice speaking of hardship and closely won battles. Finger hovering over their datapad.

“Give it a minute,” supervillain said, as sidekick let out one last cry, fists hitting the cold tile, utterly spent. They bent over, muscles quivering in release. “See, it wasn’t necessary, medic. This particular breed responds to a more patient touch.”

“All that patient touch and you gon’ be wondering why you got missing fingers. Look, I don’t know about pets, but, this seems real sus.”

“Good thing you’re not in charge of them.”

“I guess, tho, I just be saying,” they let out a sigh, shaking their head, returning their attention to a beeping screen. “You know how much I love them pathetic animals.” Medic shot a look at sidekick, as their eyes bounced between the two, mouthing I don’t, and slid their thumb across their neck when supervillain wasn’t looking.

Sidekick almost whimpered.

Supervillain flexed their hands, fingers gracefully dancing as wires loosened from the ceiling, fell in a heap on the ground then receded altogether, sheltering in the supervillain’s pea coat. Only the one wire connected to their collar remained visible, wrapping itself around the supervillain’s wrist that. Like a bracelet, they tucked it away in their sleeve, then opted to move rather than command sidekick to heel.

Lurching forward, sidekick had no choice but to follow.

#others prompts #continuation #sidekick #supervillain #part 3 soon

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aguagua · 3 years

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here. have a Chunk of a danror thing I was doing because im stumped on writing dialogue for the second half. started just typing this in my notes when I was sick.

its about the comfort of a bacon egg and cheese sandwich but I didn’t even GET to the bacon egg and cheese sandwich part. so it’s also about post keene, like maybe a year after, Ror and Dan lol. I’m not good at writing so be nice to me. enjoy

Patrol drove into later hours than anticipated. Certain gangs needed handling. Certain people needed apprehending. Rorschach’s lost track of time more often than he wants to admit. Time isn’t that important to him anymore, and who wouldn’t put off the time that came to tear off his face and put on a disguise for the day? But, the nite hours give Rorschach the blanket of protection he needs to operate and exact the justice this city so desperately needs. The daylight seems to frighten a specific type of evil back into whatever holes they crawled out of for the evening. But Rorschach will soon be vulnerable to the curiosity from crowds of 9 to 5’ers making their morning commute. He needs to get away from prying eyes. Normally he’d take to the sewers, climb down the nearest manhole, but, the gash on his leg needs serious tending. Unfortunately, he can’t risk getting an infection, not when the responsibility of protecting New York has now fallen solely on Rorschach’s shoulders. Not a single costumed hero is left to care for this dying community. His kind is, in fact, a dying breed.

Canal Street, where his apartment is, too far. The alley he normally leaves his things, too exposed. Time was short as the sun lazily climbed up into the sky, soon it would be a spotlight all on Rorschach. He’s in Bryant Park now. Which means the brownstone is only a few streets away and Daniel isn’t normally awake yet. Rorschach can go down to the basement, fix himself up, and eat a bowl of cereal before Daniel would ever notice. Smart idea. He’ll be safe there. The vigilante begins his trek, limping slightly but he distracts himself from the pain he feels in his calf by digging his fingers into his palm.

************

Daniel and Rorschach have not spoken to each other since the night after the Keene Act was passed. When Daniel decided to quit. Maybe it was better that way. No words needed to be shared anymore. What would even be said? Some poor attempt at reminiscing about the good old days? Good old days that Daniel chose to end? Or maybe it would be some long lecture about how Rorschach should hang up the mask. “There’s still a chance to get out.” A lecture that would sound more like a desperate plea. Ridiculous.

Through their lack of conversation, raised an unspoken agreement. It’s an uncomfortable thought to Rorschach, to know someone is thinking of him. That Daniel still has his concerns and wants Rorschach to be safe. That he cares.

When Rorschach sneaks in through the kitchen window (He’ll save Daniel the humiliation of breaking his lock again. Ha ha.) and makes his way down to the Owl Nest, he finds just some of the terms of their agreements. Replenished first aid with plenty to spare, just begging Rorschach to take them with him. The cot, back by the super computers, with fresh sheets. Always fresh. Rorschach has rested his head there more than a few times.

And Rorschach knows when he goes upstairs to eat, he’ll find the surplus of canned foods he knows Daniel did not buy for himself. The leftovers in the fridge that are tucked in the fridge, in kitschy owl casserole dishes. The cherries that Daniel does not like eating. The sugary cereal. The occasional cola. Any and all of the foods in the Rorschach diet.

Rorschach initially thought this was a method for Daniel to catch Rorschach and sit him down for a long lecture, that all this stepping out of the way had an ulterior motive, it was bait. But, he’s heard a handful of times when Daniel was awake and about upstairs and he never came down the Owl Nest steps. He never hustled into the kitchen when Rorschach was there, scarfing down cold, canned soup. Rorschach would come here and take care of himself, with food, medical supplies, and rest that Daniel provided and will always provide. Daniel respected their silent agreement and Rorschach’s space. Perhaps, Daniel, too, didn’t know how they could hold a conversation. Maybe he felt conversation was worthless but still felt the need to provide his ex partner some kind of reparation for leaving. Maybe Rorschach scared him now. All avenues made sense.

He wishes Daniel would see him. No he didn’t. Yes he did. No he didn’t.

*******

Rorschach grabbed the first aid kit, took his place on the cot, rolled up his torn pant leg (will have to repair later) and went to work. In a skirmish with one too many Knot Tops, one of the few that remained standing managed to knock Rorschach down and dig into his calf with a knife. The perpetrator didn’t succeed in incapacitating Rorschach, to say the very least.

Rorschach bit his lip to hold back a hiss as he cleaned the injury with antiseptic. Such an outward expression of pain is a weakness (it’s human) and Rorschach isn’t weak (or human).

It frustrated Rorschach to no end that he had Walter’s limitations. He couldn’t just brush off an injury, ignore the hunger pains, stave off sleeping, at least not for so long. He always pushes his body to its absolute limits. But, avoidance to these Human needs (Walter’s needs) would lead to burn out, poor performance and he can’t allow that.

So, Rorschach properly cleans and stitches the cut, with a nice tight stitching. He sits back on the cot, letting the pain dully throb in his leg while he stares out at the Nest.

A layer of dust covered everything except Rorschach’s small corner. Archie was covered in a large tarp. A whole world was down here, locked away, covered up and left to rot. Rorschach could replay dozens of memories in this space, in every little corner. The back of the workshop where Daniel broke his arm in the exo armor. The workbench, where they sat and shared colas, strategizing for their takedown of King of Skin. By Nite Owl’s locker where Daniel found a rat chewing at his uniform and Rorschach chased it down the tunnel. Beside Archie, after taking down the Big Figure, celebrating a little too closely of each other. On the steps where Nite Owl revealed himself to be Daniel Dreiberg and opened the door to share his private life with Rorschach.

How was it so easy for Daniel to close out this part of his identity? Easy, maybe, considering Daniel had the privilege to turn away. He had another life. Rorschach did not.

Best to not harp on the past, he thinks. Rorschach permits himself a pause. Lets the thoughts stop racing, a period to sit in the silence, and rest his eyes.

The quiet is cut short by the sound of footsteps upstairs. Daniel’s awake early. Why? He’s never been an early riser. Rorschach walked over to the stairs, listened close to the footsteps. Sounds like he’s still on the second floor. Rorschach could take his chances, grabbing some canned food and run back down to the tunnel. No. Not a smart move. Will be caught. The footsteps are down in the kitchen now. Something is placed down on the table. Cabinets are being opened. The fridge. It’s time to leave.

But he doesn’t want to. Yes, he does. No, he doesn’t.

Maybe the pain and exhaustion loosened Rorschach’s restraint, could be the excuse he tells himself later. Body betraying his usual code, Rorschach walks up the steps and opens the door.

*****

“Rorschach?”

#tumblr is so GLITCHY when you copy paste Jesus #fic #danror #lollllll

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undercoverwizardfanfiction · 3 years

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12 days of Flash fics! Day 12: Sewers

Summary: 12 flash fics that have nothing to do with the holidays but i thought would be fun to post one day at a time during the holidayyyssss (softly) aaaaaahhhhhh!

for: @fraymotiif and @oliviamakesanart

Characters:Leo and Donnie

pairings:

yes i know i already did this joke but guess what? i love lord of the rings. Screw star wars THIS is the best trilogy of all time, no don’t take my phone! I’m not done taking! in this essay i’ll—

The sewer was full of good hidey holes.

Leo knew that better than anyone, after all he was the world champion of Hide and Seek (he was so good in fact that Dad forbade any of them from playing Hide and Seek again after Leo hid for four hours). He ties off his giant blue shirt so that it doesn’t dangle so much as he crawls around the ground, peering down sewer tunnels. “Donnniee!” he calls with his hands around his mouth. “If you come out Dad says I can give you five, no six pounds of chocolate!!!” He tilts his head to the side to listen for a response. But he didn’t get one. ”Drats.” He must have known he was lying.

He looks for a few more minutes, looking down each tunnel. He does so, so quickly in-fact, he overlooks a purple ball and it takes him a few steps to stop and look back. Peering back down the tunnel. “Donnie?”

The purple mass peeks out from inside his raised hood through thick glasses. The moment their eyes meet they fill with tears before they hide back into his hoodie. “I found you!” Leo says with his hands in the air. “Ok let's go home.”

The child shakes, which Leo can only assume that Donnie is shaking his head without raising his head. “But I wanna go home! It's almost dinner time!!” Before realizing he’s talking too loud, judging by Donnies flinch. He covers his mouth with his hands, “I’m sorry,” he says before sitting down. “Why can’t we go home Donnie? No one cares that you couldn’t break a board, it took Mikey a while, too, remember?”

The mass of purple lets out a pained moan, shifting his body around to turn away from Leo. Honestly if Leo thought about it, it really must have been embarrassing watching his brothers break their boards so easily and failing on his own. He kept trying til his hands and eyes were equally red and Splinter had to make him stop.

Leo digs into his pockets, drawing out an old eight track player that he carried around for Donnie. It is only then that Donnie looks at him, taking the old player in his hands and though he put the headphones on his head and pushed on the large buttons Leo could tell he hadn’t turned the music on. “I’m sorry you had a bad day,” Leo says, scooting to sit closer to Don's side putting an arm around him, as Donnie drops his head onto Leo’s shoulder while messing with the buttons, “I wish I coulda made it better.” He thinks for a moment. “But it's almost done! After dinner we’ll be in bed and we won't have to do today again! And maybe tomorrow we can help you with the board. Cause I really think you can do it.”

Don peers up at him questioningly as though asking ‘really?’; as though he had been too afraid to let himself believe he could.

“Course! But first we gotta get home before Dad starts fear shedding again,” he says. “Is that ok?”

Donnie nods the two of them standing up. Without having to hold out his hand, Donnie’s latches onto his and drops his head back onto his shoulder. Leo smiles happily before resting his cheek, in turn, on Don’s scalp. “Wonder twins?” he says with his free fist in the air.

Donnie beams, holding up the eight track player in the air in a similar manner.

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leo #donnie #sewers #hurt/comfort #family #fanfiction

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sterys · 3 years

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Behind the Beskar

Genre: Romance, Angst

Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader

Cross-posted on AO3

Behind the Beskar

You’d just joined the Guild and this was your first job.

You were living on borrowed money in a seedy little flat in the one of the worst neighbourhood of Nevarro. You had to pay the rent (not cheap), the electricity (cheaper), the running water (hot water was included, thank hot lava planet), the speeder repairs, the monthly salary to your elderly parents’ maid who helped them through old age, a system away from you.

You used to lend your accountancy skills to Governors from outer regions, help them manage their bases and finances. Now, with the Empire fallen, you struggled to make ends meet. The Rebel alliance had centralized every financial operation, scattered the old consolidation team and you were made redundant at the young age of twenty-seven.

Every accountant and financial controller working under the Empire had been found guilty of financial fraud and theft by the Rebels right after the Battle of Endor, so you had hastily embarked on a ship to leave the Core Worlds and never return.

In Nevarro, nobody cared about where you came from, or what you did for a living, as long as you had credits, and the wits to keep them with you at all times when on trips to the cantina. You were able to sustain the lifestyle for a month, but one day you woke up feeling so cold that you thought your toes would fall off your feet, stomach rumbling loudly, and you decided that enough was enough.

You went straight back to the cantina, barely paying attention to your surroundings. You were intent on paying off this debt. Everything went smoothly enough, considering that it was obvious that the man from the Guild expected you to die on your first mission, and you could only agree with him, but fuck, this was a ride-or-die situation. Nobody wanted to hire a former Empire accountant. Things would have been different, were you a trooper or a starfighter pilot, because people always needed those skills. But you had spent the last five years forgetting both honesty and the Full Disclosure principle, so that did not go well in your CV. Fuck the Empire and their margin-reducing Death Stars.

You chose the best-paying job, not out of talent, but out of necessity. You returned home, burying yourself under the woollen covers, puck in one hand and the city’s last year financial records printed out on yellowed paper in the other. You stifled a yawn, looking lazily at the pages.

Something was wrong here with the numbers, and you bet it had everything to do with your new bounty.

The Guild guy had explained that somebody stole something from somewhere in the city, which was not great intel, but this somebody had a contact inside the townhall, which was intel. As soon as the theft had been discovered, the contact had disappeared from the surface of the planet, but rumour had it that he was just low-profile for the moment. He was said to carry three blasters with him at all time and use two akimbo.

Sure, you didn’t have the weapons or the military background other people in the Guild had; but you had your wits and an eye for spotting anomalies in figures. Years of camouflaging fraud had taught you how to spot one very quickly – and yes! Here it was, the gap between income and cash flow. Somebody here was getting some hidden cash from the city’s council as there was no way they could still buy Empire stock with simple credit coins or chips after the fall of the Empire.

Financial records were a mine of information if you knew what to look for. You compared the statements – yes, a new building had also been bought at the beginning of the standard year, roughly at the same time as the strange disappearance of Mr. Bounty. And you happened to know where this building was. You lived in it. No wonder the rent was so high!

You emerged from the covers satisfied with your studies. But you had yet to devise a plan to eject the tenant under your feet while not crashing your own little flat. Maybe you could try from the sewers under? You could pretend to take out the bin tonight and –

Crack!

The bedroom door flew out of its hinges in a cloud of black smoke. Coughing loudly, eyes closed, you plunged to the floor, cursing your bad luck. How could your neighbour possibly know that you’d chosen his puck? You crawled under the bed while the smoke dissipated, hugging the puck and the soundproof bag containing the fob. The fob! – it was pulsing red, but no more than before. How odd, you thought, that someone would give me a faulty fob that doesn’t work even though the bounty’s boots are three inches from my face.

Heavy brown boots did in fact stood just before your eyes. You pressed a hand to your mouth, feeling sweat running down your back.

The boots shuffled on the dusty floor. You held your breath. Suddenly the bed above you disappeared, then came crashing down on the window. The room became dark, the mattress hiding the morning sunlight.

You lifted your face, head buzzing with panic. And then you saw him. You couldn’t miss him, really. The tall Mandalorian in a battered armour and shiny helmet. He towered over you, and despite you lying on the floor and having a very distorted perspective, you could tell that he was huge.

Fob glowing an angry red in one hand, and a blaster pointed at you in the other, he was a dangerous man. Before your eyes, around his calves, were enormous bullets that could only fit the rifle strapped in his back. You could tell he was a true fighter by the state of his chest plate: old, the paint wearing off, bullet cavities marring the surface. Something was not right, you decided, observing his strong shoulders. You read in his stance that he was an adept at hand combat. Hand, mid-range blaster and heavy sniper rifle. He looked down at you. One gloved hand was stained with blaster residue. The other glove was clean – or at least as clean as orange could be on a rocky planet.

“I can bring you in warm –“

“Wait!” you cried out. “You are not the bounty I’m looking for.”

This man obviously used only one blaster, not two. You could almost see the cogs turn in his brain when you saw his T-shaped visor gazing at the general direction of your own fob.

“Who are you?” His voice was raspy.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” you replied, your voice shaking a little. Admittedly, you hadn’t done a lot of bounty hunting yet but it did sound better than accountant.

He didn’t answer but you heard a small huff of static.

“I believe the bounty is the tenant living one floor under me,” you said hesitantly.

Immediately, he turned on his heels and ran out the room, leaving you aghast. You heard his surprisingly soft footsteps going down the stairs and the sound of a door being blasted off.

You sat down, heart pounding in your chest. Wow. Chances were that you’d never be able to live here again. Better flee now than miss the chance of escaping the kriffin building. You grabbed your ID, clean underwear, a big brown cloak, a bottle of water and the implant. You put on the combat boots one deputy statutory auditor had gifted to you before being murdered by the one and only Lord Vader, and set off to the stairs.

You put your foot on the first step timidly. Bang. The unmistakeable sound of blaster fire. Smoke rose in the air as it became acrid and hard to breathe.

That’s when you panicked. You turned around and ran towards the window, pushing aside the lumpy mattress and curling your fingers into a punch. Then you hit the glass as hard as you could. It came down crashing down, shards falling everywhere. You held your breath. You jumped.

You landed. You landed bad, and it hurt. Oh, kriff. You’d fortunately landed on your feet but lost your balance and your right ankle ached a little. It would probably swell up in the next couple of minutes but for the moment you needed to get out of here pretty fast.

Your stuff had fallen off your bag when you’d landed in the dirt-filled back alley. You quickly gathered your clothes, put the dust bag over your shoulder and half walked, half ran to the freeport, wincing at every step you took.

The buildings were blurry, and you could only see the shadows of the people you passed by. Was it a concussion? You ran a hand through your hair, half expecting to see blood, but you only gathered dust on your fingers. The pain in your ankle had risen during your walk, and by the time you were on the main road you were limping pitifully.

You reached the cantina for the second time in one day. This was both the point of no-return and the place where everything had begun. There were tears in your eyes, tears for this city that you’d have to leave so suddenly after grinding so hard. You were never happy here, you never made it and you struggled till the very end. On your left you saw the stand where an old man sold coarse fabrics; you’d purchased a few to repair your own clothes in the direst times. You recognized the woman brushing her hair through the top window of that one dirty, dusty building: she’d helped you find a place to sleep on your first day here.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. Shivering, you turned around. The Mandalorian was standing just behind you. You looked at him through your tears, understanding the hurry in his stance. He didn’t say anything, but you grabbed your bag and followed his long strides in the darker alleys to the space port.

Your ankle hurt but you kept running. You kept your head low, not wanting to be recognized by another Guild member. This was your first bounty, and you’d already colluded with a fellow hunter. You weren’t so sure if this was legal or not, and you were not eager to find out.

In any case, the closer to the space port you were, the better it was for your skin. You needed to lie low for a while; people here noticed blaster shots easily and you didn’t want your name to be linked with a bounty.

Your throat was burning from volcanic dust and pain flared in your ankle at every step, but you carried on. Everything was still blurry but you could see the Mandalorian keeping a steady pace a few steps before you. He never turned away to make sure you were still following, but you guessed he could hear your laboured breathing from where he was.

Now the next steps were: finding a ship that left soon, not do anything for a moment, then… Now was not the time to think about a potential “then”.

His ship was a military cargo ship, made to carry soldiers in remote outposts during the war. It was battered from battle and dusty from whatever planet it had been to before. You hesitated for a second.

“Is this where we part ways?” you asked, your voice wavering.

“Do you need transport out of here?” The Mandalorian asked gruffly.

When it became clear to him that you did, he ushered you inside and rushed to close the ramp.

You stopped to look around. That was when you realized that the Mandalorian was carrying a big black body bag on his shoulder, and he was heaving a little from the weight.

He threw the body on the ground then retrieved a pair of handcuffs from somewhere inside the metal wall. Intrigued, you looked closer. There was a strange system of metal chains suspended from the top of the wall that ended in two hooks. You understood their purpose when Mando attached the hooks to the handcuffs and pulled a lever, raising the body to eye level.

The bounty was a middle-aged human man, black haired, smartly dressed for Nevarro. His head was hanging, lip split open, and a nasty bruise was spreading on his right eyelid.

“Dead?” You murmured, a little frightened.

“No,” the Mandalorian answered. “Get back.”

You scrambled back to the end of the ship, clutching your tightly. Sharp lighting reflecting on the beskar helmet, the Mandalorian looked very in the small hull of this ship.

His movements precise, he clicked a few buttons on the control panel and suddenly the body was frozen in carbonite.

You let out the breath you just realized you had been holding. You shivered a little.

“Better get used to it,” the Mandalorian said, making his way to the cockpit.

You followed him quietly, strapping yourself in the passenger seat when he told you to. You closed your eyes as you felt the engines roar and the ship soar into the grey sky, the heavy clouds, then the blackness of the galaxy. You were afraid, but there was also a strange feeling of excitement coursing through your veins. The Nevarro days were behind you.

You woke up, feeling blindly around you. Judging by the absence of light in the ship, it was still the middle of the night on Scarif. Also judging by the soreness of your muscles, you’d only managed to sleep for a couple of hours before the clamp soup you’d swallowed with abandon the evening before had reached your bladder.

Leaving the (relative) comfort of your covers, you got up, reaching towards the nearest wall to support yourself. Tiptoeing around, you tried to make as little sound as possible. You stifled a yawn, almost lost your balance, and cursed loudly. So much for quietness.

After half a dozen more yawns, another string of curses and a bruised toe (you’d unfortunately collided with what felt like an enormous durasteel wall plate) you found your way to the ‘fresher. You relieved yourself and washed your hands – they looked so thin; you really could use some more food – then stepped out of the unit.

That was when you heard it.

A very male groan followed by heaving breathing that did nothing to cover the distinctive sound of flesh on flesh.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

You’d forgotten to shut off the ‘fresher light. It was a flickering old light that made your face look like it had been out of the sun for two decades, but it was enough to show you that the enormous durasteel wall plate you’d stumbled into was in fact a thigh guard. And said thigh guard was still attached to its wearer but was not protecting anything except Mando’s ankles.

He was holding himself in one hand, helmet still on. You stuttered:

“Wow. Errm, I mean – I’m sorry.”

Not waiting for an answer, you took a step backward, closed your eyes and made a hasty retreat.

You lay in the cot, waiting to fall back asleep. You’d felt so tired just seconds before and now sleep was eluding you. The image was seared in your brain.

It had been long since you’d had a good fuck. You’d been building up so much financial stress that you hadn’t even found your release by yourself in months. You guessed it was all backfiring now. Remembering the sinful sounds Mando had made, you felt a heat coiling deep inside you.

You risked a hand between your legs. Okay, you had a problem there. You were wet. Not just damp. You were soaking through your underwear. You brought your fingers to you nose; they had the definite smell of sex.

Would you be able to finally pleasure yourself on a stranger’s ship far away from Nevarro?

You wanted it so badly. You were burning up, pressing your thighs together to relieve the pressure. But the thing was, the owner of this spaceship had lent you his cot. People did not get off in other people’s bed, that was your implicit rule of hospitality. Especially not when you knew you’d make a mess with how wet you were.

Just a touch, you decided. A quick rub of your lady parts would not do wrong, right? You leaned backwards until your back was pressed against the metal wall and you slid a hand under your sleep pants, circling the tender area with the tip of your fingers.

You still saw Mando under your closed eyes. You tried to focus on your past adventures but Mando’s helmet kept coming back until it was him you imagined riding on your small bed back in Nevarro, making the erotic sounds you’d heard tonight. You let out an unvoluntary moan. You couldn’t stop now, you felt your whole body tingling and burning, you began to see stars, white stars, everything was brighter –

Your eyes flew open at the brightly lit torch brandished towards your face from the end of the cot. Fuck fuck fuck. In your haste to flee, you’d forgotten to close down the hatch and now Mando himself was standing still, looking directly at you, the torch in his left hand.

He was not moving but you swore he looked amused. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die, and at the same time you felt incredibly wanton and powerful with your legs spread apart and the glow you knew was on your face.

“I heard my name,” Mando whispered.

His voice was hoarse and heavy, and you felt your insides clench at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. The air between you was thick.

“Don’t be,” he replied. Then he looked at you, looking like he was debating something internally. “May I?”

The pronounced static of his breathing, the expectant posture – you felt your head buzzing at the implication. It meant one thing.

“Yes.” Your voice was breathy, but you didn’t care.

The two of you were too big for the bunk, especially since Mando still had his full armour on, but you didn’t mind the way his body pressed against yours in all pleasant ways.

“Let me,” he groaned, once he was fully inside the bunk, …

You stilled, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. Slowly, so slowly, he placed his right hand in your inner thigh, fingers hovering over the soft skin. Every place he touched you, you burned.

You reached to grasp the helmet but he caught your hand, staring hard into your eyes. You resolved to closing your eyes and slide your hand under the fabric of his shirt, smiling when you caressed the warmth underneath.

So there were taut muscles and soft skin behind the shiny beskar.

You’d lost your way in the numbers and figures, it seemed, in the cold facts of mathematics and the harsh reality of financial fraud. All those years alone had not been easy and you’d forgotten what it was like to be held by a soulful touch. You could almost cry. The night was tender and warm and you felt like melting into Mando while he melted into you, two lives meeting in the corner of the universe, on a planet graced by tragedies and hope alike.

There was no undressing for him. He’d made it clear that the helmet would stay on, and neither of you bothered to remove the rest of his clothes. He sighed deeply when you bit the fingers of his gloves and removed them with your teeth, revealing two hands that looked and felt sun-kissed.

You lazily removed your sleep clothes, keeping your eyes fixed on the helmet, and it felt like your gaze was locked with his even though you couldn’t see behind the black visor. You threw your underwear in a bundle, the fire in your body urging you to feel him ever closer. The plates of metal poked into your skin, cold and unforgiving but you couldn’t care less. If this was the price to pay to keep him close, then you’d willingly pay it.

The rush of the cocktail of hormones felt like drugs in your foggy brain. You were in the middle of draping your left leg over his waist when all movement slowed and stopped. Time was suspended; only the heavy static behind the beskar helmet and your own wrecked breath cut the silence and the electricity buzz of the landed spaceship.

He looked like he wanted to kiss you. You knew you wanted to press your mouth against his and taste his lips. But you knew it couldn’t happen. He knew it too. There was a shimmer of hope, then it died down as your leg finished its graceful arch in the air and you settled yourself over him, hot and heavy under your hips.

You felt the desire in your veins, and there was raw longing in the way he murmured your name over and over again while he buried himself inside you.

Maybe the last few years had been harsh and loveless for you, but it seemed that Mando had decided to make it all up on his own. Why you would at last find true passion in the hands of a seasoned bounty hunter, you didn’t know. You couldn’t contain your wanton moaning, lost in the haze of the moment. If he was as fierce in battle as he was in his love - and it looked like he was -, then you would not be able to fight back if he demanded your heart. You would gladly surrender right there, right now…

You felt the sweat gathering on your face. There was urgency in your movements, and you felt your own muscles tightening deliciously.

Cyar’ika, cyar’ika, cyar’ika…

Mando whispered the words into your shoulders as you felt his body tense under yours.

You couldn’t understand them, yet you couldn’t miss the depth of their meaning. You pressed a thousand kisses on his helmet, cradling him in your arms, rocking quicker as you readied yourself for him to shatter and explode into your embrace. Cyar’ika, cyar’ika…

You couldn’t understand these words, but I could.

You and I were chatting amiably in the cantina of some random planet he happened to have a bounty on. I could tell that the flush on your face was caused by both the cocktail swirling in your glass and the feelings you so obviously had towards the beskar-clad warrior.

Maybe it was the need for female company. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system. Maybe you thought you found a friend in me. But you poured your heart out to me, maybe hoping I would somehow understand your feelings and encourage you to act on them.

I didn’t tell you that I last travelled with the Mandalorian of your story a little more than six months ago. I couldn’t bring myself to it.

You didn’t understand the pet names he gave you, but I did, because he’d called me this way too.

I’d done everything you did.

I’d met the Mandalorian a different way, him looking for a doctor for a festered wound that did not heal. His desperate sighs when I applied bacta patches beneath the armour had compelled me to stay on his ship.

I’d laughed and cried and moaned on the Crest just like you. I’d been under crossfire more than once, I’d tended to his wounds, I’d made the calculations to jump to hyperspace while he was asleep, tired from a day of bounty-hunting and a night of love-making.

We’d spent hours discovering each other’s bodies while the Crest floated somewhere between the stars. I’d seen the heavens, shuddering beneath him, breathy sighs saturating the air. I’d waited for him to come back every day, touching myself on the pilot’s seat and wishing for the comfort of his strong arms.

But life on the Razor Crest was too lonely for me. After a while, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I needed company, friends to share a meal with. I missed evenings with my family, cooking together our trademark roast chicken recipe inherited from my maternal grandmother. I missed the silly games we played with my little cousins; our faces distorted in grimaces as we imitated HoloNet celebrities. I also missed my friends’ laughs, my first crush’s hazel eyes, my best friend’s freckled face. My home planet was only a short hyperspace drive from here, yet it felt like I was worlds and worlds away.

Behind the shiny beskar and the hard muscles, I could only see a lifetime of worry and loneliness. How in the galaxy could I ever belong there, in that tin can in the middle of nothingness? I needed the warmth of the sun, the smell of the earth and the promise of a happy life.

So I’d left before I could fall in love and get hurt. I gave him back the pendant you now wore between your breasts. I’d tried to ignore the way his shoulders hunched as I packed my bag. I left without looking back, my chin held high, half hoping he’d notice the tears on my face and beg me to come back.

You looked happy; he deserved you. You picked up your watch and I read the surprise on your face. “Already? I have to go, he’s picking me up here and we leave in a half-hour.” You packed your bags hurriedly, the flush lingering on your cheeks and I smiled at your apologies for leaving so soon. You thanked me profusely for my quiet companionship.

Then I heard it clearly. The velvety voice from my memories, the deep “Let’s go”, the clanking of the armour. It seemed that my body had not forgotten either and I felt myself uncomfortably pressing my thighs together. The memories started to flood my mind because I remembered everything and now I realized how much I missed –

How happy I –

How passionate he –

But this was a path I’d chosen not to take.

#the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #fanfiction #romance #angst #star wars #read and review #read and enjoy #din djarin x oc #x reader

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gayedmundo · 5 years

Text

a missing eddie scene from it chapter two

One moment Richie was right next to him, running through the tunnels and towards whatever the next horror this stupid clown had waiting for them, and the next moment he was alone.

His surroundings are new. When he looks behind him, he can still see the tunnels that they had been running through, but then it transitions into a room. It’s still dark and ominous, but significantly less cave-like. The only way out is to go back the way he came. He doesn’t see any separate path that Richie could’ve taken to explain his absence.

“Richie?” He yells out, hesitantly, “Richie, man, where did you go? This is so not the time to fuck around, asshole. If you’re planning to jump out at me, I will stab you with this fence post, I hope you know that.”

Suddenly a familiar voice comes from the dark behind him, making him jump.

“Oh, Eddie, there you are!”

It’s his wife. She’s shivering and drenched in water and dressed far too nicely for a walk through the sewers.

“Myra? What are you- what are you doing here?” He figures it must be a trap. This is what It does, he knows that. But still... she looks so real.

“I’m here to help you, Eddie. You just ran out on me without an explanation, I was so worried about you! This is too dangerous for you, we both know that. Come with me, Eddie-bear, please. We can go home and pretend like none of this happened. If you stay, you’ll get hurt.” She’s sobbing, predictably.

He shakes his head and backs away from her, “No, you can’t be here. I- You’re not real.”

“What? Of course I am. Honey, you’re not thinking straight.” She walks closer towards him and reaches her hand out to stroke his face but he flinches away from her touch. She sobs again and puts her hand over her mouth in horror. “What are these friends of your’s putting in your head? I mean look at you, you’re covered in sewer water! You’re hurt! Eddie, that’s gonna get infected! You’re so dirty!”

He’s shaking his head and looking away, trying to convince himself that she’s not real while she speaks but he notices a change in her voice when she says the last word. The tone goes from worried and panicked to accusatory and mocking. Slowly, he looks back at her.

Except his wife is no longer there. Standing in her place is his mother, the way she looked before she got sick. Despite the fact that by the time he stopped growing, he was slightly taller than her, she seems to tower over him. He realizes that the dark room they’re standing in has taken the shape of the living room in his childhood home.

“Dirty. That’s what you are. That’s what you’ve always been. You’re friends just make it worse. Especially that Tozier boy. He’s the dirtiest of them all and I think he’s been a bad influence on you. Made you sick like him.”

“That’s not true, don’t talk about him like that that’s not true!” He’s starting to wish he hadn’t burned his inhaler.

She’s sneering at him. His mother would get like this sometimes when she was in particularly bad moods, but it was rare. She usually preferred for her methods of manipulation to be more subtle. Guilt-tripping was her favorite. But as a teenager, he started to grow used to the way she would use her tears as a weapon and some days he refused to let them work on him. That’s when she got mean. He learned that maybe the tears were the better option.

“Yes, it is, Eddie-bear! You just can’t see what he’s done to you.” She switches to her worried voice, as she so often would after she got mean. It was all because she was worried, she didn’t mean it, she always promised. He was foolish enough to believe her more times than he’s proud of.

“That’s why you need your mother to protect you, to keep you from getting sicker than you already are. You think any of those friends of yours will want to touch you when they know what sickness you actually have?”

“Shut up!” He yells out, louder than he was expecting. His heart is pounding harder than before. He wants to curl up into himself and close his eyes until she goes away, but something makes him stay strong.

You’re braver than you think.

“Eddie... how could you talk to your mother like that? I love you and this is how you treat me? I always said you would leave me and I was right! You don’t deserve all I do for you!”

A part of him wants to apologize. He knows she’s not real but there’s still a reflex in him to stop and comfort her, assure her that he loves her too and tell her that he appreciates everything she’s done for him. And god, if that isn’t the most fucked up, backwards feeling.

“You’re right! I don’t deserve it. I never did.” She flinches back. The sight makes him gain more confidence.

“You manipulated me, you lied to me, and I.... I didn’t deserve it! You told me I was sick, dirty, tainted, made me feel weak, and the worst thing about it is that I believed you! But the truth is, I’m not. I know I’m capable of being brave.”

With every word, he feels like a weight he didn’t even know existed was being lifted off of his chest. He never got to say all of this to her before she died, he never even let himself think it most days, and he felt guilty when he did. But getting to say it now felt freeing, whether she was real or not.

“Eddie, please-“

“No, you’ve said enough. I loved you, Ma, I did. In your weird, fucked up way, I know you loved me too and maybe you genuinely did think you were doing what was right for me. But I’m so, so tired of your voice controlling how I think of myself. I’m tired of hearing your voice in my wife’s mouth! I’m tired of feeling like who I am, who I really am, is wrong because of the shit you told me as a kid. I’m tired of the look you would give me every time I would hang out with Richie. I’m tired of my skin crawling when I stare at him for too long. I’m tired of feeling like I need to take a shower after touching his skin. I’m tired of the guilt I feel when I realize I want to touch him again anyway. So I’m not gonna let you control me from the grave and I’m not gonna run from myself anymore, I’m gay!”

He pauses for a moment, taking in what he just admitted. What he had barely been able to admit to himself before.

“Holy shit. I’m gay. Yeah.” And then he laughs. It’s a little hysterical, but more than anything he feels relieved. He said it. He’s gay, and that doesn’t make him sick.

But then his mother’s frown turns into a wicked smile, and when she bares her teeth, they’re sharp. Her features slowly become more horrific, and he watches in terror until she, or It, lunges at him.

His body reacts before his mind and the next thing he knows, he’s yanking the fence post out of the chest of the nightmare version of his mother. The room changes back to the damp tunnel walls. It stumbles back and then vanishes down one of the other tunnels.

He stands there alone for another moment to process what just happened. Despite everything, he smiles to himself. What does it say about you if facing off with a shape-shifting demon could be one of the most cathartic moments of your life?

Snapping back to himself, he grips onto the fence post again and heads in the other direction to find Richie again. Which reminds him, he still has one other important thing he needs to get off his chest. But first, it’s time to kill that fucking clown once and for all.

#eddie kaspbrak #reddie #it chapter two #it films #reddie fic #i mean kinda its mostly eddie idk how else to tag it tho lol #my writing #long post #if the read more doesnt work i guess #reblogs are much appreciated

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blouisparadise · 5 years

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There were so many amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Bound (To Falling in Love) | Mature | 958 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #2 on this list.

Harry and Louis innocently cuddle on the couch until things get heated.

2) Nuh Uh, Honey | Mature | 1170 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #1 on this list.

So this is the ending of Bound (to falling in love) but with more detail. Long story short, Louis and Harry fuck.

3) 100ft Away | Explicit | 2479 words

Harry opens Grindr for a hookup and ends up with more than he bargained for. It all works out in the end.

4) I'm Looking for Closure | Not Rated | 2503 words

Note: This fic is the third part of a series. You can read the previous parts here.

“Say you can read my mind.” Harry said to Louis as he pushed Louis down onto the mattress. Louis squirmed as the covers rubbed against his skin.

“I can’t read your mind.” He said simply to Harry as he reached up to put his hands against Harry’s chest, trailing them down to Harry’s narrow hips.

“My mind is saying that I should just… just fucking go back in time. Go back so I could be your first.” Harry said, leaning down to lick into Louis’ hot mouth.

Or They finally fuck, sorry, I mean, make love.

5) The IT Fic | Mature | 3112 words

A fic where Harry is Pennywise & Louis is Georgie... Louis goes down to the sewers & Harry fucks him with a balloon as a condom.

aka a pwp that i wrote for shits and giggles. & yes, louis is of age

6) Souls | Mature | 3890 words

The first time Harry showed Louis two ghosts.

7) The Unfinished Fic (With an Ending) | Not Rated | 4013 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

Louis greatly regretted all of his life decisions up to this point. Okay fine, maybe not all of them, but definitely a vast majority. After all, if he’d not told one little white lie about loving cricket just to impress a fit guy at the pub, maybe he wouldn’t be stuck at what was, one hundred percent, the most boring “sporting” event of his entire life.

8) Save You Tonight | Mature | 4841 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

Louis is a headstrong Omega in charge of his own life. But he's more than grateful when an Alpha comes along when he needs it the most.

9) Whisk Me Off My Feet | Explicit | 5054 words

When Louis locks himself out of his apartment in just a pair of novelty underwear, he hopes his new neighbor can come to his rescue.

10) Can You Feel the Fever | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

11) Gotta Catch 'em All | Not Rated | 5186 words

Louis loves Pokémon GO, he gets a little crazy and ends up ramming into a guy. Harry gets mad, calls him a brat and treats him like one. Oh, and they're in central park.

12) I Just Can't Get Enough Of You | Not Rated | 5466 words

Or the one were Harry got inspired from watching Louis on The Late Late Show.

13) Why Don't We Go There? | Explicit | 5654 words

Louis is a perfect model for Abercrombie & Fitch. Harry is a grungy, tattooed model for Hot Topic. When Louis walks in on Harry changing for his photo shoot, things only grow from there... including their dicks.

14) Act Out | Explicit | 6721 words

Harry and Louis try to spice it up a little for their 10th year marriage anniversary. Cliché role play ensues.

15) Life Imitating Art | Explicit | 6881 words

Note: This fic is the fourth part of a series. You can read the previous parts here.

Louis is taken on a very real journey through his fic back catalogue - life has never imitated art so salaciously.

16) You Can Show Me Your Heart | Explicit | 6935 words

Everyone knows about the unsinkable Titanic, which tragically did just that in April of 1912. However, not many people know the story of the Carpathia - the ship that raced to rescue and aid the survivors of the Titanic when the distress call came through. This is the story of the events leading up to the luxury liner crashing into an iceberg on that fateful spring night. More than that, this is the story of how two of Carpathia’s passengers - Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson - met, fell in love and helped over 700 people in the cold Atlantic water.

17) Kisses and Coffee Breaks | Explicit | 9350 words

Midterm season was finally here and all Harry wanted to do was study, however his boyfriend, Louis, seems to have a better idea.

or the one where Harry just wants to study and Louis needs Harry's cock.

18) Swallow The Knife (Outtake) | Explicit | 11186 words

Note: This is an alternative scene to fic #25 on this fic rec.

Alternate sex scene from Swallow The Knife.

19) We've Been Here Before | Mature | 11536 words

Harry goes to Louis in the wake of his sister Felicite's death, and Louis asks Harry to help him clean up a family cabin he is ready to get rid of. Along the way, they attempt to heal many things, even those that they thought were long past.

20) With Words Unspoken | Explicit | 18341 words

The one where Louis is lost, Harry is an excellent tour guide, and age is no barrier to finding the love of your life.

21) The Aurora Zone | Explicit | 19633 words

The one where Harry is busy crossing off his bucket list while Louis is busy falling for the guy he's supposed to hate.

22) Be Mine, Dear | Not Rated | 20104 words

The one where Louis just wants to meet his mate, and all it takes is for him to get a new neighbor.

23) Deflower Me | Explicit | 20154 words

Everyone is 19 and horny, and Louis just really wants to get fucked by Harry.

24) You Are Half Of Me (And I Am All For You) | Explicit | 24731 words

Note: This fic has a mention of BH.

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia.

Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he?

Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

25) You Are In My Bed, But Your Heart Isn't | Not Rated | 25595 words

Rock Band AU. Louis is an omega who fucks around, doesn't know the meaning of "feelings" until he starts crawling into Harry's bed at night. Harry gets jealous easily and they all write a lot of songs about each other.

26) Play Me A Memory | Explicit | 26932 words

Louis lives with his nine-year-old son Jake in a peaceful beachside community on the east coast of Australia, working as an entertainment coordinator at the local five-star resort. Harry is a recluse who lives on millionaires row and writes musical scores for blockbuster movies. When the roots of a wayward willow tree create havoc at his home, Harry is forced to stay at the resort while repairs are carried out.

27) Book Worm | Explicit | 37018 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

“Dad said this is his very favourite place to go,” Leon divulged, much to Louis' embarrassment.

“Did he?” Harry's olive eyes flicked to Louis, lips quirking in a way that didn’t match his beige cardigan.

“Yeah and he said you have the best books. May I look?” He asked, smiling winningly.

Leon had inherited Louis' blue eyes and his mother's dark hair, his smile quickly becoming a replica of his father's.

“You may,” Harry permitted and Louis set Leon down.

“Don’t destroy anything,” he instructed. “And if you so much as crease a page then bring it to the till because I’m going to have to pay for it...”

Leon raced straight to the back of the shop and threw himself onto the beanbag seat front first.

“I put the Kama Sutra back on the top shelf, by the way,” Harry told him with a dimpled smile. “You left it by the Hungry Caterpillar.”

28) Waiting for the Tides to Meet | Explicit | 59637 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

29) Swallow The Knife | Explicit | 76168 words

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

30) There You Are | Explicit | 82237 words

Note: This fic has a mention of BH.

Harry’s entire life has fallen apart - in one night, his carefully planned future is suddenly uncertain.

Then he meets Louis.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

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sunlightsshadow · 5 years

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IT RETURNS

Chapter 1

(dreams/scenes in the void/”dark place” in italics)

Derry Maine

3rd person pov

Everything was over They defeated IT (at least for another 27 years)and had found Georgie after deciding to explore the caverns a bit more he had been in pretty bad shape but he would live and Bill had wept again; though this time it wasn’t out of sadness or fear, it was out of happiness because he had been right and his baby brother was alive. When they had gotten back to town Bill carrying his baby brother in his arms all of them soaked in blood and sewer water the first thing they did was take Georgie to the hospital and then the hospital called Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough to tell them that their son was alive. The losers had made sure to be gone by the time they got there, except for Bill of course who had only left his brothers side when they took him in for surgery to clean up his arm.

The only time Bill left Georgie’s side after his parents had gotten there was when he was forced to go home. Except he didn’t he couldn't go back to that empty house knowing his brother was alive, so he stayed with stan. After Georgie had gotten out of the hospital all the losers gathered to take one giant group picture, That had been the second happiest day of Bill’s life (the first being when Georgie was born of course)and none of the losers couldn’t have been happier.

Fast forward two years and they ’re in Highschool now and Mike was even going to school with them now; they had somehow convinced his grandfather to let him go to high school with the rest of the losers. Now with the seven of them together some people were slightly intimidated by them but others couldn't care less about their numbers they were all still losers and that meant that must be weak (no one knew how strong they truly were) so they still got picked on. Other than that they were all extremely happy not hafting to deal with (or remember really) the murderous thing they had come to call IT. All of this is why it’s a shock for one Eddie Kaspbrak when Richie Tozier (or Trashmouth as he’s more commonly known by his friends) crawled through his window one night with tears in his eyes. “God Richie, what’s wrong?” Richie just shook it off with a joke like always “Nothing’s wrong Ed’s just came for your mom and thought I’d stop by and see you first.” He saw right through Richie’s facade “Shut up Richie.” It was July no one Beeped Richie in July, The first Time someone did it after Neibolt he stopped talking for at least a week it felt like an eternity to the rest of the losers though. “And don’t call me Ed’s, now tell me what’s wrong.”

Richie gave him a small smile “Oh you know the usual my dad’s a piece of shit ma’s drunk, oh here’s something new; I have a brother!” He said he semi loudly but he was crying, whether he was sad or overly frustrated Eddie didn’t know but he was determined to make the other boy feel better. “You, you have a what?” he sniffed and smiled again, it was still fake “A brother, a twin to be exact, I don’t know his name, I don’t know anything about him actually, except he’s 16 and we share a birthday.” He was still crying when Eddie hugged him and spoke again. “It’s alright Richie, I may not understand but I know you’ll be okay. Now I’ll go get you some food you stay here.” Richie’s smile became slightly more genuine then “Alright Eds, Thanks.” and for once Eddie didn’t reprimand him for the nickname

When Eddie got back with the sandwich Richie was relaxed on his bed but Eddie knew he wasn’t asleep “Hey Rich I got you a sandwich I know it’s not much but-” Rich cut him off “No Ed’s it’s perfect.” Richie quickly ate the sandwich with Eddie sitting next to him and when he was done it didn’t take long for either by to fall asleep.

When Richie opened his eyes he was somewhere dark, it felt like he was standing on water, (like the feeling before you actually put your foot in the water) and Eddie was nowhere to be seen “EDDIE?” he shouted to no avail “ED’S WHERE ARE YOU?!” he started running that is Until he saw a girl “Mike?” She asked, “N-no I’m Richie, who’re you?” She looked surprised “I’m Jane, Mike calls me El, though.” she-Jane, er, El- said with a smile on her face “Well Jane, can you tell me where we are?” Her expression darkened slightly “The dark place.” He frowned, confused. “Alright, well do you know how to get out of here?” She shook her head “Alright then, Who’s this Mike who I apparently look like?” She smiled again “He-” she was cut off by another voice- one Richie hoped never to hear again-”Hiya Richie, how’s little Georgie?” The way he said Either name was sickening He turned to look at the horrible thing that was IT “Y-you, we-we killed you, you’re not real!” IT smiled IT’s horrible clown smile “I was real then, and I’m real now.” dread filled Richie’s stomach “I-I’m not afraid of you.” “Yes you are, and look, little Eleven is scared to.” Pennywise pointed one of it’s-horribly, terrifyingly- long fingers at El and Richie turned to her, she was white as a sheet-she screamed. And then Richie did too right as IT grabbed ahold of his throat “Beep Beep Richie.”

Richie shot up with a scream and Eddie was already up with a worried look on his face “Richie, what’s wrong?” Richie could feel the sweat on his back as he struggled to form the words “I-it’s back.” Eddie looked confused “what’s back Richie?” Richie looked Eddie dead in the eyes “P-pennywise, IT’s back.” Eddie paled “W-we need to call bill.” Richie's eyes widened (though Eddie didn't think that was possible.) “N-no not call him, we need to go there, IT hasn’t forgotten about Georgie.” “Alright, then off to the Denbrough house we go.”

It didn’t take long to get to the Denbrough house with how fast they were peddling on their bikes. When they got there Richie wasted no time getting to the door, It was the two boy’s parents date night and so Bill was in charge of Georgie and answered the door quickly “Richie, Eddie, Wh-wah-what’s wrong?” He had instantly noticed the panic on both of their faces. “IT’s back.” Eddie had been the one to say it-Richie had explained the dream to Eddie and was now finding it particularly hard to speak. Bill paled and ran back inside while the two boys followed.

Bill’s pov

He had to make sure Georgie was okay, something about hearing that, that thing, was back made him have a need to check on his precious baby brother, when he saw he was still inside watching cartoons he breathed a sigh of relief he turned to the other two Losers in the room “C-call the O-oth-ther-others, tell-the-them that IT’s b-b-back, I’m Going to stay here with Georgie.” Both boys nodded and ran off to the nearest phone.

3rd person pov

Four phone calls later six of the seven losers were in the Denbrough household and bev had been notified saying she would take be on the next train back to Derry. They were all taking a moment to calm down revealing in the fact that Georgie was there and for a moment they were safe when suddenly Richie felt an almost piercing head in his head before. Suddenly he was back in the place he only knew as “the dark place.” only this time he wasn’t alone there was a boy who looked exactly like him, only he didn't have glasses. “W-who are you?” he was still struggling to find his voice. “I’m mike

This is the first chapter of my Fanfic IT returns which has five chapters on Ao3 (a link to the first chapter on there at the top)

if you wanna be tagged when this updates (once a week until i’ve posted all five chapters and then whenever I get one done) then message me and I will!

#it 2017 #richie toizer #Eddie Kaspbrak #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #georgie denbrough #stan uris #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #pennywise #stranger things #Mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #Dustin #I cant remember his last name oops #El #Will byers #Nancy wheeler #hopper

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jakkosisle · 6 years

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The Battle For Lordaeron: Part I - Battleplans

War horns echoed through Orgrimmar for the umpteenth time, summoning every able-bodied champion, adventurer, hero, mercenary, or miscellaneous within earshot to Grommash Hold. An ocean away, the Undercity was under attack. In retaliation for the burning of Teldrassil, a massive Alliance fleet had landed on Lordaeron’s northern shores, deadset on dethroning the Banshee Queen once and for all. Thus, Sylvanas is calling on every champion of the Horde to rush to the Undercity’s defense, for it is not only her seat of power and a crucial Horde foothold in the Eastern Kingdoms, it is the home to the Forsaken - a pillar of the Horde for years.

The line outside Grommash Hold was long. Everyone had a different reason for answering the warchief’s call. Some were genuinely loyal to Sylvanas, seeing her as worthy of the mantle. Others were loyal to the Forsaken, if not Sylvanas herself - the Forsaken had proven their commitment to the Horde time and time again, so many viewed it as only honorable to return the favor. And some were just happy to finally have an excuse to do away with all this “greater good” nonsense and just smash some Alliance skulls.

It was in this line that Jakko, Spritzie and Soozee Boomsprocket found themselves standing. Being champions of the Horde themselves (seems like the word “champion” has a loose definition these days), they too answered the call.

“Still can’t believe this is actually happening.” the goblin-raised troll druid (yeah, it’s a long story) muttered to himself as he looked up and down the line of Horde volunteers, which seemed to extend all the way into the Drag. “First Teldrassil burns down, now this.”

“You sound surprised that Alliance and Horde are fighting again.” Soozee observed.

“Well yeah, but usually it’s just a glorified slapfight over resources in some box canyon in the middle of nowhere, or somethin’ stupid like that.” Jakko explained. “But this? A capital city burns down and another one is under a massive attack? Shit hasn’t gotten this bad since the Siege of Orgrimmar.”

“Worse, actually.” Soozee replied matter-of-factly. “After the Siege, the Alliance allowed us to keep our city. I doubt they’re going to show us that kindness a second time.”

Jakko scoffed. “Fuck, man. We didn’t even wait for the Legion’s corpses to get cold before we started going at each other’s throats again. Then again, I should’ve seen this comin’, with Queen Bitch as our warchief.” Jakko commented.

“Hey!” said a Forsaken in front of the siblings. “Show a little respect to your warchief, dog!”

“Bite me, deader!” Jakko snarled. The Forsaken stomped over to the troll, but a tauren stepped in.

“Alright, break it up!” he said. “Save it for the Alliance.” With that, tenuous order returned to the line.

“Hey Jakko - if you hate Sylvanas so much, why you even in this line?” Spritzie asked. “I mean, technically, everyone here is a volunteer. You don’t really HAVE to rush to Lordaeron’s defense, yanno.”

“I’m not stupid, Spritz.” Jakko replied. “I know I’ve got a dog in this fight. If the Horde goes down, we go down.” He was at the Siege, all those years ago. He remembered Varian’s promise - that if the Horde failed to uphold honor, the Alliance would end them. After Teldrassil, he had no doubt that Anduin was planning to make good on his father’s promise.

He smirked at his baby sister. “Besides, you’re goin’. And someone’s gotta watch your back.”

A few years ago, Spritzie would’ve smiled at that. But not this time. She gave Jakko an oddly neutral look, then turned her eyes back toward the front of the line, barely even acknowledging the troll. Spritzie had been like this for a while now, ever since the Legion War started. She’d grown more distant, more prone to running off on her own, rather than faithfully stick by Jakko’s side like she used to. He wondered if it had something to do with Rikko’s death. He remembered that it hit her hard.

Slowly but surely, the line would move forward. Each volunteer champion was quickly assessed for battle readiness before being let through the portal to Undercity. The three siblings were well-equipped for battle. Jakko was wearing his usual leather gear, decorated with tiger’s claws and teeth, his two druidic swords strapped to his back. He sat atop his hippogryph, Stoneheart, who stoically kept its eyes facing forward.

Spritzie was dressed in her tight mail gear (which showed way too much skin in Jakko’s opinion) and was carrying her shotgun that she’d been using since Argus, as well as a small army of beasts, which took up a large portion of the line, much to the chagrin of other Horde champions in the line. The largest of which was her jade cloud serpent, Spritzie Jr., who she raised herself from an egg during her time in Pandaria.

Finally, Soozee was dressed in her signature “Void Suit”, and armed with a dagger/taser/thingy strapped to her belt as well as her void detector. She sat in the driver’s seat of a large mech that she had dubbed “The Void Buster.” Yet another product of her mad experiments with the Void. Speaking of which…

“You sure you’re gonna need that void detector, Soo?” Jakko asked. “Don’t see how much good it’ll do in the middle of a battle.”

“If certain rumors are to be believed, then trust me, this detector will DEFINITELY come in handy.” Soozee cryptically replied.

Jakko sighed as the line moved, Grommash Hold getting closer and closer. He didn’t really know how this day was going to end, but he knew one thing for sure - he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his sisters.

The first thing that Marbelma noticed was the smoke, which hit her nostrils like a steam tank. Tirisfal’s shoreline defenses fell quickly, and it was easy to see why - the beach was littered with black, smoking craters, as was much of the land further inland. As the Alliance landing force marched towards Brill, she looked up to Roniaar, her adopted uncle (yeah, it’s a long story), who was riding by her side.

“So, we came here to liberate Lordaeron, yes?” he asked.

“Aye.” Marbelma replied. A nearby farmhouse, ruined by bombardment, suddenly collapsed into a massive pile of bricks and wood.

“Then why does it look like we’re destroying Lordaeron more than anything?” the draenei asked.

“Lordaeron was destroyed a long time ago.” Marbelma argued. “It’s a rotten old house that needs to be torn down before we can build something new.”

“Hm.” Roniaar hummed. Tygoon, the wind drake he rode, huffed as it made its away across the ruined land, anxious from something brewing in the air. Marbelma’s hippogryph, Cinderwing, ruffled its feathers, scattering embers to the wind, as it got nervous. All of the mounts knew that battle was drawing near.

They eventually arrived in Brill. The Forsaken Town was almost entirely bombed out, the landing force having made a command post out of the town’s ruins. The statue of Sylvanas Windrunner that once stood proudly in the town square was now in pieces all over the ground. “We move out in twenty!” a worgen commander cried out. The group split up to make their final, last-minute preparations. Marbelma and Roniaar spotted a familiar face in the crowd, standing near a table filled with weapons, rations and other supplies, and directed their mounts towards him.

“Hey kids.” the void elf greeted as his two fellow Servitors approached. He was dressed in purple leather armor, bone-like spikes mounted on his shoulder pads and the lower half of his face obscured by a mask made from shal’dorei silk - a souvenir from his time on the Broken Isles, no doubt. Strapped to his belt was a pair of evil-looking daggers - straight edged with tips at the end, making the blades effective at both stabbing and chopping. But what really made the blades unnerving was they constantly exuded a strange, purple mist.

“Tendalel.” Marbelma curtly agreed. “How did the recon mission go?”

“Not great.” Tendalel said as he spilled out the contents of a sack on the table - the severed head of a night elf. “I tried to tell him. I told him ‘Look, buddy, I used to be a blood elf, I used to make business trips to the Undercity every other weekend, so I KNOW FOR A FACT that the Apothecarium is THIS WAY.’ But no, he told me to shut up, called me a void-addled abomination, and then lead the entire team into the Magic Quarter where Horde reinforcements were portaling in by the hundreds, and got himself decapitated by a big angry orc.”

He picked up the severed head and looked into its dead eyes. “You see what happens? You see what happens when you don’t listen to your good friend Ten?”

“Wow. Guess you could say he lost his head in there.” Roniaar quipped.

“Roniaar, a man died.” Marbelma deadpanned.

“Basically, that operation is officially FUBAR.” Tendalel said as he casually tossed the head over his shoulder. “Undercity is crawling with Horde now. Sending anymore SI:7 down there would be suicide.”

“Were you at least able to sabotage anything?” Marbelma asked.

The rogue shrugged. “I smashed a few important-looking bottles on my way out, but that’s about it.”

“So it seems we’ll have to win this fight on the surface, then.” Roniaar concluded. “Storm the ruins of Capital City.”

“What about the sewers?” Marbelma asked. “Can’t we get into the Undercity that way? It’s how Varian got in last time the Alliance was here.”

“No dice.” Tendalel said. “The Forsaken collapsed the entrance to the sewer tunnel long before we even got here. It would take days to dig through all that. Days we don’t have.” he turned and pointed to the Ruins of Lordaeron. “Everything that’s gonna happen today is gonna happen within THOSE walls.”

The void elf then walked away. He climbed atop his sable ruin strider, a purple talbuk courtesy of the Argussian Reach. “Where are you goin’?” Marbelma asked.

“Debriefing and hopefully heading back home - SI:7’s done all it can do for this battle. Good luck, kids! You’re gonna need it!” Tendalel called before he snapped the reins and the talbuk trotted forward.

“Take care of yourself, Shadestep.” Marbelma said. “It’s what you’re good at.”

“I’m VERY good at it, thank you for noticing!” Tendalel replied, choosing to take the insult as a complement as the talbuk disappeared into the crowd.

Marbelma turned her angry gaze to the ruins of Lordaeron City, where the Horde was holed up. She then looked around and watched as the Alliance constructed siege towers, tuned up the steam tanks, and sharpened their blades. She heard her shaman companion sigh. “After Pandaria, I had hoped that Alliance and Horde would never again clash like this.” he opined.

“The peace was never destined to last.” Marbelma opined right back. “Don’t let your feelings cloud your judgement, Roniaar.”

“My feelings aren’t-“

“Bullshit.” Marbelma cussed. “I know about your old orc girlfriend.”

Roniaar looked at Marbelma, shocked. “How did-“

“Rhyliaandra told me a while back.” Marbelma said.

Roniaar grimaced at the dwarf. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“You and some Shadowmoon shaman start shaggin’ back when you were a Rangari, she disappears one day, and the Horde start their war with the draenei not long after.” Marbelma said. “I miss anything?”

Roniaar had no response. He just turned his gaze to the gates to the Undercity. “Aw, what’s wrong? Afraid ye might have to fight yer old girlfriend today?” Marbelma taunted.

“She’s gone.” Roniaar darkly replied. “I’ve looked. In Kalimdor, in Outland, no one knows what happened to her since those dark days. She probably died a long time ago.”

Roniaar turned his gaze back on Marbelma and gave her a withering look that surprised her. All her life, she had known Roniaar as nothing but happy-go-lucky, so the sight of him angry like this was…unnerving. “Do not mistake my lamentations for hesitation…or weakness.”

With that, he puled the reins on his drake, and the two parted ways for the moment. Marbelma scoffed. “Whatever.” Roniaar’s problem was that he was an idealist - someone who still believed, despite all the atrocities that happened, that peace could still exist between Alliance and Horde.

Daelin Proudmoore said it best. Peace is like a dream. Beautiful. Ephemeral. Unobtainable.

And eventually, you gotta wake the hell up.

One portal jump later, the Boomsprockets found themselves in the Undercity. They were immediately hit by the stench of death - not the regular, slightly undeath that was the Undercity’s usual scent, but rather fresh death. The death of the living. The floors were stained with freshly-spilled blood. “They already got into the Undercity?” Jakko asked.

“SI:7 did.” one of the death guards replied. “The majority of them have already been routed. Undercity is secure for now, but the bulk of the Alliance forces are still above us.”

“They’ve taken Brill.” another death guard added. “They’ll be moving on the city soon.”

“Damn…” Jakko breathed. They were really walking into the heat of battle here.

The Boomsprockets stood in a crowd of Horde volunteers in the magic quarter, champions who answered the Dark Lady’s call, and were separated into different battle groups. A Forsaken death knight stood before the assembled group.

“Greetings.” he began, his death charger huffing. “I am Commander Johriah Lawrence. On behalf of the Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, I thank you all for coming in the Forsaken’s hour of need. Your bravery today will neither go forgotten or unrewarded.”

He dismounted and motioned for a pair of death guards to bring over a table. He placed a map on the table, a map of the Ruins of Lordaeron and the surrounding Tirisfal Glades, the Boomsprockets realized as they gathered around for a closer look.

“Alright.” Commander Lawrence began. “You’ll all be on the first line of defense. Here, in front of the main gate. You’ll be meeting the Alliance head-on.” he said, pointing to the spot on the map. Several Horde soldiers smiled and chuckled at the notion of spilling human blood. “Should the line fall, you’ll withdraw back into the city.”

“Won’t the Alliance pursue us?” one tauren archer, Highmountain judging by his antlers, asked.

“That’s what the blight’s for.” Lawrence answered. “We’ll bombard the Alliance lines with blight to cover your retreat. We won’t have enough gas masks to go around though, so we strongly advise keeping your faces covered once we start blighting the area.”

An agonized scream echoed through the halls of the Undercity. “What was that?” a nightborne warmage asked.

“Just another SI:7 that got caught, pay no mind to it.” Lawrence casually answered. “Now, the hope is that the blight alone will deter the Alliance enough to call off their siege, but in the unlikely event they somehow get past the blight, we’re looking at two possibilities.”

He gestured to the entire northern wall. “First scenario, they try to break through the main gate, seeking the most direct route to the Banshee Queen’s throne. This would be foolish of them, of course, because the palace gardens is where the bulk of our forces will be gathering. More likely, they’ll seek to punch a hole in the walls on either side of the gate, entering into either the west or the east sides of the city. In either case, they would have to pass through here…”

He pointed to a large open space on the south side of the ruins. “The Southern Courtyard. Should the Alliance breach our defenses, that will be our first rally point. That is where we will make our stand.”

“And if we get overwhelmed there?” Spritzie asked, speaking up for the first time since the Boomsprockets arrived.

“Same as the front line - we fall back, blighting the area as we go.” Lawrence answered. He pointed to the fountain area, just in front of the Lordaereon Palace. “Second rally point here.”

“And then?” Jakko asked.

“…I don’t know.” Lawrence said. “All I was told was that we’re to wait there for further orders.”

“Which is code for ‘you’re fucked, good luck.’” Jakko huffed. This notion generated a few worried murmurs among the other Horde soldiers present. “This plan is bullshit.”

“Hey.” replied an offended tauren.

“You know what I mean!” Jakko snapped. “With all these back-up plans, it almost sounds like Sylvanas is EXPECTIN’ us to lose!”

“Fair point.” Lawrence said. “Change of plans, everyone. We’re all going to abandon our numerous contingencies and defensible positions and instead charge head-first into the waiting jaws of the invading forces all at once. Nothing could go wrong.” The death knight’s roasting earned some chuckles and even a few laughs at Jakko’s expense, which left the druid fuming.

“In all seriousness, I will concede that this battle plan is a risky one.” Lawrence said once the laughter died down. “Should the line fall, which it hopefully won’t, we would have to blight the area surrounding the city, effectively trapping ourselves. And if they somehow make it past the blight, which they hopefully won’t, our plan would then be to essentially invite the Alliance into our midst. A lot can go wrong. All of that said, we do have one advantage.”

Dramatic pause. “We are the Horde.” he simply said. Those words were enough to elicit an eruption of cheers from the unit. Nodding with satisfaction, Lawrence rolled up the map. “You all know where the elevators are. Make for the palace garden and wait for your cues there. For the Horde.”

“FOR THE HORDE!”

As the crowd of Horde began making for the center ring where the elevators were, they passed several Alliance corpses on the way. Jakko pulled on Stoneheart’s reigns as he noticed the nature of one of the corpses. The purple skin and long ears made it obvious that she was a night elf, but what really surprised him was her garb - long robes made of wood and leather. She was a druid.

A druid much like him. She was even a feral druid like he was, judging by the daggers still clutched in her hands.

Lawrence trotted up to Jakko’s side and nodded to the corpse. “Friend of yours?” he asked. Apparently, he could tell that Jakko was a druid.

“…Maybe.” Jakko replied. The night elf didn’t really look that familiar, but it was entirely possible that, just a year prior, they were fighting side-by-side against the Legion.

“Well, I hope you don’t have any other night elf friends. We can’t have you hesitating today.” the death knight said. “The Burning Legion is defeated and the truce is over. It’s back to basics.”

“…Guess so” Jakko said as the commander walked off. He considered the corpse for only a few more seconds before following the rest of the crowd.

He was able to catch up with his two sisters and board the same elevator as them. They soon emerged into the courtyard of Lordaeron, the harsh sunlight above nearly blinding them after they were underground just a little too long. The courtyard teemed with activity, crawling with Horde soldiers and mercenaries of every race and creed.

And off to the side, on top of a ledge, Jakko caught a glimpse of them. The leaders of the Horde. Saurfang, Bloodhoof, Theron, all surrounding the ‘Warchief’ Sylvanas, most likely discussing where to best place their defenses.

Jakko was skeptical of Sylvanas, to say the least. He’d been skeptical of her since the Cataclysm, when she first started raising her army of undead. Why Vol’jin used his dying breath to name HER of all people his successor was still one of the great unsolved mysteries of the Horde. Something about a vision from the spirits.

It made him wonder if maybe the Drakkari had the right idea - eating their gods and all.

Off on the other side of the courtyard was a mechanical monstrosity. It vaguely resembled a Horde Demolisher, but was much bigger, much more heavily armored, and seemed to somehow exude power. Jakko knew that power almost immediately - enough to make him pull his reigns on his hippogryph and stop. He had been in Silithus long enough to know that power very well.

“Is there azerite in that thing?” Jakko asked.

“Yes. You can feel the power from here, can’t you?” Johriah asked in turn. “It’s a prototype - a war machine unlike any that has come before. And according to the engineers, it’s just a small taste of what we can do with azerite…”

Something on the side of the war machine sparked and exploded, sending the goblins crewing the machine into a tizzy. One of them tried to put out a blue fire with a fire extinguisher. “Behold, the future of war.” Jakko deadpanned.

“…Growing pains.” was the only excuse Johriah could offer. “Are there any engineers among-“

The death knight didn’t even finish his sentence before Soozee hopped out of her mech and stomped over to the war machine. “You idiots! You misaligned the internal circuitry! Haven’t you ever worked on a demolisher before?!”

The goblins all shrugged. Soozee groaned and immediately started barking orders, which the other goblins took to following. “Ah, I see she’s on top of things.” Johriah observed. “The Dark Lady wants the war machine ready for combat within the hour!” he shouted. Soozee gave him a silent thumbs up before going back to work.

Jakko remembered how Soozee used to be before the Twilight Highlands - how she had once been a tough-talking engineer and leader of a tank crew. It was rare to catch a glimpse of the old Soozee like this. Even better, working on the war machine should keep Soozee off the front lines - at least for now.

“Joe!” cried a female voice. Jakko looked and saw a female Forsaken wearing leather gear and goggles came running over to the death knight. “I haven’t seen you since Stormheim! Good to see ya!”

“Ah, Dread-Rider Cullen. Likewise.” the death knight replied. “Any updates from the Alliance?”

“Nothing yet.” Cullen replied. “Outside of the occasional scout, they’re all still in Brill.”

“Curious. Thought they would’ve made their move by now.”

“That’s the good news - it doesn’t look like they’re ready to begin their siege yet, so we’ve still got time to set up our defenses.”

“And the bad?”

“We spotted more ships landing on the northern shore - hundreds of Alliance soldiers are still funneling in. When they finally decide to hit us, it’s gonna hurt.”

“So that’s why they haven’t attacked yet. They’re STILL gathering strength…” Johriah opined. “Can’t be helped. At least we still have home field advantage.”

Cullen looked over Lawrence’s group of volunteers. “I see some of your guys have flying mounts. We’re about to make a bombing run on Brill - don’t suppose you’d be willing to spare a few flyers?”

“Of course, my lady.” the death knight said with a bow.

“Aw, you’re still a charmer, Joe.” Cullen replied with a raspy chuckle.

“Horde!” Johriah Lawrence barked. “The good lady is requesting volunteers with flying mounts to join in her bombing run. Who among you will join her?”

Several Horde volunteers stepped forward, sporting mounts ranging from wyverns to drakes to cloud serpents.

Like the one Spritzie was riding, as she was one of those who volunteered. “Spritz, what are you doing?” Jakko asked.

“Volunteering for the bombing run.” Spritzie asked. “Duh.”

“You’re gonna be a target out there!” Jakko hissed. “You think the Alliance don’t have AA guns?”

“I was gonna be a target today no matter what.” Spritzie replied. “Come on, Jakko - if I can handle the Burning Legion, I’m pretty sure I can handle a bunch of drunk dwarves.”

Jakko growled in frustration with his sister’s inability to properly calculate the risks. He stepped forward, volunteering for the bombing run as well. Someone had to watch Spritzie’s back up there.

“Alrighty, looks like you’re all under MY command now!” Cullen shouted as she whistled for her bat. “Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll bring most of them back in one piece.”

Once Cullen hopped aboard her bat, she flew up to one of the higher towers of Lordaeron City, the volunteer bombers flying close behind. There, combat engineers, again mostly goblins, were attaching bombs to flying mounts, some of them being less than cooperative. A Forsaken engineer began affixing the bombs to Jakko’s hippogryph, about a half-dozen or so iron balls with pull-pins. “Alright, to drop the bombs you just pull this-“

“I know how bombs work, pal.” Jakko said. Having been raised by goblins, Jakko knew explosives far more intimately than most trolls. “Surprised these are just regular bombs though - ain’t we using blight?”

The engineer scoffed. “Damn apothecaries are being stingy with the stuff. Says they need it for one of their ‘contingency plans.’ So you’ll be bombing the Alliance the old fashioned way.”

“Works for me.” Jakko said. He trusted good old seaforium more than the green stuff any day of the week.

“Alright - once we’re all geared up, we’re gonna make a bombing run over Brill!” Cullen called out. “The Alliance have been spotted building siege towers, so aim for those!”

Spritzie’s cloud serpent was now laden with bombs, along with Jakko’s hippogryph. “Okay, everybody ready? One, two, three, for the Horde!”

“FOR THE HORDE!”

With that, the riders poured out of the tower like a nightmare, making a beeline for Brill.

#Jakko #Marbelma #Spritzie #Roniaar #Soozee #Tendalel #World of Warcraft #Wyrmrest Accord

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tossertozier · 6 years

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the film / movie / miniseries have created multiple versions of canon. i think there are lots of ways to write these characters that can be considered “canonically correct”

This is a post about the relationship between the book and the movie focused on Stan and Richie and then Eddie and Richie and the differences between the two:

what I’m really talking about here is foucault’s theory of the net of power. within it, basically it is to imagine the relationship between two people as if they are standing on a net that is stretched out. if they are relatively evenly sized, then they can maintain a balance. if someone begins to over-reach their place and amass more space on the net than they are allotted, it seems as if they have more power than the other person. in reality, they are still on the same net, and the same playing field. the other person has to allow themselves to believe that their opposite actually has more power than they do. they don’t, but if you believe they do there is very hard to recover from it. within this theory, there is equal power in relationships, because if someone is manipulating a relationship, you have to allow them to.

there are big, overlooked differences between book and movie richie but that’s another post so I’m just gonna talk about similar things for him. richie requires, outright demands, attention. almost constantly. he gets very uncomfortable if he is not in direct attention. it, comically, reminds me of a bo burnham song about the same idea. “have you ever been to a birthday party for children, and one of the children won’t stop screaming. because he’s just a little attention attractor, when he grows up to be comic or actor he’ll be rewarded for never maturing, for never understanding or learning that every day can’t be about him there’s other people, you selfish asshole.” (Now, let me say: richie in the books <and we’ll see in the 2019 film> does in fact grow up. he just, like everyone else upon returning to Derry, begins to revert into his childhood self. he, in particular, finds it horrifying. he admits after making a particularly irritating joke about eddie that he has no idea why he said that and hadn’t thought about it all before it came out of his mouth.) anyway, this need for attention causes his loud mouth & is a hallmark in all of his relationships. but it is most noticeable in his relationship with stan and eddie.

in the book, stan and richie are friends, and teased each other, to the point it would worry their other friends. (Eddie specifically scolds richie for making fun of stans Judaism.) their net of power, so to speak, thrives on the back and forth. Their net operates like a trampoline. They jump in and out of each other’s territories, overstepping and laughing as they do so because the other will just bounce to the other side. richie irritates stan on occasion, but it’s never an issue that can’t be “bounced” back from . stan has some weird hobbies, but he’s clearly someone richie considers to have an equal amount of power to himself & their relationship operates accordingly. it’s similar to how richie sees bill. (an entire other post lol) richie doesn’t regard any of the rest of the losers, except Beverly but in a different way , again, another post) in this way until adulthood.

in the book, eddie believes he is weak. he is fighting the urge to do so as an adult who has moved out of Derry. he believes his body is incapable of fighting disease. when richie oversteps in his relationship with Eddie, eddie lets him. he never fights back in ways that would actually knock richie back into his own side of the net, and instead goes for whining that doesn’t have a lot of weight “stop, richie, I hate it when you do that.” he is much weaker in his relationship with richie, he feels like he doesn’t understand richie, but he tells the reader that regardless, he is glad to have richie around. i (me, reddie trash, about to surprise y'all) don’t necessarily consider the dynamic as children to be inherently romantically-coded. I think eddie (who I consider to be gay) behaves the way he does as a child not because of his own attraction to men, but moreso because he deeply feels the loss of a paternal figure in his life. he craves the attention and approval of the guys in his life he considers to be strong, (specifically bill) and he, while in denial about how he feels about it, will endure a lot to get the attention from richie. their relationship as kids can be read as “richie showing peacock feathers off by picking on the little one and the little one let’s him because he feels special when he does.” I think their thoughts and actions as adults truly bring context into the situation and settle it into classic “pulling on pigtails” actual flirtation. while in Derry, the losers club is perpetually immature. They question their own actions often, and have a very difficult time being honest with themselves. Without eddies death scene and events after, you miss what makes their interactions as children so relevant. which is one of the reasons I prefer the book in a lot of ways. Intermingling the storyline as adults and kids is extremely effective in IT. I genuinely believe that richie did not know his actions were in fact text book flirting until eddie grabs his face and tells him “don’t call me eds” and that that is when the dread of oh god I fucked this up, really set in. Which quickly turns to anger, at IT, yes but at the entire situation, his own immaturity, his own lack of perception. Which leads us To my favorite line of the book, where richie acts overtly violent to an already dead it because he has to leave eddies body in the sewer, and bill asks him “why did you do that” and richie responds “I don’t know,” and the narration tells us “but he knew well enough.” & naysayers will say: one line cannot make an entire relationship romantically coded. And I will say: fuck you, because richie knew well enough & so should you.

and I remain adamant that if Eddie were a girl and no other text changed, the validity of their relationship would not be questioned.

What the film has done, in the sake of time and for clear narrative, is make stan seem as if he feels powerless constantly. stan, in the book, clearly doesn’t. in fact: that’s why he doesn’t return. he was not so much terrified of IT, but terrified of returning to a place where he doesn’t feel as if he has control over the situation. what he really couldn’t handle was being filthy and not knowing where he was. however, that can be really difficult to show in a film. I’d wager that the average audience member could not pick that up unless it was spelled out for them in a narration, which I’m sure they did not want to do. To compromise, they made stan a character who is soft-spoken, and true-cut follower. he is really intolerant of antics, and as such: richie.

in the film, rather than banter back with Richie as he would in the book, he’s really rather avoidant of the relationship, or when richie oversteps. To say they are not friends, or that Stan secretly hates him, I think is a genuinely terrible generalization. However, rather than treat this net of power like something akin to a trampoline, with the two bouncing back and forth, it’s more treated like a basketball court, with a clear line down the center. Stan just does not tolerate any attempt of richies to bounce into his side. It is the sign of an insecure character. stan shuts him down, because if richie made any real attempt that was a grab at stan’s power in their relationship, stan doesn’t know if he’d be able to defend it.

however, this “bouncing” element is really essential for balancing richie out in a clear dynamic, so i believe the relationship was really handed to Eddie. eddie in the film has less so internalized the teachings of his mother, screaming at the barrens about “my MOM,” and it only takes a preteen daughter of a pharmacist to persuade him about his medication. whereas, in the book, a doctor sits him down to explain and he still relentlessly believes in his mother. he leaves, and attempts to rationalize it himself & so weakly comes to terms with the idea of placebos that he keeps taking the medication in a deal with his mother that allows him to see his friends. eddie, in the film, simply tells her they’re bullshit and leaves to see them whether she likes it or not. eddie in the film, SO MUCH more so than the book, recognizes his own power in relationships. this is with both his mother and richie. he very rarely lets richie put the last card out, but unlike movie!stan, he lets richie play the game.

while it is a common complaint that stans character traits were given to eddie, i think it can also be said that eddies character traits were given to stan. a lot of eddies character in the book is built around the idea of fragility, & disbelief in himself. it is monumentous in the book when eddie goes after the eye with his own inhaler and proceeds to stomp on it, because it was the first time eddie really had any belief in his own power. in the film, I’d say eddie already has a better relationship with himself. he willingly goes into the neibolt house, he is the first to follow bill down the well, and he seems to consider himself responsible for keeping the group together. he is the one who notices and runs to find stan, and when bill goes missing as well. in the book, it is said that eddie knows, is the only one to, how to navigate the sewers. he merely gives these directions to bill, and follows closely behind him. in fact, in the book, the role of “keeping the group together” was overwhelmingly richie. (one of the few times richie truly panics in the sewers is when they are crawling through a tunnel and eddie can only do it so quickly with a broken arm and bill crawls too far ahead, away from the group.) eddie in the film is small and asthmatic, but he believes himself to be a powerful person, in his relationships and in himself, so he is. stan is insecure in his relationships, “you left me here, you’re not my friends” is the most adamantly avoidant of the entire situation, “this isn’t fun, this is scary and disgusting” “no! no next time, bill,” and is very pessimistic. i think this was all done so that when he kills himself it doesn’t feel entirely out of left field. it makes his movie self, and eddie as well, i think, less complex, but it also makes them more comprehensible in a 2 hour film. For context to how little time that really is, there will be four hours of IT film altogether. If you listen to IT the audiobook aloud, it is 44 hours long.

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theabominableblogger · 7 years

Text

Rewatching “Attack of the Clones”

Why yes, I am doing this. Because why not?

My apologies in advance because this post is so long...

*starts singing the Star Wars theme*

ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC!

OK, now you it’s a bad sign when they pan up.

They did it in Rogue One but I’m excusing that movie because it’s awesome

“There was no danger after all.” Bullshit, Typo.

*Corde dies* AND THEY BLOW YOU UP! BOOM!

Wait, there’s an Imperial siren going off in the background.

PLO KOON!

Barriss!

Sly Moore!

LUMINARA!!!

Plo Koon’s prosthetics look terrible in the movies

Is that Uncle Ono from TCW in the hologram?

*starts imitating Ki Adi Mundi when he says “He’s [Dooku] a political idealist, not a murderer.” *

Fun Fact: the guy who plays Ki Adi Mundi is the Ood in “Doctor Who.” Mind blown.

I hate Obi-Wan’s mullet in this movie.

Obi-Wan’s like “freaking get me outta here” when Anakin compliments Padme

You can tell how much makeup they put on Natalie Portman in this scene.

“It’s overkill, Master.” Obi-Wan’s the kill master...

“She hardly even recognized me...” God dang it, Anakin.

*Jango Fett hands off the assassin centipedes* God the green screen...

She [Padme] has the most unnatural sleeping position

Man, I feel bad for all the actors in the prequels.

How is R2 asleep and not hearing those bugs??

Fun Fact: the SFX team used grapefruit to make the noises of the centipedes

OK, you’d be able to feel a bug crawling up your arm.

Imagine if Anakin freaking beheads Padme instead of the centipedes?

Cue end music.

“Stay here!” BUT I...

Anakin, just fly freaking straight!

Gotta dramatically take my face cover off...

“I hate it when he does that.”

Which implies Anakin has done this before...

Anakin climbing on top of the bounty hunter’s airspeeder is almost exactly like Kanan on top of Fenn Rau’s ship in “The Protector of Concord Dawn“ except Kanan doesn’t lose his lightsaber.

OUR RIDE’S HERE!

Here’s a challenge: try to identify all the freaking alien species in this Coruscant bar

Must be a Halloween party going on...

Did she just say “sleamo?”

Yep, I think she’s dead, Anakin.

SHAAK TI!

Yeah, you’re [Jedi Council] gonna let this horny 19 year old Padawan escort the love of his life back to her home without anyone else to help out.

GREEN SCREEEEEEEENNN!!

*Padme tells Jar Jar to fill her place in the Senate while she’s away* Nooo....

The window cleaning droids!

Those are some huge ass robes on Anakin

Oh my God, Anakin...

“Sorry, m’lady.” *groans*

I didn’t realize Padme’s handmaiden was crying! Now I feel sad now!

OK, they can tell Anakin’s a Padawan: he has his braid still in! At least bobby pin in so that it blends in!

YOU WANNA CUP OF JAWA JUICE????

I freaking love this scene between Dexter and Obi-Wan. Shut up.

Ewan McGregor’s got a little dimple or something on his forehead and I can’t stop looking at it.

“Hey, no droids! Get out of here!” says a droid

Padme just really likes wearing doilies in this movie.

AN: Heads up, we’re only fifty minutes in at this point.

“We are encouraged to love.” That’s a really loose interpretation, Anakin.

Take a shot every time Anakin says something really creepy about Padme in this movie.

*Obi Wan talks in the youngling class* [gasp] Imagine if one of them is Kanan?

I don’t know whether or not he was an Initiate at this point.

*goes to consult the “Last Padawan” comic*

Wow, sudden scene change within a sentence!

SIO BIBBLE!

OH MY GOD, ANAKINNNNNNN....

The voice of Lama Su (Anthony Phelan) is so cool.

I DON’T LIKE SAND. IT’S COARSE AND ROUGH AND IRRITATING AND IT GETS EVERYWHERE.

*DEEP INHALE*

There was literally no point to that scene other than to give Anakin and Padme an opportunity to kiss.

*whispers* One of those clones is Rex....

So many freakin’ CGI clones...

And now a picnic...

“They [Jedi mind tricks] only work on the weak-minded.” That’s a compliment, Padme.

“I’d be much too frightened to make fun of a Senator.” But I am anyway!!!

*Anakin rides one of those living potatoes* Behold, the Chosen One.

*Anakin falls off* SO FAKE!!!

*Anakin and Padme roll around* They’re not even on a hill!

*deep inhale*

I love how they got the same kid who played Boba Fett here back to play Boba in TCW

What’s with these weird close ups?

*Jango tells Boba something* Please someone teach me how to speak Mandao’a.

Damn, look at the cuts on Jango’s face.

Apparently, George Lucas told Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman to improvise in the “aggressive negotiations with a lightsaber” scene but it went really NSFW really quick so they had to stop after the “negotiations with a lightsaber” line.

God, why does Padme wear that halter dress in THIS scene?

There is no reason why she should have changed from the previous scene.

God, you can tell how nonexistent the chemistry is.

“I’m haunted by the kiss you should never have given me.” Well wait a minute, you kissed each other back and Anakin initiated it!

“My heart is beating, hoping that kiss does not become a scar.”

*GRIMACES IN IMMENSE PAIN*

God, Anakin, do you have to be so ANGRY?!?

WHY DOES PADME NOT SAY ANYTHING?!?

“You are asking me to be rational.” YES, BE RATIONAL!!

*groans* The dialogue in this freaking scene...

So they kinda vaguely wrap up the whole Sifo-Dyas C-plot in TCW but even then, we’re like WTH?

*Yoda says the Jedi can’t use the Force* That’s like saying the Pope can’t talk to God.

“Jedi don’t have nightmares.” Lies.

“I have to help her.” *groans*

Slave I!

Obi-Wan, that lightsaber is your life.

Oh my God, the green screen!

Sorry, Obi-Wan, you would have no arm left after that stop.

Jango freaking bumped his head on the door...

What is with Padme’s costume here?

What is this explosion disc thing Jango uses to try to get rid of Obi-Wan?

*in best young Boba Fett voice* GET ‘IM, DAD, GET ‘IM! FI-YAH!

Just a random thought: what do the clones in TCW think of the Fetts?

I love this shadow shot of Anakin and Padme saying goodbye.

This is “Duel of the Fates!” Why is it playing here?

Unless they’re referring to the fact that Anakin’s fate changes whether or not his mother is alive or not. That sort of thing.

How do the Separatists not know Padme is still alive? Unless Anakin does such a good job at hiding Padme on Naboo and Tatooine...

“The banking clan will sign your treaty!” *in best alien voice* ALSO I GOT MY HEAD STUCK IN A CAR DOOR!

This staccato music here when Anakin sneaks into the Tusken Raider camp is actually kinda cool.

The ten-second mother-son chemistry between Hayden Christensen and Pernilla August is probably the most compelling thing in this movie.

This music though.

Oh my God, the way Mace sits down!

OK Anakin, explain this body [Shmi’s corpse].

“OK, Hayden, just glare at the screen. There ya go.”

“I’m good at fixing things.” You know what you have to fix though? Your mental state.

What is this hippie dress Padme’s wearing?

“I killed them.” Did you kill them all?

“I killed them all.” They’re all right, right?”

“They’re dead.” Oh, so just the men.

“Not just the men.“ Oh, but like the old men?

“But the women-” What?!? But not the children!

“-and the children too.” But they’re people!

“They’re like animals! And I slaughtered them like animals!” But you don’t hate them!

“I hate them!”

“To be angry is to be human.” To kill Sand People divine.

Anakin is the worst friend ever. His father figure is being held captive, and what does he do? Listen to the Council like a sissy.

Oh my God, freaking Jar Jar, no...

Why does Obi-Wan’s ray shield cell spinny?

Wait, I forgot Dooku trained Qui-Gon!

“Dellow felegates.” *immediately slams head on desk*

Oh my gosh, pterodactyls!

“I love democracy. I love the Republic.” I love it.. so much!

“I’m not a freaking goblin.” says the freaking goblin.

*Anakin and Padme sneak through a tunnel on Geonosis* This is like “The Great Mouse Detective,” where Basil and Dawson go through the sewer pipe to get to Ratigan’s lair.

When I was little, I used to be able to imitate and time the smashing machine on the assembly line.

*3PO gets into a mess* Just... erase this whole gag entirely.

*rolls eyes loudly*

How did Anakin not see that mechanical arm swinging toward his face?

Ani, you have no arm at this point.

Imagine if Padme gets burned by lava.

None of the original trilogy happens. Cue end credits music.

“Not again. Obi-Wan’s gonna kill me.”

*in best Obi-Wan voice* I hate it when he does that.

“I thought we weren’t going to fall in love.” WHO D’YOU THINK YOU’RE KIDDING/ HE’S THE EARTH AND HEAVEN TO YA!

My love for Obi-Wan’s snark in this scene knows no bounds.

*Geonosians cheer when the Separatists cheer* Heck yeah, I’d cheer for Christopher Lee too!

“She [Padme] seems to be on top of things.” But not on top of Anakin yet.

[I am forcibly removed from the fandom]

*starts imitating the nexu*

Wait, isn’t that big mantis crab thing from Ryloth?

Wait, nevermind: the acklay are from some planet called Vendaxa.

*Padme lands in the saddle* Sorry, you’d have no kids after that landing.

*starts imitating Nute Gunray saying “Jango! Finish her off!” *

*The Jedi invade the gladiator arena* HECK YEAH!

*starts naming off all the Jedi because I can*

GREEN SCREEN!

This whole scene was filmed on a green screen.

There was no point to that flip, Mace.

*Mace hits that rhino thing* NOOOO!!!!

*Jango kills the rhino* NOOOO!!!

Boba’s in the corner like “Whaat? My dad just died??”

Kit Fisto’s smile. Oh my God.

*3PO makes jokes while being dragged back to his appropriate body* [groans] Just... kill me...

AAYLA SECURA!!!

*Ki Adi Mundi helps Kit Fisto onto the clone trooper ship* Whaddya bet Ki Adi Mundi and Kit are like best buds?

What language is the Geonosian language based on?

“We must get the Star Destroyers back into space.” When did your voice change?!?

“If they [the Jedi/the Republic] find out what we are planning to build, we are doomed.” Circle inside of a circle?

*Dooku flies to his ship via speeder* The Hoveround takes me where I wanna go...

What is this shaky cam zoom on the clones?

“We’re out of rockets, sir.” HOW???

“Don’t let your personal emotions get in the way!” OK, Obi-Wan totally knows that Anakin and Padme are a thing.

Sooo... why was Dooku’s ship halfway across the desert?

Because we needed dramaaa??

GREEN SCREENNNN!!!

My personal headcanon is that the clone that falls off the ship with Padme is Rex.

DOOKU’S FREAKY ASS SMILE!!

*Obi-Wan gets injured* OK, man, get up. You’ve survived worse.

*Anakin destroys the wire for the lighting* DRAMATIC LIGHTING!

THEY’RE NOT EVEN HITTING EACH OTHER!

What is this Force-measuring contest between Dooku and Yoda?

There’s literally no point to it. It’s just Dooku going “My use of the Force is bigger than yours!’

[I am forcibly removed from the fandom]

*Yoda catches the Sith Lightning with his hand* OK, so this is totally unrelated, but in the Star Wars Force Arena game, you can get Kanan as a character, and HE DOES THAT!

FILONI, EXPLAIN!

*Yoda just jumps off the ship* HARDCORE PARKOUR!

Why doesn’t Obi-Wan move himself and Anakin away from the falling pillar? Are they just that injured? Obi-Wan, you just have a cut on your arm and leg; you can move.

ANAKIN AND PADME ARE MAKING OUT RIGHT IN FRONT OF YODA AND OBI-WAN!!!

“Do you believe what Count Dooku said about Sidious controlling the Senate?” He IS the Senate!

Where are all the other chairs?

“Begun, the Clone War has.” Best line in the movie. It’s also the last line in the movie.

Is Mas Amedda just yawning in the background?

Padme is just covered in doilies.

IT’S OVER!

*goes and watches the entirety of TCW*

#star wars #sw #the blogger reacts #attack of the clones #YOU WANNA CUP OF JAWA JUICE????#anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #jango fett #star wars the clone wars #green screen #heads up it takes forever to get all those screencaps #you're welcome

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notapaladin · 4 years

Text

all the rainbow’s heavy tones

okay. so. this is LONG AS SHIT and contains, in no particular order: fight scenes, concussions, blood loss, death magic, and a Very Good Dog. but i decided obsblood needed a modern au, and so i have provided! can also be read on AO3, as usual.

Acatl, chief of the Mictlan Division, hunts a beast of shadow on what was supposed to be his day off. Fortunately, he has help in the form of one (1) confident young undergraduate and his trusty dog. The dog is fine. Acatl...less so.

At least he manages to get Teomitl's number out of it.

Acatl was halfway through his morning routine (offer blood to the gods, brush teeth, wash face, feed the cat, grudgingly remember to feed himself while Little Skull twined around his shins and purred) when his phone rang.

When he realized the ringtone was the one he used only for work calls, he closed his eyes briefly. He’d been having a good morning, too; he’d slept well for once, without any nightmares of failure in his new post or wistful dreams of his old one. The sheets had been the perfect temperature when he’d woken, and he’d allowed himself five extra minutes to just lay there and enjoy it. Little Skull had been sleeping on his chest as a ghost’s butterfly investigated the potted plant Mihmatini had brought him to, in her words, “make it look less like Mictlan in here.” (He hadn’t bothered to point out that, as the new head of the Mictlan Division, he knew very well it was impossible to mistake Mexico City for the land of the dead no matter how small his apartment was.)

The phone was still ringing. Sighing, he picked it up. It looked like he wasn’t going to get to use his day off to catch up on any of his much-needed rest after all. “Yes?”

“You picked up so early even on your day off! Wonderful.” Acatl felt a muscle start to twitch in his cheek, but held his tongue as Ichtaca continued. “We need you here. There’s been a body found.”

There were always bodies being found in Mexico City, but if it was a work matter, that meant the death had underworld magic about it. Acatl hoped fervently that it hadn’t been found near the sewers. Ahuizotls could and did swim up the larger pipes, and they would require help from the Tlaloc Division to track down. A particularly bad infestation would even mean he’d have to work with Acamapichtli again.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for informing me.”

As soon as he could meant he would have to ride his bike. It was the only way to get through the traffic near the Old City in any reasonable amount of time; he’d made the same trip a million times in his college days. Unfortunately, it made Ichtaca twitch in fury every time he saw him showing up to work on a battered gray bike; though Acatl’s second-in-command never said a word to him about it, he knew he thought it was unbecoming for the dignity of someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a modern-day priest of the dead. He could handle that; a priest was meant to serve their people, and there was no need to put on unnecessary airs. Besides, he liked the city, liked the noise and the chaos of it. It was home. It was—alive.

Of course, in another way, it was also quite dead.

The crowd on the sidewalks ebbed and flowed around little pockets of cold emptiness; as he turned his head at one stop sign, a translucent woman in an old-fashioned tunic and skirt bowed to him, and he nodded back. It always paid to be polite to ghosts. Cars in front of him stopped in the middle of the street to let a faded, barely visible man push a wheelbarrow across a road that no longer existed; despite the delay in their commutes, nobody honked their horns. Acatl quietly approved. In other places, he knew, people were much less calm about bits of the underworld leaking through to their everyday lives, but in Mexico—and especially in this city—the underworld very nearly was their everyday lives. Ghosts walked the streets they had loved in life, and when they passed on, they took the forms of butterflies that brightened the hearts of their loved ones. And if they made trouble...well, that was what people like him were there for.

He pedaled on, thinking of work. It wasn’t anything he was looking forward to; though he’d never been good with people, he’d truly enjoyed his post in Coyoacan where much of the job had lay in talking to bereaved families, following threads of magic, and occasional heartstopping moments of sheer terror as whatever had crawled out of the underworld decided to take a bite out of him instead. It had all been very straightforward. Meanwhile, being the Chief of the entire Mictlan Division meant any case he had to examine himself was going to involve politics, and he knew he was entirely out of his depth there. Fuck you, Ceyaxochitl, he thought grumpily—but not too loudly. He wouldn’t have put it past her to be able to read his mind from across the city.

He doubted the last High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli had had to deal with a Ceyaxochitl of his own. And if he had, at least she hadn’t had a cell phone.

Then again, I’m sure he had much more immediate problems to deal with. The Europeans showing up with steel and horses, for one thing. The history books all said that the Mexica had held out for a time, but when they faced total annihilation—their deaths, the destruction of their temples, the destruction of their gods—the last High Priest had joined together with his fellows, the last Guardian of the Duality (his little sister, the codices said, and Acatl thought of Mihmatini with a pang every time), and the last Revered Speaker of Tenochtitlan (the Guardian’s husband, and the High Priest’s...friend said the grammar school textbooks, and lover said the college ones on the strength of some very emotional surviving poetry) in a desperate ritual to...well, nobody, even now, could agree on what they had been trying to do. Kill all the Spaniards? Save their own lives? Strengthen the wards between all three realms, so that even if they died the world would live on? Whatever their goals had been, the result was this: a world where very few people rested quietly in death, where monsters sometimes walked the streets, and where the gods’ gift of magic was spread thin to keep the world intact.

Of course, the distance of the gods worked in their favor now. The sun rose without being fed by human hearts, and star demons were a thing of the distant past. (Election years were bad enough. He didn’t even want to imagine how bad they’d be with the threat of Coyolxauhqui hanging over everyone’s heads.) Only minor, more-easily-killable creatures still threatened them. Historians generally agreed it had also spared a larger part of his people and culture than might otherwise have been the case (he’d had nightmares as a child of what could have happened, of the Great Temple trampled into the dust and a church built atop it), so on the whole Acatl was inclined to look very favorably upon the spiritual predecessor whose knives allegedly were the ones sealed in a glass case in his office. And if he happened to have been intimate with Emperor Ahuizotl (whose namesakes had very explicitly eaten Hernan Cortez, described with glee by contemporary commentators), then good for him.

Eventually, after thirty minutes of weaving through traffic and an unpleasantly exciting near-collision with a car that was apparently immune to a Mictlan officer’s aura, he came to the Division headquarters. From a distance it looked just like any other office building, until you got close enough to notice the owl-and-spider motifs in the stone and the skull prominently displayed over the door. They might no longer officially be priests of Mictlantecuhtli, but the symbols remained. (Including the official regalia of the High Priests, which Acatl had to wear for the big rituals and feast days, and which he hated more than he thought he could hate a bit of fabric and feathers. The loincloth helped, but ritual sites never had air conditioning; adding a giant skull mask and heavy cloak only made it worse.) He attempted to smooth down the mess the trip had made of his hair and was about to lock his bike up when the doors slid open and Ichtaca strolled out.

Unlike Acatl—windblown, sweaty, sporting a black mark of uncertain provenance on his uniform pants—Ichtaca was immaculate. His standard-issue uncut hair was pulled back neatly, his shoes gleamed, and the prominently displayed owl badge on his chest proclaimed his status to anyone who cared to look. Even his short-sleeved uniform shirt had been pressed and ironed, and the spider trim shimmered. “Don’t bother, sir. The...deceased is in the Old City. We’ll be heading there straightaway.” Unspoken, but clear in his tone was I would have told you that but you hung up on me, you idiot.

Acatl grimaced. Trying to take bodies out of the Old City without at least some token prayers tended to end badly. “To the Old City, then. You’ll be walking?”

“...I also brought a bike.”

When the last High Priests and the last Emperor had snapped the boundaries like so many dry twigs, they had succeeded in preserving a single part of their city. In the middle of Mexico City, a mile-wide circle of Tenochtitlan remained as it had been in the last days of the Empire, a place of perfectly preserved adobe buildings and now-dry canals with the Sacred Precinct at its center. Between the ghosts and the fact that electronics tended to fail there, it had been abandoned for centuries—the province of religious rituals, heavily supervised archaeological expeditions, and rare tourist walks. These days, there were checkpoints with armed guards to make sure nobody snuck in and got themselves eaten; rumors that vagrants seeking a place to sleep had woken up covered in a protective blanket of butterflies were officially declared false. (Acatl believed them. The people that had laid the spell had loved their city.)

Acatl waited until they were within the borders, away from the noise of traffic, to say, “Tell me about the deceased. What do we know so far?”

Ichtaca set a hand to the hilt of one of his regulation knives (obsidian, six inches, fixed-blade, sanctified by three drops of human blood and sharp enough to slice a single hair). “Female, possibly Nahua, roughly in her late forties. The body was...mauled, and the area stinks of magic.” At Acatl’s look, he added, “More than the usual, anyway. It’s how we found her; we were exercising the xolos.”

He nodded. While humans could sense magic, dogs were better at it, and the best breeds for it were those that were native to the area. The three main divisions all had their K-9 units. “No identification on her?”

Ichtaca shook his head. “None. We think she must have been trying to sleep in one of the buildings...ah. Here.”

‘Here’ turned out to be a tiny adobe house by a canal, watched over by a young officer, her dog, and a wheelbarrow full of ice. Acatl could smell the blood from the street, and something else…

When he stood in the doorway, the howling emptiness of Mictlan hit him like a truck. For a moment he could barely see the woman’s corpse curled up on the floor, and then his gaze focused again. Ichtaca was right. She had been mauled. Her limbs were still attached, but something had raked its claws over her to the bone, and giant jaws had opened her chest. It was impossible to tell the original color of her tank top.

“We leave this earth,” he whispered. “This world of jade and flowers—the quetzal feathers, the silver. Down into the darkness we must go, leaving behind the marigolds and the ceder trees. Safe journeys, my friend. Safe journeys. All the way to the end.”

And then he pulled his rubber gloves on and knelt to examine her corpse, turning her over gently to inspect the wounds. He almost didn’t have to; the bottom of his stomach felt like it had dropped to hell and froze over there, which would have been a clear indicator of something from the underworld even if her heart and lungs hadn’t been torn from her chest cavity. A beast of shadows, he thought, and then, Damn it. They could only prowl in places where no light shone, making them the chief predators of anyone sleeping alone in the Old City and blessedly rare everywhere else, and only obsidian could kill them. He still had the scars where one had caught his arm before his comrades had saved him. At least they were solitary, unable to bear the presence of another even in the same city; he didn’t even want to think about dealing with a pack of the things. The problem was that he couldn’t tell where this one had gone. And if it managed to escape the Old City, the mayor would have his head.

The young officer—he hadn’t gotten her nametag—spoke up. “We couldn’t find a trail, sir. It’s like it was summoned here.”

He shook his head. “Impossible. There would be signs. It must have slipped in from somewhere. You couldn’t even track it with the dogs?” There had once been spells that would track things from the underworld—he’d seen the codices—but with the breaking of the boundaries they were weak and unreliable, prone to throwing up false positives.

“No, sir.”

He sighed. “Let’s take her to the morgue and see what comes up. If it’s necessary, I’ll get us the permits for a full search of the Old City.”

In the end, there wasn’t anything to find. The autopsy showed nothing suggesting the woman had been targeted by a sorcerer with a grudge, so Acatl returned to the Old City on his own; by the time he finally stopped for a rest—dusty, footsore, and exhausted—in the house that had once belonged to the last High Priest of the Dead, he’d checked every inch of it and wanted nothing more than to go home. A dead end. Wonderful.

He fiddled with his earrings, running his fingers over the thin scars at his earlobes. His gaze drifted over the worn frescoes of owls and spiders without really seeing them. Five hundred years ago, his spiritual predecessor had lived and grown old here; Acatl had seen reconstructions of the place before the museums had descended and knew that there had been a quetzal-feather fan there, that just over there had been a single well-worn reed sleeping mat. Judging by the childish paint smears at roughly knee height, he’d also played host to a number of the Emperor’s children and grandchildren. He’d probably shed blood from his own earlobes here every morning, just as Acatl did. He wondered how he’d feel to be summoned for advice; it was a seriously tempting prospect, but one he ultimately dismissed. One did not summon the Last Priest on a whim; he surely had enough to do with guiding the dead through Mictlan safely.

He checked his phone, mostly to have something to do with his hands. As expected, it was hovering at a dismal 30% battery life and no signal, but the picture on his lock screen—Neutemoc and his children, with Mihmatini holding Little Skull in her lap—was as clear as ever, and still made him smile.

Impatient footsteps—one set human, one set canine—made him look up just as a boy entered the doorway. Silhouetted by the setting sun, at first Acatl couldn’t make out his features; then he stepped inside, leading a truly impressive xoloitzcuintle, and Acatl felt his heart drop into his shoes. He knew the features of that face. He’d seen them in the news and in a dozen press releases, every time the mayor gave speeches with his family in tow. If he wasn’t a relative of some sort, Acatl would eat his own shoes.

The boy—a young man, really, around his sister’s age—had dressed for the weather, at least. Acatl took in the sight of sandals, cargo shorts, a camo-print tank top, a thermos clipped to his belt along with a stone knife. The high cheekbones and hawkish nose that were so familiar sat on a face that looked much more used to smiling than anything else; the military-style buzz cut was at odds with the gold studs in each ear and below his lip. “Excuse me. Are you Chief Acatl?” He was eyeing him like a tricky page in a codex.

Acatl studied him for a moment. He felt human, though the faint glitter of the light caught in the little hairs on his arms spoke of powerful magical protections on him. (He was also very handsome when he started to smile, but Acatl told himself firmly that now was not the time to be noticing that.) “I am. How can I help you?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could help you. Ceyaxochitl sent me; she said you’d need assistance.” Acatl’s heart wanted to sink, but it was somehow very hard to manage when the young man aimed that confident half-smile at him. “My name is Teomitl, and this—” he gestured to the dog “—is Yaotl." Acatl wondered if Ceyaxochitl knew the man's dog shared a name with her PA. "We were told there was underworld magic to track.”

“There is.” But Teomitl shouldn’t be doing it. This was a beast of shadows, a matter for the Mictlan Division, not a boy with a dog. On the other hand, Ceyaxochitl had sent him, and it was best not to anger her if he could avoid it. Sighing, he started to stand up and immediately dropped his phone in the dirt.

Teomitl bent and picked it up, only to stare at the lock screen. “How do you know Mihmatini?”

Acatl blinked at him. What a small world we live in. “She’s my younger sister. Why?” When Teomitl handed him his phone back, he made sure to slip it safely into his back pocket.

He grinned. “I’m in Advanced Solar Divinity and Warding Magic 201 with her. She’s amazing.”

Great. Mihm, you have another admirer. On one hand, Mihmatini deserved everything she could ever wish for. On the other hand, a possible relative of the mayor...he thought back to the aftermath of a few family dinners when she and Neutemoc had started discussing (arguing about) politics, and decided she could definitely do better. At least their shared university courses explained the glimmering magic around Teomitl; Mihm had once turned in a term paper in a similar class that had left flowers appearing in her steps for a week. They’d had to stop their nephew from putting them in his mouth. Teomitl was clearly skilled enough with Huitzilpochtli’s magic to protect himself. “Mm-hmm. How much were you told regarding this case?”

Teomitl fixed his gaze to a point over Acatl’s shoulder and rattled off, “An unknown woman was found dead eight hours ago—“

Has it really been eight hours? Gods.

“—with the clear marks of a Beast of Mictlan on her corpse, and no trail to follow. It’ll be easier to track now that the sun’s going down.” Now he made eye contact, and Acatl spared no thought to hiding the expression on his face.

Because the idea of tracking a beast of shadows at dusk—never mind at night—was certainly more effective, but it was also suicidally dangerous. It wasn’t something Acatl would dare attempt without backup. A thousand retorts flew through his mind—you’re insane, we’d both be torn apart, it’s slower but so much safer to just kill it while it sleeps—but, looking at Teomitl’s proud eyes, he found he couldn’t voice any of them. What came out instead was, “Are you telling me you can track it now?”

Teomitl patted Yaotl’s head. The dog whuffed quietly. “Yaotl can. He’s descended from the Emperor’s hounds and blessed by Mixcoatl. And I can fight it.”

Acatl rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on, and it wasn’t all due to the fizzing, hot-blood sensation of Mixcoatl’s magic he could sense on Yaotl when he focused. I owe Ceyaxochitl much. I can recognize that. But to put this young man at risk… It took no effort at all for him to remember his last junior partner. Payaxin had died in front of him. He couldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t.

Teomitl spoke again, voice low. “Please. Let me prove myself. Let me help. This is my city too, and my people’s heritage this thing is using for a hunting ground. I’ll be of use to you, I swear it.”

He closed his eyes and allowed himself a single aggrieved sigh. “Very well. Follow me.”

Back to the scene of the crime. It was too hot for anyone sensible to exert themselves, but this didn’t appear to stop Teomitl. He power-walked like he thought the sun couldn’t touch him. Acatl trailed behind, finding his gaze lingering for a moment longer than it should on broad shoulders and lean, strong back muscles; he was perversely grateful Teomitl wasn’t looking at him. Pathetic. I’m on the clock. I have to keep my mind on the job. (Also, if he went to school with Mihm, he was almost definitely too young for him even leaving aside the obvious admiration when he spoke of her; Acatl might have been lonely, but he had some standards.)

Teomitl turned the wrong way, and he cleared his throat. “We make a left here.”

The boy shook his head. “Yaotl really wants to go this way.”

He eyed the dog. Blessed or not, if you are chasing after a dead pigeon I will be very upset. “...Fine. But slow down, Teomitl. You’ll give yourself heatstroke.”

Teomitl unhooked his thermos; Acatl must have made a noise at that, because he looked over with worry in his eyes. “I’m fine, I have Gatorade. But you—you should drink something. Here, have some.”

He had dignity. He hated Gatorade. But the sloshing of the thermos had reminded him that he was desperately thirsty, and so he threw his head back and drank deep without even tasting it. Later, the aftertaste would no doubt remind him that this had been a stupid idea, but now all he felt was relief. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Teomitl watching him and belatedly flushed, remembering his manners. “Thank you.”

Teomitl turned his face away, but not before Acatl saw his dark skin tint a shade redder. “It’s nothing. Let’s keep moving.” Not that he had much of a choice; they’d stopped to let Acatl drink but Yaotl wanted to keep going, tugging insistently on the end of his leash when his master stopped moving.

They continued on, keeping to the shade as much as possible. Whatever Yaotl was smelling, it was leading them on a long walk. At least Teomitl hung back to walk next to him, saying nothing at the way Acatl had taken to leaning on his bike. They were both silent; Acatl didn’t dare speak, knowing full well that not every creature unleashed by the shattered boundaries was confined to nighttime hours. Besides, he wasn’t sure how to start a conversation even if it had been safe. He cast a sideways glance at Teomitl and found him grave-faced and focused, gaze flicking towards every unexpected movement.

They were mainly ghosts. The Old City was filled with them—mostly Mexica, but a good sprinkling of others ranging from Spanish conquistadors to unfortunate tourists and, Acatl knew, at least one archaeologist who’d fallen off the Temple steps and hit his head. Acatl nodded to each of them, even the conquistadors, until he became aware of the steadily increasing tension emanating from Teomitl. He turned back to him then, feeling an answering irritation rise in his own heart. “What?”

“You keep stopping to be polite. We’re wasting time.”

His eyes narrowed. “My vocation demands no less. You should try it, too; you never know when you might need something a ghost can provide, and they do not appreciate rudeness.” Nor do I. “Besides,” he added, “It’s the decent thing to do.”

Teomitl fell quiet again after that, but the next time they passed a ghost—a little girl—he bowed, and she clapped her hands and cheered in silent delight at him. Acatl felt something warm in his chest, and found himself gazing at his new ally thoughtfully. Prickly and privileged and impatient, yes—but considerate too, when it’s pointed out to him as an option he should take. Maybe this won’t be so bad. (And he’s nice to look at, whispered a little voice that he staunchly ignored.)

The sun was setting. The shadows grew longer. They quickened their steps, and Yaotl broke out into a trot—

—And then, quite suddenly, into a run. Teomitl had to unclip the leash; it was that or have his arm yanked out of the socket. As he broke into a sprint, Acatl hopped onto his bike and pedaled after. Teomitl kept pace, which shouldn’t have surprised him but did. The part of his brain that was always devoted to spellwork wondered just how many magical protections had been layered over the boy.

There wasn’t much time to think about that, however. Yaotl led them through the city without stopping. Left—right—left again—the sun had vanished, and they were navigating by the reflective patches of the dog’s collar—and then the stench of blood and the bottomless grief of Mictlan hit him, and he gasped too-loud in the gathering gloom. Teomitl stopped dead with an instinctive retch and then continued on. Impressive, Acatl thought. Normally they throw up or start crying when they first sense that. He’d done both.

By the time Yaotl stopped in front of a house, stiff-legged and growling at the empty doorway, Acatl was wishing he’d waited for permission to bring a full crew. It would have to be just him and Teomitl, then. He slid off his bike with a grimace and grabbed Teomitl’s arm before he could rush in. He could just make out a ragged shape lying against the wall. The beast of shadows could be back any minute.

If it wasn’t already waiting for them.

He drew a knife and crept in by Teomitl’s side, holding his phone in his other hand for light. The beast’s latest meal had been male, white, age indeterminate, with a scruffy attempt at a beard. The blood was still fresh and pulsing with magical power. He breathed out, voice barely audible even to his own ears, “You leave behind your fine poems. You leave behind your beautiful flowers and the earth that was only lent to you. You ascend into the Light. Safe journey, my friend."

Teomitl tensed up, turning towards the door. “I heard something—“

Yaotl barked. It probably saved both their lives.

A thing darker than shadows, sharper than knives, barreled through the entryway. It knocked Teomitl aside in its rush; Acatl, turning, dropped his phone but managed to keep hold of his knife. And then it was flattening him under its weight and for a heartstopping second he couldn’t think. His world narrowed down to a crushing weight on his torso, a foul stench in his nose, snapping teeth and ripping claws entirely too close to his face. He heaved desperately—if he could just get some leverage to actually stab the thing—

“Acatl!” A dog’s snarl.

It roared, dripping saliva, and turned its head away. As it shifted its weight, he finally shoved it off of him and scrambled, ungainly, to his feet and away from its claws. The throb in his chest suggested he’d cracked a rib, but that was a pain he’d deal with later. If he survived. His night vision was slow to arrive, his eyes watering painfully, but finally he could pick out three darker shapes in the night. The beast had turned to attack Yaotl, who was doing his best to hamstring it while Teomitl, knife in hand, was trying to land a blow. Acatl knew they were in trouble; Teomitl was clearly skilled, but the awkward way he moved in search of an opening suggested he’d been injured in the initial rush, and Yaotl’s jaws were already burned from its blood.

Think. If I can get it outside—the sky’s never truly dark, it’ll be weaker— It wasn’t focused on him. As quickly and quietly as he could, he moved to the doorway and drew his other knife. He would only get one shot at this.

He closed his eyes and cast his senses out. In the empty, static darkness of Mictlan, the beast’s outline was a knot of frantic hatred and hunger.

He threw the knife. As the beast howled in pain, he dropped to the ground. Its leap soared right over him, and then they were in the street together; he could finally see it, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Not that he had much time to take in more than a strong impression of burning eyes, claws like a bear, and too many teeth in a too-long jaw before it was lunging for him again. He threw himself to one side, quick enough to avoid a swipe to his chest but not enough to dodge the blow entirely. Agony seared up his shoulder as claws ripped into his arm instead, so cold that they burned. He felt his hand open of its own volition, felt the knife fall from useless fingers and skitter across the ground, felt himself scream in pain, and thought No.

When the beast launched itself at him again, his legs crumpled under it. Instinctively he raised his injured arm to protect his face; fangs raked his flesh, but before the beast could close its jaws Yaotl was leaping on it, snapping savagely at its head.

Teomitl’s footsteps. “Acatl!”

The world felt like it was made of tar, everything slower than it should be. The beast was still pinning him down while Yaotl’s teeth flashed in the night, Teomitl was moving towards him but it was too late, there was only the white-hot agony of his arm, the lances of pain through his ribs, through his head where he’d hit the ground. He couldn’t think. His knife had fallen inches from his bloody hand.

His hand.

The knife.

His fingers closed around it and he knew he was screaming, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Mictlan’s emptiness coiled within the blade, pushing away the pain—not far, but enough for him to move. Enough for him to strike. He brought the knife up, at an angle that made every tendon in his arm howl, and buried it in the beast’s ribs. It convulsed; he had a moment to see his impending death before Teomitl’s own blade slammed into the back of its neck.

He thought he blacked out; by the time he opened his eyes, Teomitl was dragging the bulk of the beast off of him. He croaked something he thought were words and made an aborted attempt at sitting up. He had to see it sent on properly. That was his duty.

Teomitl dropped to his knees, pressing him back down. His free hand held his phone, and the flashlight app was bright enough that Acatl hissed, tried to turn his head away, and immediately regretted it. He thought he might be sick. “Don’t move, Acatl! You’re—you’re losing a lot of blood.”

Oh. That explained why he felt so weak, then. The beast’s claws must have struck deep. “I have to—” He swallowed painfully. “Have to send it on. Or else it...doesn’t know it’s dead. They’re...just as hungry when they’re ghosts.”

Teomitl’s expression suggested he thought Acatl had gone crazy. “I’ll do it, then! You just stay there and—hang on, I have a first-aid-kit—“

“No,” he whispered. “Take my knife. Draw a quincunx...on its skull.” The light was just good enough to see Teomitl’s hand shake as he followed his instructions, stabbing deeply enough to strike bone. His chest hurt, but he could force out this rite if he were dead. “In darkness they dwell. They feast, they consume their prey. In darkness they dwell. They eat, they consume their prey. All save one...and that one returns. Mine is the...the knife that stole this life. Mine is the hand—“ He coughed, once, and nearly passed out from the pain. He’d definitely broken a rib. “—that sends this one home.”

The bulk of the beast’s corpse sagged; as wisps of black smoke bled off it, Teomitl dropped the knife in disgust and yanked a first-aid kit from his pocket. “Now can I stop you from bleeding to death?!”

He turned his head to see Teomitl’s shin crooked and covered in blood and managed, somehow, to whisper, “You’re hurt.” You shouldn’t be hurt. You’re such a good fighter, much better than Payaxin, and I was supposed to look after you...Ceyaxochitl will be so angry…

“Don’t worry about me!” Teomitl snapped. The gauze pad he pressed to Acatl’s shoulder was soaked almost immediately, and he muttered a curse and tossed it aside for another one. “Come on—gods, no, Yaotl, do not put that in your mouth—Acatl, stay with me!”

He let himself be lifted so Teomitl could wrap bandages, noted with dispassionate interest how the hand he set at the back of his head was dark and wet. The antiseptic poured on him with shaking hands stung, but everything seemed very far away. “You did well.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded like it was coming through water. “Thank you.”

Teomitl’s voice was a snarl. “Thank me when we’re safe! After we get Yaotl to a vet and you to a hospital and I get a chance to kick your ass for throwing a fucking knife at me, really? A knife? Was that necessary?”

He should be annoyed, he thought. “I’ll remember that for...next time.”

“Next time, I’ll be better prepared.” He pressed more gauze down on Acatl’s forearm and cast a glance at his face. In the darkness, his eyes glittered wetly. “You are not allowed to die until then, okay? I will drag you back from Heaven myself.”

“Mictlan,” he whispered. “I am—a priest, for the modern era. A priest of...Lord Death. I’ll go to Mictlan.” Not forever on earth, but for a little while...

“No.” Teomitl’s voice was ragged with an emotion Acatl couldn’t place. Grief, he thought. Or rage.

He felt a smile curve his lips. “It’s not so bad. The Last Priest will guide me as he guides us all.”

“Well, I won’t let him.” It was a growl that softened as he leaned closer, reaching down to—oh, he was moving Acatl’s hair away from his face. That was nice. “You hear me? We’re close enough to the walls to get a signal. I’m going to call the paramedics and you’ll be fine. But you have to stay awake, okay?”

He was going to. Really. But his eyes slid shut, and the next thing he knew was Teomitl grabbing his arm as Yaotl’s cold nose met the side of his head. “Hm?”

“Wake up!” There was an edge of real fear in his voice. “Talk to me. Ask me anything you want to know. Or tell me something—tell me I’m being rude again.”

If he took shallow breaths, it didn’t hurt as much. Talk to me. He thought he could manage that. “You...saved my life.” Another breath. “You can be as rude as you want. But...you won’t impress Mihm like that.”

Teomitl snorted. “Nothing I do would impress Mihmatini.”

“Shame.” Hmm. Interesting. Words seemed to be coming out of his mouth that had bypassed his brain entirely. “But...you look kind of like the mayor, anyway. She wouldn’t like that. She doesn’t like him.”

There was another snort, and when he wedged open one eye he saw him shaking his head. “Nobody likes Tizoc. Not even me, and we share a father. She’s not alone.”

“Your brother?” Thinking hurt about as much as breathing—which was to say, much worse when he tried to put any effort into it. So he didn’t. “Huh. You’re much better looking than he is. Very pretty.”

So that was what it sounded like when someone choked on their own spit. “I—Acatl!” It was followed up by a muttered, “Now I know you hit your head too hard.”

As Teomitl hit the number for the paramedics, his free hand settled over Acatl’s and stayed there.

The First Patecatl Hospital had grown, like many other public buildings in Mexico City, out of a temple to the gods. In the hospital’s case, the very small attempt at a pyramid was still in the central courtyard, and Acatl had a fine view of it from his window. It would have been peaceful to the point of boredom if he hadn’t been so tired. The doctors had treated his wounds (severe lacerations, two broken ribs, minor acid burns and dehydration, and a nasty concussion) but when he’d suggested that maybe he could have Neutemoc drive him home he had been very firmly moved to a private room for continued observation. His brother and sister had come and gone, Mihmatini with concern and Neutemoc with...well, now that he thought about it, also concern, even though it had been masked with far too much I-told-you-this-would-happen grumbling for an army sergeant. I must have looked terrible. Even Ichtaca had spent a whole fifteen minutes frowning at him while filling him in on work.

Total casualties of his work day: his uniform (unsalvageable), his phone (cracked by the beast, to Mihm’s undisguised glee; Acatl supposed now he really had no excuse but to get a new one), and one regulation obsidian knife. At least he’d been reassured that Yaotl would be fine, and Mihm had promised to check on Little Skull. And they’d brought him clothes.

He hadn’t mentioned Teomitl to her, he realized. In his defense, the painkillers he’d been given were strong. At least they made breathing easier. But as the pain started to ease back in, it brought clarity with it. He closed his eyes, remembering how Teomitl had bandaged his wounds and begged him to keep talking. I have to speak to him. I have to see his face.

He had no idea where Teomitl had been taken and certainly wasn’t going to be able to wander around looking for him. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button to call the nurse.

In no time at all, he was being bundled into a wheelchair and steered a few rooms down the hall, where a trio of very large men in suits hovered. They eyed him with thinly veiled hostility, and he recalled those videos of the mayor. He thought he remembered Teomitl saying something about Tizoc.

Unlike him, the nurse was entirely unruffled. “Chief Acatl of the Mictlan Division here to see the patient. You three can stop blocking the hallway now.”

They edged away to lean against the opposite wall, enabling him to finally see into the room and spy Teomitl. His first thought was relief—while Teomitl’s leg was heavily bandaged and splinted, the air full of the grassy scent of Patecatl’s magic to speed healing, his other injuries looked much shallower. He was listening to something on his phone; the way his face transformed from concentration to delight when he slipped his earbud out and turned to see Acatl in the doorway was entirely too heartwarming. “Acatl!”

He couldn’t keep a smile from his face. Teomitl’s joy was infectious. “How are you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that!” He waved a hand dismissively. “Cracked tibia, I’ll live. I’m going to have words with someone here, I swear—I wanted to come see you but nobody would let me.” That was pure, huffy impatience, and Acatl shouldn’t have found it charming.

Nor should I wanted to come see you have set his heart fluttering against his ribcage. “I was having stitches done; I was very heavily medicated.” Honestly, he still was; everything was fine as long as he didn’t make any sudden movements, but his limbs were not precisely cooperative. “And my family was here.” Looking around the room, he saw no signs of any similar visitations for Teomitl. The fluttering in his chest clenched into a fist.

“...I figured they would be.” Teomitl’s eyes gleamed as he looked him up and down “Nice shirt.”

Acatl groaned internally. Of course his siblings, when asked to bring him something to wear, would subject him to the old college T-shirt he usually only wore on laundry day. Loose and comfortable it might be, but nobody wanted to be reminded of their taste in bands from ten years ago. “Mihmatini picked it.”

“Mihmatini has good taste.” And since this was objectively true except in matters likely to mildly embarrass her older brothers, Acatl had to nod.

The nurse’s pager buzzed, and she sighed at it. “Sorry, I have to run—will you be alright in here for ten minutes?”

“He’ll be fine.” Teomitl aimed a dazzling smile at her. Acatl, clipped by its edge, could only gulp and feel his face grow hot. “I’ll take care of him.”

It felt easier to talk when she left. True, the door was still half open behind her, but he could pretend for a moment that there weren’t a trio of burly bodyguards eyeing him. He took the chance to simply gaze at Teomitl, noting the shadows under his eyes and the bandaged scrape along his arm. “You’ve already done so much.”

“So have you.” The warm regard in Teomitl’s face was too much; Acatl had to drop his gaze. “...I wouldn’t have been able to kill that thing by myself, or—what did you say? Let it know it’s dead? You did that. I owe you one.” He shifted on the bed. When a hand came to rest on his good arm, Acatl jolted.

He knew he had to be red. Responses fired through his mind—you don’t owe me anything, I got you into this, I’m so sorry—but his eyes fell on Teomitl’s phone before he could voice any of them. He’d been watching the news, he realized. Tizoc was giving a speech. Side by side, there really was no denying their family resemblance. So that’s why Ceyaxochitl assigned him to me. She always said we needed more political support. “...Convince your brother to let me keep my job, and we’re even. When were you going to tell me about him?”

Teomitl flinched, eyes narrowing poisonously at his phone before he flipped it screen-side down. “I don’t want to ride on his coattails all my life. I want to prove myself on my own merits and do things the right way. And…” He cast a sidelong glance at Acatl, catching his lip between his teeth. “I think we make a good team, and I know from Mihm how you feel about him.”

Tizoc thought the tenuous balance between worlds should be maintained with guns, that there was no need for the one-time clergy of the Mexica to continue ministering to their peoples’ spiritual well-being. He was not popular among anyone who had anything to do with magic. Or, for that matter, common sense. That even his own brother didn’t like him spoke well of Teomitl’s judgement. “That doesn’t change my opinion of you. Just...warn me next time.” There would be a next time. He was sure of it. He was also suddenly very aware that Teomitl hadn’t removed his hand.

A smile attempted to cross Teomitl’s face, but fell flat at the starting point. “If I warned you about all my horrible relatives, you’d fall asleep again before I got halfway through. I’ve been getting calls all morning; they weren’t happy about any of this.”

Oh, thank the Duality. Work. I can always talk about work. He nodded. “We still don’t know how the beast slipped in, but Ichtaca told me they’re trying to track down the relatives of the people who were killed to reassure them that it was slain. I’ll have a lot of paperwork to fill out next week; you’ll likely have to sign some as well.” His head throbbed rebelliously at the mere thought.

“…Ah.” Teomitl didn’t look happy about that, but then he looked up and his expression turned distinctly hopeful. “You’re taking the week off?”

“Patecatl can only do so much.” Also, Ichtaca had told him in no uncertain terms to take a vacation.

Teomitl fell silent at that, gaze shifting thoughtfully away. His hand slid down Acatl’s forearm and over his wrist, and all of Acatl’s higher brain functions immediately shifted to processing the sensation. There were calluses on those fingers, and scars as well. And they were so warm.

He still wasn’t quite looking at Acatl when he spoke. “You know,” he began, “I never did get your number.”

“You…” It was slow to compute. Sounds floated on the air without resolving into words, until finally in a shocking rush they arranged themselves into something Acatl could process. Things like this did not happen to him. “You want my number?!”

“You called me pretty.” Now Teomitl was looking at him. Worse, that radiant smile was out in full force, scouring away any defense Acatl could muster. The hand on his wrist was gentle and unmistakable. “I’d like to think that wasn’t the concussion talking.”

Fuck. It was the first clear thought he’d had in what felt like an eternity. He had said that. And Teomitl had heard it and...seemed interested in hearing more. “Mgh.” He should use words. Teomitl deserved words. “...No. It wasn’t.” You’re beautiful.

Teomitl’s hand slid over his, lacing their fingers together. Acatl had seen heated gazes before, but having one directed at him was an experience that defied description. “So...”

He had to look away. It was that or combust. “So.”

“I’d like to get to know you better. Much better.” Teomitl squeezed his hand once, lightly, and pulled away. Acatl mourned the separation immediately. “Can I?”

He swallowed hard. Duality, yes. Yes, please. It was probably a bad idea. No, it was probably a terrible idea given all that Teomitl was, all the differences between them. He was absolutely going to regret this when the painkillers wore off and he was operating at full mental capacity again. But he’d seen moths fluttering around candle flames, and now he thought he knew how they felt before they burned. “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in and...you can text me in a day or two when I’ve got a new one.” His head wouldn’t be happy with staring at a screen, but it was better than whatever hearing Teomitl’s voice in his ear would do to his heart.

Teomitl had to hold the phone up so he could type. It took three tries, not least because Teomitl took advantage of their proximity to murmur, “I can’t wait. I’m looking forward to doing lots of things with you when you’re feeling better.”

The nurse returned just in time to hear the strangled noise he made.

> ACATL.

> how are you feeling?? how’s the new phone?

>> Much better, thank you. I’m home now. I have no complaints about the phone.

> good! I’m glad to hear that

> i was worried about you

> wanna get dinner sometime? my treat

>> I’d rather cook. It’s more economical, and the doctors assure me light exercise will benefit my arm.

> are you inviting me over to your place?

(…)

>> I suppose.

> that sounds great!! i’d love to come over and meet your cat!! is friday ok?? at 8?

>> That’s fine.

> :thumbsup: it’s a date! see u then!

(…)

>> I look forward to it.

ahuizotl2: mihm help

dear_prudence: what did you do

ahuizotl2: I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING I just. uh. your brother

dear_prudence: t e o

ahuizotl2: I asked him to dinner

dear_prudence: and?????????

dear_prudence: oh no did he turn you down?

ahuizotl2: NO

ahuizotl2: he invited me over to his place instead

dear_prudence: he

dear_prudence: he what

ahuizotl2: and I said it’s a date and he saID HE WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO IT

dear_prudence: MY brother??? ACATL???????

dear_prudence: AHAHAHAHAHAHA

dear_prudence: MIRACLES DO HAPPEN too bad he has terrible taste

ahuizotl2: yes yes I’m sure this is hilarious for you but more importantly I don’t know what to wear. my date wardrobe is all armani!!! do you know ANYTHING abt what your brother likes?????

dear_prudence: son, you’re on your own

ahuizotl2: wow rude

[The Gods Squad Groupchat]

Cursed Snake Facts: so what’s this I hear about someone having a hot date????

Hummingbirds Will Fuck You Up: wHAT

Cursed Snake Facts: I mean mihm’s big brother, of course :) what did you think I meant?

Hummingbirds Will Fuck You Up: fuck you neza

Cursed Snake Facts: is that an invitation?

Hummingbirds Will Fuck You Up: I would literally rather stick my dick in a cactus

Queen Of All She Surveys: yes, a miracle finally occurred

Queen Of All She Surveys: the gods have blessed us

Queen Of All She Surveys: acatl has a date

Queen Of All She Surveys: and NO, I am NOT telling you who with. That is his business. We’re all very happy for him and his private life, neza

Cursed Snake Facts: godsdammit

Queen Of All She Surveys: :)

ahuizotl2: I take it back

ahuizotl2: I love you. name it and its yours

dear_prudence: take me shopping bitch

ahuizotl2: done! :D

ahuizotl2: ...also how the fuck did HE find out??

dear_prudence: it’s nez

ahuizotl2: point taken

Further AU notes:

- little skull is mostly white with black ears and a patch on her back that lends her her name. acatl talks to her like a person. sometimes her eyes reflect light that isn't there. - everyone is bi because I say so. - acatl's parents really wanted him to go into law or medicine but no, he had to major in religious studies, minor in history, and go off to be a glorified coroner. - neutemoc and huei's divorce was a nightmare but they are both happier now. - modern acatl can summon the wind of knives. the wind of knives thinks OG acatl was better. - yaotl: shadow beasts? no problem. an 8-lb cat? VERY SCARY MUCH SHARP.

#teocatl #obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #blood tw #concussion tw

0 notes