#but i only know ash from the crossover

[silverzoomies]

Angels

peter maximoff x reader

warnings: peter being a goober, he watches porn for like half a second, it's highkey a stranger things crossover, my dialogue is goofy as hell

word count: 5,240

a/n: had a lot of fun with this one !! a while back, my buddy @quickandsilvers (now deactivated, and i can't find their new acc) requested a fic where he works in a video store and makes a fool of himself. i think i strayed from their prompt a lot, but i hope they don't mind. sorry about the stranger things crossover !! it happened naturally while writing it, and i couldn't stop thinking about steve and peter interacting. lol

Like a responsible adult, Peter spent the span of an entire month “studying” for his GED final. His rapid fire attention span made focusing a tough feat, even past his years of high school age hyperactivity. Which was the very reason he had to study so friggin hard for his GED in the first place. Peter never graduated high school. And because he never graduated high school, he didn’t really know what real studying was. “Studying” for him mostly entailed speed reading, once or twice over. Before he called it quits and bolted away to do…Peter stuff.

He was honestly really proud of himself for sticking it out, though. Much to his mother’s most pleasant surprise. Peter carried a perfect attendance streak through all his classes. A wildly stark contrast to his self proclaimed, unmatched ditch streak back in high school. In hindsight, that wasn’t something worth boasting about.

But all his hard work and bonafide effort proved supremely disappointing…when he flunked the final anyway.

Peter’s chest ached, as though someone tore his heart out, stomped on it, then double tapped for good measure. In a fit of unbridled frustration, Peter raced across the entire planet to burn out his rage. His blood boiled hot in his veins. After circling the globe about a gajillion times, he finally skidded to a stop. Somewhere in Indiana.

His clothes were all tattered and covered in holes. Burned from supersonic force. The soles of his favorite shoes turned to ash, crying smoke like a bonfire. Painful blisters littered his feet. But in his defeated haze, he couldn’t find the energy to care. Barefoot and blistered, Peter walked to the nearest payphone, his head tipped back in shame.

He could only imagine how devastated his mom would be.

It broke Peter’s heart, knowing he’d have to call her and ruin her day. After she promised to take him and his sisters out for a celebratory dinner. All you can eat Chinese! - she said. Being on the receiving end of bad news was one thing. But delivering said news to one’s mother - after an entire lifetime spent letting her down? That sucked unimaginably more.

At the payphone - after tossing his desecrated shoes in the trash - Peter hesitantly brought the handset to his ear. Deep breath in. Now, breathe out. He leaned against the glass of the phone booth. Over the line, his mother’s voice lost all liveliness. And a moment later, Wanda took over instead, sounding majorly peeved off. She threw all kinds of accusations at him - Did you even try, Piet? I thought you were taking this seriously! You said you studied! You totally dashed mom’s hopes!

Peter rolled his finger through one of the holes in his Queen shirt. Mannnn. Friggin sucks. He got that one from the totally sick Hot Space Tour. He even took Wanda with him, and they had the most righteous time. With her so disappointed on the phone like this, it hurt to recall any fond memories. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried cracking a half-assed joke to lighten the mood.

“Soooooo…no Chinese tonight then?”

Yeah, nah. Sis didn’t take to that one too well. Peter hated arguing with her, but the two spat back and forth for about five minutes. Peter bumped his head against the glass as his stress ran up to mach ten. Gathering whatever patience he had left - a microscopic amount, at this point - he apologized, told his sister he loved her, and hung up. Once he stepped outside of the phone booth, he heaved a long groan.

Peter’s fingers twitched at his sides. Taking a quick glance upward, he noticed a nearby video store. A Family Video, nestled in a strip mall next to an arcade. Narrowing his eyes, Peter chewed his lip in contemplation.

And he made a supremely stupid move.

A millenia passed since Peter gave into his klepto compulsions. Maybe old habits die hard, as they say.

At the Hawkins PD, the chief lingered nearby in a rickety, metal chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The night seemed to drag for eons, as Peter paced barefoot in restless circles…within the confines of a lonesome jail cell. Since Hawkins was such a small town, hardly any of the feds were familiar with the X-Men. Mutants were a rare commodity. They sooner thought Peter was a hobo the chief picked up off the street.

Come next morning, Peter got an earful from Chuck. Thankfully, the generous prof forgave Peter for his colossal fuck-ups. He even paid Peter’s bail. And while the speedster felt even more sick with guilt because of it; he was grateful he wouldn’t have to spend another second in nowhere town Indiana.

Tormentous boredom aside; for some reason, the place gave Peter the creeps.

Falling victim to his own compulsions proved a major setback on all fronts. After Chuck chewed Peter out over the phone, he broke even more bad news. Apparently, the Family Video manager made a major stink about Peter’s thievery. Even called in a complaint to Xavier’s school. The guy went so far as to blame mutants for their “dishonesty.” A completely baseless generalization. All because of some dumb knucklehead’s reckless behavior.

Chuck convinced the asshole to let Peter off the hook. Only if the speedster made up for it by working a summer’s job at Family Video. A short-term punishment. At least until Autumn, when Peter got another shot at his GED. The professor basically grounded Peter from X-Men stuff. Awesome. Heck, technically, he grounded him from the mansion altogether. Cool beans. Thumbs up. Hunky dory.

Hell no. Peter was an adult. Not a teenager who needed to be disciplined after disobeying papa’s orders. He didn’t even really have a papa. In fact, papa disappeared off the face of the planet just a few years back.

Peter digressed. Whatever, right? Grown men messed up all the time. So what if he made a few minor missteps on the road to personal development?

And he would’ve argued these points, had something in Chuck’s honest voice not guilted him into silence.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wear a stupid vest or anything.

The sweltering hot month of June.

Quicksilver should be out kicking ass, causing trouble, stealing hearts (playing video games, tampering with tech, being a total nerd).

Instead, he found himself leaning on the counter of a Family Video register in Indiana.

Peter had never worked an everyman’s retail job in his life. And holy smokes, was it slow. The days ran slower than a sloth in cement shoes. At any given moment, Peter swore he was nanoseconds away from dying of boredom. Literally. Call him melodramatic, but the monotony of day-to-day living sucked the speedy soul out of him. Only a few weeks passed since he “joined the Family Video team.” But all he ever did was idle behind the counter like a chud, gorging on snacks and watching MTV.

Whenever the news reported another X-Men victory, achieved without the help of the team’s one and only speedster; Peter felt the urge to run around the globe again. All he wanted was to shake off his temperament until his legs gave out. But alas. His feet stayed planted on freshly mopped linoleum, in the confines of VHS rental hell.

On the flip side, at least his new shoes were still intact.

Peter spent his days doing mind-numbing activities like reorganizing shelves, sorting movies by genre, and mopping floors. Playing with the label maker was kinda fun. Totally not even a little boring. Nope. Peter never daydreamed some psycho might rob the place, just so he’d have an excuse to be Quicksilver again.

Why would he? When he could play with that sweet label maker.

Yawn.

Thankfully, he wasn’t completely alone. Not that he minded much either way. Solitude and Peter went together like Han Solo and Chewy. But another guy worked the same shift as Peter. Some dude named Steve, with great hair and a metric fuckton of pins all over his vest. He swore up and down, his friend Robin insisted he cover himself head to toe in them. Because something something “chicks totally dig a guy with accessories.”

Peter never met Robin, since her hours were all jacked up. But judging by the Rainbow Brite, Care Bear, and Garbage Pail Kids pins all over Steve’s vest; Peter knew she had to be pulling her pal’s leg.

Which…alright. Cool. He could respect that.

Steve was a decent enough guy and super chill to talk to. He got along great with the group of hellions who always came in, looking for nerdy flicks like Clash of the Titans. Peter once spent a whole afternoon debating Star Wars logistics with them; arguing whether or not Ewoks had any justifiable place in Return of the Jedi. But, come on, those fuzzballs were kinda cool.

And Peter refused to admit he had a few Ewok figures in his collection back in Westchester.

Neither Steve, nor his munchkins seemed to have any qualms about mutants. The only thing he ever bitched about was Peter’s effortless ability to stay in tip-top shape.

“It’s so bullshit, man.” He blatantly complained, “You can pig out on Twinkies all day and still look like that. What does your metabolism run on? Jet fuel?”

Peter’s beady eyes darted swiftly back and forth, across the pages of Lord of the Rings. One of Steve’s little minions gave the speedster a used copy. Worn at the edges. Barely held together by the spine. Peter hadn’t read a real book by choice since middle school. As he skimmed through it at a remarkable pace, he spoke through a creamy bite of Twinkie.

“Flux Capacitor.”

Shame. Sucks for Steve. The dude was obviously good looking. But he somehow fumbled his attempts at flirting with cute chicks. Not to mention, his opportunities came so few and far in between, with Peter there to steal the show. And while some small-town ladies had a tendency to scrunch their noses and sneer at the presence of a mutant - others recognized him as a hero. One of the X-Men. On the rare chance a cutie walked in with her besties following along; they sometimes whispered amongst each other.

"Isn’t he with the X-Men?” “Oh my god, he is!” “Which one is he?” “I think he’s the fast one.” “How fast is he though?” “Oh, he’s, like, so mega fast. Like a speeding bullet on legs.” “Whoa. He’s kinda cute.” “What do you think his calves look like?” “I like his hair.” “What’s he doing here in Hawkins?” “Do you think he’s undercover?” “He looks so ripped.”

Chewing his gum and secretly listening in, Peter cheesed a grin from ear to ear like a doofus. And he soon fell into a shameless habit, letting awestruck girls cop a feel of real, superhero muscles and speedster calves. Hard as vibranium, vascular like Commodore 64 wiring.

What?? Give him a break! Back in Westchester, girls never gave him a second glance.

The endless quiet and steady pace of everyday living drove Peter up a freaking wall after a while. A month in, he felt himself going stir crazy. Peter continuously thought about zipping out for a quick run. One whole second tops. Just to make a break for a slushie at the gas station down the street. Steve even swore he wouldn’t rat Peter out if he bailed and came back. Cuz, like, seriously…who would notice?

But in the back of his mind somewhere, Peter heard Chuck’s voice. A guilty reminder to slow his roll. Stop and smell the roses. The speedster had his impulses, sure. But he wasn’t so weak willed. Peter knew, deep in his heart, he could do better. Hell, he was better. A true master of self control. No problem-o.

Except…he totally wasn’t.

Hand to god, Peter was, and would always be a colossal jackass.

He affirmed this brutally honest fact with himself the first time he met you.

That night, the store seemed like a barren ghost town. Not a customer in sight. Most of the town’s locals were out having fun at a traveling carnival. Steve even took the day off to chaperone his hobbit posse. He stopped by just to give Peter his pin-covered vest, and left his esteemed colleague to stew in his own boredom. Wasting away behind the counter, restless as ever; Peter dreamed of carnival funnel cake.

And why not sneak away for a quick sec? Just to grab himself something sweet. He liked to think he earned it.

Peter zipped to the carnival, paid for some funnel cake, tied Steve’s shoelaces together, and returned to the store in a flash. Leaning comfortably back on a metal stool; he stuffed his gullet with fried delights. Sweet, doughy goodness. Powdered sugar coated his fingers and dusted the corners of his mouth. Peter kept his legs hiked up, dirty sneakers crossed on the countertop. Whatevs. He’d wipe ‘em down before he closed up shop in two hours.

His lidded eyes gaped lazily at one of theTVs hanging from the ceiling. Peter shamelessly watched a wildly inappropriate porno. A filthy flick he snatched from the restricted section and popped in. Partly out of boredom. Mostly out of morbid curiosity. Angels of Passion. Peter sat through an hour of hilariously raunchy scenes - all featuring steamy, angel hanky panky. Talk about divine intervention. He snickered to himself as heat pooled in his cheeks.

A blonde bombshell gyrated her hips in some dude’s lap, rolling her bush, bouncing to the beat of a catchy, unidentifiable song. Her explicit moans echoed lewdly over that earworm of a tune. Jesus, she was really going for it. Looked like she, uh…liked it, actually. Blood in Peter’s cheeks rushed south at warp speed. He felt a familiar tightening in his groin. With funnel cake crammed between his powdery lips, he adjusted himself in his jeans. Smearing powdered sugar carelessly over his crotch.

And he nearly choked to death when a voice he didn’t recognize called his name.

“Wow. Quicksilver? Is that you? Whatcha watchin?”

Oh. Oh, it wasn’t just his name name. But his hero name. Peter whipped his head around, his dark eyes widening as he met yours. Brows raised. Gazing humorously at him as though he were a bozo. Just his luck. A random customer - a very cute customer - picked the most optimal time to walk in. And there he was, the X-Men’s famous speedster; covered in powdered sugar, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, Care Bear and Rainbow Brite pins all over his vest, a stiffy in his jeans, a nasty porno playing in the background.

What a huge lamebrain, you probably thought.

Peter blinked, and so did you. Time seemed to stretch in a long, awkward moment. Someone should honestly just shoot him and be done with it. From his perspective, an hour passed before he got his shit together. But from your perspective, he was there in a second. Leaning casually over the counter on his elbow, his other hand on his hip. The TV blared reruns of MTV music videos, with Madonna singin’ loud. The very same TV you caught him watching dirty movies on - just for the hell of it. Purely for entertainment’s sake, mind you.

And bizarrely enough, your expression held no judgment.

Furrowing his mercury brows, Peter wiped the last trace of powdered sugar from his lips. He cleared his throat and gave you a careless nod of his head. Stay cool. Stay collected. It wasn’t like his mom caught him with his pants down or something. He put on his best customer service smile. A grin so fake, his dimples vanished into hiding. Time to get the ball rolling before he lost whatever dignity he had left.

Peter hated Indiana. Like, really hated it.

He spoke fast, the words tumbling past his lips at the speed of light.

“That?Thatwasnothing.” Peter blurted out, his mouth running a hundred miles an hour. His fingers tapped anxiously on the countertop. Your curious gaze flicked down to them, before looking into his coke-brown eyes again. His face erupted in flames as he kept rambling, punctuating each sentence with an uneasy laugh, “I wasn’t watching anything. Just some lame religious documentary. Y’know. A real snore fest. I swear, I was this close to takin’ a nap.”

You laughed.

No lie, he wasn’t expecting you to laugh like that. The sound sliced through the tension in the air, catching him off guard. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His forced smile curled up involuntarily, revealing his dimples for real this time.

“Yeah? Huh. For some lame documentary, you looked pretty into it. I’m surprised you heard me at all.”

“Eh, you’re not wrong. Puts a whole new meaning to goin’ heels to Jesus, doesn’t it?”

You let out another laugh, and your voice cracked. Blush creeped over your face from the neck up. A surge of shyness overtook Peter. Running a hand up through his hair, he searched for any words to say. And then he remembered he had a job to do.

“Anyway. Sorry. Can I help you with something?” Peter smoothed out his (Steve’s) vest, brushing powdered sugar from it like pesky snow.

“No biggie, dude. Just wondering where your horror section is.”

Peter arched his brow, “Horror, huh?”

With a cheeky smirk, he disappeared, leaving a swift gust of wind in his wake. You gasped a small peep. Pressing your hands to the counter, you leaned forward as though you were looking for him. He took the opportunity to admire your ass from where he stood between the aisles. Politely, of course.

“They’re over here.” The speedster called from his spot, keeping himself nonchalantly propped against a stand of horror mags. Your gaze flitted down to the Walkman hanging at his hip. His easy going stance made you laugh yet again - man, you made him feel like the king of comedy. You made your way to the horror section. Peter kept his eyes on you while you glanced over the tapes, “You lookin’ for anything in particular, orrrrr…”

“Nope, just looking.”

“Just looking. Got it.” Peter clicked his tongue, nodding, “Cool. Well, if you need any recs…I mean, I’m kind of a movie aficionado, so…”

“Oh, you are, are you?”

Aw, you actually humored him.

“Pfffbbt. Yeah. My twin sis is, like, super into sitcoms and stuff. But I’m the movie guy of the family.”

“And what kinda movies do you like?”

Peter didn’t miss a beat, “Star Wars, definitely. But I like Bladerunner too. ET. Robocop. Alien. Oh! Rocky’s awesome too. Scarface. I can do a crazy good Tony Montana impression. Clint Eastwood movies are cool. Conan the Barbarian. Can’t get enough of Arnold. And I’m not sayin’ Flash Gordon’s my favorite, but-”

You gaped at Peter like you saw him get hit by a car or something. He stopped himself short, pausing as he named off movies on his fingers.

“What? Not a fan?”

“Not a fan of wh-”

“Flash Gordon?”

“Is that what you said? I didn’t understand a single word of that, dude!”

Oh. Guess he got a little too amped up. The apples of Peter’s cheeks turned pink. Scratching the back of his neck, he sheepishly laughed.

“Sorry, uh…lemme start over…I like Star Wars.”

“So do I! I love Star Wa-”

Peter raised his head, fixing you with a squinty eyed, analytical look - mostly playful. He quickly cut you off again.

“What about Ewoks?”

“They’re like little teddy bears! What’s not to love?”

Points for you, cute, mystery babe.

“Oh, bitchin’. Yeah, uh-”

And like a huge doofus, Peter leaned a little too hard against the magazine stand. It tumbled to the floor as he knocked it over unintentionally. Catching himself, he flashed his teeth in a humiliated smile.

“Uh…I totally meant for that to happen.” He clarified.

Even though you laughed yet again - and sounded so, unfairly cute too - Peter vanished to the restroom to smack himself in the face a few times. Returning only to clean up the fallen magazines. Another microsecond later, he appeared behind the counter. At the register again. His summer hellscape. Purgatory.

And for now, after making such an ass of himself, he’d leave you be. Let you come to him.

You eventually did.

“Just these.” You muttered bashfully, sliding a few tapes across the counter.

Peter glanced up to look at you every few beats. Tapping away at the keypad, his agile fingers danced across the keys with finesse. And despite the speed at which he normally worked, there was an unmistakable lag in his movements. Almost deliberate. He took special care as he typed your information and logged your rentals. It was as if he prolonged the interaction on purpose, drawing out everything at a leisurely pace.

Very unlike Quicksilver.

You eyed the pins all over his (Steve's) vest.

"Nice pins." You said.

"Thanks. Care Bears are the shit."

You held back another giggle, covering your mouth to conceal it.

“Say, uhm…forgive me if I’m being too nosy. But what are you doing all the way out here in Indiana, Quicksil-” You paused, tilting your head innocently to the side. Your eyes squinted into thin slits as you read his nametag, “Peeeter? Peter, yeah.”

Peter flashed a lazy, cat-like grin, snapping his fingers and throwing a finger gun your way.

“Bingo, you got it. But, yeah, everyone else calls me Quicksilver. Except for the oldies who have no clue who I am. It’s insane being recognized sometimes. Cuz I’m just a glorified track-and-field star who ended up a wage monkey, I guess. The job sucks ass, honestly.” He chuckled, leaning against the counter, resting his weight on an elbow, “As for what I’m doin’ here? It’s top secret X-Men business.”

“Ooooh! What, like…some kinda covert op-”

“Covert operation? Yeeeeeaaaaaahhh…nah, I’m totally messin’. Let’s just say I got into some trouble and this is my punishment.” Peter chuckled softly, glancing at the films you picked out. His eyes widened as he scanned the titles, letting out a low whistle, “H’oooh. Some pretty gritty stuff here. These are brutal. Blood, guts, limbs flyin’ all over the place. You tryin’ to give yourself nightmares?”

“Eh, it’s all fake anyway. Just cheesy, dumb fun.” You giggled, taking the horror flicks from him. A jolt of electricity shot through him as your fingers brushed his own. The contact was brief, but it left a flutter in his stomach he couldn’t shake. Parting your pretty lips, you teased, “They’re way more interesting than any lame, religious documentaries.”

Peter raised a brow and gave you a bemused look, your playful comment catching him by surprise. He crossed his strong arms, restlessly tapping his finger against his bicep.

“Mhm. But that “documentary�� had some pretty hot angels, not gonna lie.” He joked. Peter smirked, his eyes flickering up and down, giving you a quick once-over. He snapped his fingers again, keeping his tone casual, “Hey, speaking of, are you gonna be wingin’ it back to the pearly gates anytime soon? Or are you stickin’ around for a while?”

Aha! So, you weren’t immune to his natural charm. Your eyes shot open, your blush sending a righteous wave of satisfaction buzzing through him. Peter pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and wiggled his brows. His confidence soared beyond the stars. Shrugging off any remnants of awkwardness, he eased himself back into a state of carelessness. You broke into another cute giggle fit.

You scratched the back of your neck, looking bashfully down at your shoes.

“Nice save. I think that one actually made me blush.”

Peter blinked laxly, drawing out a satisfied hum. 

“Oh, yeah, it did for sure. Looks cute on you. What can I say? I aim to please.”

A warm smile graced his face as he slid you the last tape.

“Flash Gordon?” He asked.

If you blushed any more, you’d probably explode.

“I couldn’t keep up with the way you were talking…but you mentioned that one. You said it was one of your favorites, right?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

The banter between the two of you seemed to flow so naturally. Time lost all meaning. And as the minutes passed and you said your goodbyes, moving towards the doors; Peter’s foot tapped at a frenzied pace. A powerful urge to chase after you swarmed him like a pack of angry bees. He knew he wouldn’t be staying in Indiana for much longer. Only a month more, at the most. But, man…there was something about you.

Ah, screw it. Act now, face the consequences later.

A fwip, and Peter materialized before you at the doors. You stumbled back and erupted in another surprised squeal. His hands instinctively reached out, grabbing your shoulders to steady you before you fell.

“Sorry! Sorry. Uh, any chance you’d wanna stick around for a while longer? It’s just so dead here tonight. We could kick it back, chill, and hang. And fingers crossed, I promise I won’t make you watch any weird, religious docs or nothin’.”

Miraculously, you agreed. Peter couldn’t believe his luck. And he spent the remaining few minutes of his shift, along with the rest of that night, hanging out with some cutie he met on a whim.

Maybe Robin was right. It was the vest, wasn't it? Chicks were totally into guys with accessories.

The impossibly hotter month of July.

Some might call Peter a little irresponsible. And true to form, he was. But you were legit the most fun thing to happen to him in months. Up there with the bitchin’ funnel cake he swiped from the carnival, the same night he met you. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Both you, and the funnel cake.

Carpe diem or whatever.

In the cramped shadows of a video store supply closet, Peter pulled you oh-so-close against his body. Hot as hellfire. His heartbeat ran on bubbly fumes of anticipation. Peter’s chapped lips confidently claimed yours, a moment after you gave him a bashful peck and confessed the cutest thing ever-

��Pleaaaase don’t go back to Westchester!! I really really like you. I think you totally rock. I’m gonna miss you too much if you leave.”

D’awww. You were all soft on him. Your pouty lips and innocent eyes made his chest warm and tingly. Peter never imagined someone could win him over so easily. But after the front doors chimed, and you walked into the store wearing a Grace Under Pressure shirt - of which you told him you wore only because he got you into Rush; Peter thought he heard wedding bells. But, oh…wait. No. The doors chimed again.

Peter felt his resolve instantly weaken around you. Whatever aloof front of speedster confidence he held onto seemed to melt away. Mostly. Partially.

In the closet, he grinned into the kiss, tasting your giggles on his tongue as he coaxed you into something deeper. You were such an undeniable sweetheart. A ray of sunshine, casting light on the most boring summer of his life. Clinging bashfully to his intense kisses, you followed the motion of his tongue. Your own tongue raveled delicate threads with his. Overzealous, he tangled those threads in frantic knots. Peter breathed the softest groan, running strong hands down your back and just above-

Passionate rock songs rang out love ballad riffs in his head, and the music halted to a disappointing stop when - all at once, a veil of blinding light washed over you both. Moment ruined. What asshole would even dare? You pulled away from his kiss, but an eager Peter chased your lips. He only stopped himself once he noticed a figure looming in the closet doorway. Steve looked unamused, holding a broom and dustpan in hand.

“Can I help you?” Peter sarcastically quipped.

“Really, man? Really?” Steve scoffed, cheeks pinkening. Clearing his throat, his dark eyes shifted. Away from the couple getting a little too cozy. He stated in a matter-of-fact way, “FYI, you’re still on the clock, yanno? Jesus.”

“Jesus? I’m flattered, Harrington, but you can just call me Peter.”

A soft snicker erupted from your swollen lips. Your small hands curled shamefully into Peter’s work vest, narrowly avoiding the band pins stuck in the fabric. Ultimately, you failed to keep your giggles at bay. Peter always had a way of making you laugh til you cried. His own hands rested just above your booty, a centimeter away from some spicy grab action. Damn you, Steve. Damn you. Teasing an indignant sigh, Peter reached out to lazily snag the door handle.

“Ever heard of knocking?” He joked before easing the door closed, sealing your cute chuckles inside.

The icy cold, freeze-your-balls-off month of January. Post New Years.

Bundled up in a warm, turtleneck sweater and matching, black jeans; Peter cozied up next to you on the sofa. At his mom’s place, Wanda was perched comfortably on the floor. She kept her back against the foot of the couch close to Peter. In one of the loveseats, Lorna sat with her legs tucked under her. A blanket draped over her small frame. The faint hum of infomercials in the background went ignored, as Peter fell into a long winded info dump about the Lord of the Rings.

Peter’s mother padded into the room from the kitchen. A hand-made shawl covered her shoulders, knitted by Wanda and given to Magda as a gift. Carrying several glass bottle sodas, she passed one out to each of her kids before delivering the last one to you. Magda breathed a chuckle. She noticed the way you narrowed your eyes, as you struggled to follow Peter’s speedy rambling. His family seemed to have no problem keeping up. They understood every word, without asking him to stop and reiterate.

Lorna rolled her eyes affectionately. Wanda gazed up at her brother like he held all the secrets of the universe - and she wanted the details on every single one.

When Peter’s rambling eventually ceased, his mother asked him if he had any plans for the future. He poked inside his empty box of chow mein with a pair of chopsticks. A bit embarrassed, Peter grinned. Now that he finally scored his GED - he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He just hadn’t told anyone aside from Wanda yet. She patted Peter on the knee. A gesture of encouragement, pushing him to open up. With a timid sigh, he confessed - he wanted to teach at Xavier’s.

He got a big ol’ hug from mom for that one.

When she left for work, Peter snuggled up on the couch with you and his sisters. You were all crammed in like warm penguins on a chilly night. Until Peter randomly pushed himself out of the pile. He stumbled forward, checking his watch. Waving his soda in your face, he winked.

“Babe, hold this for me? I almost forgot I wanted to do something.”

Before you could ask, he zipped away and returned in a nanosecond. Peter threw himself into the cuddle puddle.

“Where’d you even go?” You asked, scooting aside to give him more room.

Peter snatched his soda and shrugged, lazily smirking.

“Dropped by Family Video. Tied Steve’s shoelaces together.”

[geeks-universe]

Cooper Howard x F!Reader (not to spoil it, but you know I love my crossovers so…)

The Fallen pt. 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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

Once, when the world was younger and you were still naive enough to believe in fate, you asked your father about love.

He’d laughed then- a deep, cheery kind, that spoke of a wisdom you could never hope to achieve.

“In time,” he’d promised, taking your hands into his, “You’ll learn that love comes in many forms, and the love you choose will always be the greatest.”

Even after everything, after years and years of disappointment, of cruelty and emptiness, you couldn’t forget his words.

So, in an act of rebellion, you chose love.

You chose the love of your brother, the brother who would lose everything, who would fall from Grace, just for defying fate.

You chose the human race, who turned their back on you, who hurt you over and over again.

You chose a better life, that seemed impossible most days- but sometimes, just sometimes, everybody lives.

And you chose wrong.

The world tore itself apart, and just when you wanted to believe it could find itself again, it would fall into the greatest trap in human history: greed.

The love in your soul turned to dust, like the cities you’d once roamed, crumbling until all that remained was an empty space and broken dreams. You’d held onto what you could of yourself, desperate to piece together the fragments into something that resembled the person you’d been, but there was no hope. The spark of hope you’d once kindled and raised to an inferno was doused, nothing but ashes in the ocean of your disappointment.

There were still a few things you couldn’t abide by, however, and Cooper Howard dragging an innocent woman through the desolate Wastelands was one of them.

You’d happened upon the scene by accident, just passing through, but the familiarity of the figure had you lurking longer than what was normally deemed safe.

“Coop?”

Your voice was gentle, like the beginning strums of a sweet song. Cooper wasn’t sure how the harshness that had etched itself into your demeanor never invaded your speech, but he would be eternally grateful. It was a goddamn godsend he didn’t believe he ever deserved.

“Well, now,” he drawled, careful to keep the smile that threatened to peek through hidden. “Last I heard, you were headed East.”

You had no such reservations, and even the years of guilt and pain couldn’t wipe away the upturn of your lips. For an action so small, it sure did radiate in a way the sun never could.

“I did, but it didn’t stick,” you shrugged, grabbing the straps of your backpack. Never one for subtlety, you gestured at the vault-dweller, who had been eyeing you with a keen interest.

She had been quiet, obviously, for the sake of herself and how Cooper might react to her asking for help. Now that you’d acknowledged her, though, she started speaking up, much to Cooper’s chagrin.

“I’m Lucy,” she said, tugging harshly at the restraints around her neck. “I’m looking for my father.”

You nodded, and the fluttering in Lucy’s heart slowed, fear mixing with her initial curiosity. You knew the ghoul holding her captive, the chances of you helping her were slim to none, but she tried to remain optimistic. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a good person on the surface.

“Might be hard to do with that,” your eyes flicked from her neck to Cooper, with a pointed raise of one brow.

He let out a low whistle, leaning back with the confidence of a man who’d lived long enough to not be afraid of shit. If it were anyone else, friend or not, he would’ve shot them dead and been done with it. He didn’t need to answer to anyone, but something deep in his chest forced his hands steady.

“She broke my vials,” he explained, cautiously avoiding your gaze. “Seems only fair she gets me more.”

“He used me as bait!” Lucy argued indignantly, trying to take a step towards you only to be tugged back by Cooper. “I had to do something.”

“Your father,” the word is strained, a haunting in your eyes Lucy can’t place, “Where is he?”

Lucy tried, once again, to walk to you. Coop, however, was keeping her on a tight leash, refusing to let her near you. It’s for his benefit, he tells himself, even if some small part of him does it for your protection.

Over the years, he’s run into you many, many times. No matter how hard he’s tried, it’s like fate keeps bringing him back to you. At first, he’d been downright horrible to you, terrified to admit that there was something in your eyes that made him feel human again. Slowly, ever slowly, like a stubborn weed you grew on him, and it’s been impossible for him to deny the way his body reacts to you.

“Coop,” you chide, your voice like velvet, enveloping his skin in a soft warmth. Fuck, he did love it when you used his name.

You gave Lucy a half smile, and the growl that threatened to leave Cooper’s mouth got caught in his throat as he realized you weren’t walking to her, but to him.

“I’ll get you the vials, just let her find her dad.”

He stood a little taller as you approached, planting his hands on his belt as he ran his tongue along his teeth.

“Darlin’, I ain’t doing this for the hell of it,” he replied, and then paused. “Mostly.”

You reached your hands out, carefully enveloping them around where he was grasping the rope. In all his years, he hadn’t recalled a single touch ever stirring his stomach the way yours did. You’d only ever touched him once before, and it was a brief graze of his cheek. This was intentful, and it felt a hell of a lot more intimate than it had any right to be.

“Please,” you breathed, and he could see the despair in your eyes - eyes that were far too old for someone who looked so young. He could never quite piece together how you fit in this world, or how you managed to look as if you’d stepped right out of the past just to have this moment with him.

He sighed, maintaining a scowl for all he was worth. Cooper Howard would not let you see the effect you had on him.

“Thank you, Coop.”

His stubborn heart skipped a beat as he clenched his jaw, his expression emanating annoyance. You weren’t perturbed, however, turning away to free Lucy.

“I’m (Y/N),” you introduced yourself, careful not to irritate the marks on her neck further. Cooper was rough around the edges, you knew that, but you saw the man beneath the armor in the little moments, the times he couldn’t quite hide who he was.

It intrigued you, made you think about yourself and the person you’d become. Perhaps, you had been too hasty in throwing that person away. Maybe, that part of yourself was still alive too, buried underneath layers of armor.

“Thank you,” she was sincere in her gratitude, and that tiny piece of yourself flared, begging to be remembered.

“I could help you too, you know,” you offered after a delayed pause, chasing the optimism she held tightly onto.

No matter how hard you tried, your soul fought back, demanded to be whole again.

“Really?” Her surprise morphed to joy, and you found it contagious.

“Now hold on just a damn minute,” Cooper interrupted, not pleased with that development. “Your services are required elsewhere.”

“I’m capable of servicing more than just you.”

His leg twitched at the insinuation, at the way you looked at him from beneath your lashes with an innocence he doubted you possessed.

“But, since you asked so nicely cowboy,” your smile was devious, your tone far too sultry for the sweltering heat of the desert. “You first.”

Lucy’s brows were to her hairline, unsure what to make of the dynamic between the two of you. Her entertainment, however, was cut blissfully short when you threw a canteen towards her, which she caught instinctually.

“Now you’re coddling her, sweetheart?”

You took a moment to wrap the lasso Cooper carried around into a neat loop, your gaze locked with his as you approached once more. Lucy was too preoccupied with her water to notice the two of you sizing one another up.

“Don’t be jealous, Coop,” you grabbed the front of his belt roughly, forcing him a step closer to you.

He fell into the motion, tracing his eyes dangerously slow from where you gripped his belt to the soft curve of your lips.

“You’re still my favorite,” you promised on a breath as you tucked his lasso securely into his waist.

His hands snatched your wrists before you pulled away, and for a brief moment, the intermingling of your breath was all that interrupted the silence. His gaze was a challenge, and yours was far too playful.

It was damn near unfair how you could walk through the apocalypse and still look like you belonged on a fucking billboard. There was an unnatural allure around you, and he wasn’t sure if it was the twinkle in your eyes, or the smoothness of your skin, or the gentle bur of your voice- but holy fuck you looked like an angel that’d accidentally stumbled into hell.

The silence was interrupted by Lucy clearing her throat, an awkward smile as she caught your attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but-“

“It’s okay,” you assure her, grazing your fingers along Cooper’s palms as you step from his proximity.

“Vials first, daddy dearest after,” you reminded them, taking the lead.

Lucy was more than happy to walk beside you, while Cooper trailed a small distance behind. Where Lucy was insistent on speaking, keeping up a steady conversation through the long trek, Cooper preferred to observe.

First, he focused on the way your black jumpsuit hugged all the right areas, tight enough it could be considered a damn sin. That train of thought was dangerous though, and left him with an ache he knew he couldn’t satisfy on his own.

So, he instead focused on the way you effortlessly dodged Lucy’s line of questions, and redirected the questions to learn about her. It was curious, that. As much of a tight lipped bastard that Cooper was, you were doubly so. Through the years and the friendly encounters, he’d let some of his life slip in conversation. Nothing substantial, but you certainly knew more tidbits than anyone else.

He, however, didn’t know anything about you. He knew what he observed, but you never told him anything about your past.

It helped pass the time, sifting through your noncommittal answers to make assumptions about the life you lived.

It was difficult though.

Sometimes, you talked about things like you’d witnessed them, even though it would’ve been impossible. He didn’t know your age exactly, but if he had to guess, he’d put you at maybe mid-twenties, and that’s at the oldest. It was damn near a miracle you didn’t have any missing limbs or obvious scarring. You looked as unmarked as a damn vault dweller, and he was starting to think that perhaps you had been one.

“Have you always lived on the surface?”

He never thought he’d be thankful for the damn vault dweller, but it was nice having someone try to pry some answers out of you.

“That’s a harder question to answer than you’d think,” you laughed a little coyly, like there was a joke that only you were privy to.

When it was obvious you weren’t going to continue speaking, and Lucy had far too many manners to push any further on the subject, she asked another question.

“Why’d you help me?“

Your gaze turned toward the setting sun. It had been over half the day since you’d decided to help them both, and the sun was just now slipping below the horizon. The three of you would have to rest soon.

“It’s hard to forget the person I was,” you admitted lowly.

The symphony that was your voice turned decidedly melancholy, unnaturally so. Normally, it sounded more like a romantic string of tunes that captured the essence of life. This, however, was sad, dead.

“Maybe the world needs more people like that,” Lucy provided, and Cooper didn’t miss the flash of guilt that devastated your expression.

Curious, indeed.

“I’d reckon that’s the last place we’ll find ‘fore the sun disappears,” Coop states, pointing to a rickety, old house, somehow still standing against the desert in defiance.

“It’s as good a place as any for the night,” you shrugged, leading the small group to the rest spot.

Where Cooper was cautious, weapon drawn, you were careless, opening the door like you knew nothing was in there that could hurt you. He felt a twinge of annoyance that you would be that reckless, knowing the dangers of the Wasteland. He was many things, but a protector was certainly not one of them.

“Here,” Lucy tried to hand you back the canteen you’d gifted her earlier as you settled yourself down in a corner.

The building was definitely empty, and provided some amount of protection from both the elements and any creatures lurking about, but there wasn’t any intact furniture. You’d found a relatively comfortable pile of sand and laid your pack down, as if it were a pillow.

“Keep it,” you refused to take the offering. You were honestly a bit surprised she had even saved some for you.

“But you haven’t had anything to drink all day.”

It was an oddity that Cooper had noticed too. While both he and the vault-dweller had taken an occasional sip of water or a bite to eat, you hadn’t done either, and the brutal pace you’d set hadn’t reflected that.

“Believe me, “ you said, turning your back to your two traveling companions. “I’m okay.”

Obviously unsatisfied with leaving the conversation, Lucy frowned, but obeyed. Her probing look to the ghoul warranted no answers, and eventually she found her own patch of sand.

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

The next few days passed along in a similar manner, and the more of you that the two observed, the more confused they became. They didn’t voice their concerns, however, far more focused on the destination you had in mind.

“It’s…”

Lucy trailed off, side eyeing you with a questioning look.

“A lab,” you supplied.

“Right, a lab!” She echoed enthusiastically, deciding it best not to point out that it was very much in a state of disrepair and the likelihood of anything surviving the looting prevalent throughout the Wastelands was little to none.

“Sugar, I don’t have the time to be fucking around right now.”

It was the closest tone to anger that Cooper had spoken to you since his first year of knowing you. In the past two days specifically his coughing had grown more severe and more often.

You’d explained a generalized version of what would happen without help to Lucy after the first night, and since then she’d been a bit more apologetic to the ghoul, even if he was a dick.

“Stay out here,” you ordered, not waiting for their inevitable protest as you slipped into the decrepit building with a loud screech of the door.

At the very least, your traveling companions didn’t follow you into the descending hallway, which was more than you expected.

Whatever source had powered the underground facility had died years ago, leaving the bulk of the supplies sealed tight behind an impenetrable door. The bunker was lined with 2 feet of lead, and a door weighing many tons. It was nigh impossible to get in, and if you were anyone else, you would’ve considered it a lost cause.

Instead, you cast a glance back towards the faded light where the entrance was, ensuring that you were not followed while you grabbed hold of the door handle.

You sighed, yanking with a great deal of force until the door made a loud pop, coming unhinged and falling to the ground with a deafening thud. There was a hushed murmur from where Lucy had yelled down to you, but you didn’t bother replying, instead focused on the rows and rows of vials.

Most of the initial testing sites were still secret, a forgotten part of history that, despite their usefulness in the current state of the world, had fallen into the cracks of negligence. Luckily for you, and by extension Cooper, there was enough supply to last him damn near a year if he could ration and store it properly.

Just as you dropped the first vial into your backpack, which was in a convenient metal container, you heard a distinct whooshing noise. You didn’t need to look at the falling object to know who had decided to drop by, and with an exasperated sigh, you tilted your head toward the ceiling of the very dark, very cold bunker.

“Brother…”

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

“Do you think we should check on her?” Lucy was having trouble keeping still, straining her eyes down the dark hallway. “What if she’s hurt?“

“She ain’t hurt,” Cooper shot back, leaning back against the dingy building and crossing his arms over his chest.

“She could be de-“

“Finish that sentence and you might find yourself there, sweetheart,” He threatened, his fingers reaching down toward his holstered gun.

Maybe it’d be better to keep her mouth shut, but after a tense silence, and quite literally nothing better to do, Lucy couldn’t help herself.

“So, you and (Y/N)-“

“Do you like breathin’? ‘Cause I’m getting the distinct feeling that you certainly do not.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you look at her with this-“

“I have no qualms with blasting a hole through your head ‘nd tellin’ her you decided to run off.”

“And then there’s the way she talks to you-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there, sweetheart. If one more word comes out of your mouth, it’ll be the last.”

The two met stare for stare, the threat lingering in the hot breeze between them. Lucy had no doubt she was beginning to grate on the ghoul’s nerves, but she also didn’t really think he’d harm her, not when it was obvious you’d know it was him that did so.

He wouldn’t risk you being upset with him.

Probably.

And because Lucy really didn’t know when to stop talking, she spoke one more time.

“I know that you think I’m naive, and maybe I am, but I do know that life is unexpected and people die, like, a lot.” She dragged in a breath, envisioning her last, and only, memory with her mother, surprised that Cooper had actually let her speak for this long without interrupting.

“Especially up here, so maybe, just… keep that in mind.”

The silence stretched, and for a long moment, Lucy was sure he was going to shoot her. Or at the very least, not answer.

Ever so quietly, however, in a low grumble she heard him mutter, “I know.”

The air felt significantly less murderous after that, and she left the ghoul to contemplate his complex feelings on the subject. She might not fully understand the extent of your connection, or even why you felt that way towards him, but she could appreciate the raw emotion that sparked in the conversation between you both.

If anything good came out of her coming to the surface, besides bringing her dad home, she hopes it would be them realizing the gift they have. Idly, she thought about the knight she’d met back at Filly. That was the first real connection she’d had with anyone, as silly as it was to think about.

“I’m glad nobody’s shot,” you interrupted the quiet contemplation, the smile on your lips not quite reaching your eyes.

Whatever happened in the mysterious lab couldn’t have been good, but you seemed entirely unscathed outside the haunted, nervous look in your eyes.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Cooper greeted, tipping his hat back a titch so he could inspect your person. If he took a little extra time to appreciate the curves of your body- well, who could blame him?

“It’s cleared out,” you rattled your pack in the air before you, nearly dropping some of the overstuffed vials.

Coop let out a low whistle, and Lucy commented, “That’s enough for a lifetime.”

“Not quite,” you laughed, passing along the top one to Cooper. “But it will certainly last a while.”

While the ghoul tended to his needs, Lucy and you wandered further into the Wasteland, eyeing the pipboy on her wrist with the directions to the head.

“So the head for your dad?”

There it was again. The sourness in your voice at the word “dad”. Lucy wanted to ask without being too terribly intrusive, but let the subject drop.

“Did anything happen in the lab?”

You bummed, shaking your head. It was clearly a lie, further proven by the frown that settled on your lips. There wasn’t a lot of yourself you trusted other people with, especially not when it came to your family, but your soul was burning with the desire to shed your armor.

“My brother’s name is Lucy,” you said suddenly, unprompted. “Well, his nickname.”

Lucy, at the very least knowing where the boundary was, decided not to press her luck. Despite seeming to be such a small piece of information, she could see the effort you put into sharing it nonetheless.

“Lucy?” Cooper echoed, having snuck up at some point to follow you.

You weren’t bothered that he’d overheard though. On more than one occasion you’d wanted to share pieces of yourself with Cooper.

“Lucifer,” you provided his full name, a twinge at the top of your shoulder blade, where your battered, broken wings began, ran down the length of your spine.

“Like the devil?” Lucy inquired cautiously.

A laugh crawled up your throat, and before you could stop it, you were giggling heartily, nodding your head.

“That’d be the one, yeah.”

She didn’t understand the truth you were telling her. You knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly fathom the implications that ensued with that knowledge either.

Lucy casted one quick glance at Cooper, then cleared her throat and claimed she was going off the path to use the bathroom quick.

There was a tense silence that permeated the hot, desert air when she left, a new development that neither occupant knew how to navigate. Finally, Coop broke it.

“Ya know, you’ve never actually talked about… all o’ that.”

Your family.

He didn’t say it in so many words, but you could fill in the unspoken topic without much thought. You hummed, acknowledging your own secrecy regarding your past.

“Sometimes it’s better to leave the past buried.”

Coop breathed out a laugh.

“Don’t I know it.”

The smile you gave him was genuine, albeit small. Hesitantly, you reached out towards his gloved hand, grasping it lightly between your own. You didn’t have anything you really wanted to say, didn’t need to, actually. He could see it in your eyes, the gratefulness shining in your bright gaze, clearing some of the guilt that stayed stagnant on your person.

“The vaultie reminded me today,” he drawled, his voice even lower than normal. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d say he was almost flustered.

“People die.”

You waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, you raised a brow in question.

Cooper felt his heart jump to his throat. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bare himself- not now, maybe not ever. The world felt like it started spinning around him, and he pulled his hand from yours, cradling it to your chest.

“Just hope you’re not one of ‘em, darlin’,” he finished lamely.

You swallowed, deciding it was better not to push. Not today.

“You too, Coop.”

Words simmered between you. Dangerous, terrifying words. But Cooper couldn’t get them out, couldn’t get past the panic that played his heart like a damn fiddle.

And you, well you couldn’t let go of your guilt, couldn’t see past the pain of watching the world go to shit and not doing anything to stop it.

So those words stayed unspoke, utterances of the heart, but not of the lips. Maybe, if they were never voiced, they could freeze, and eventually crumble, like time did to all.

Lucy returned then, and the unlikely group continued on as before, leaving the forgotten words to decay away in the dry sand of the Wasteland

[the-heros-sidekick]

❝ went looking for a creation myth, ended up with a pair of cracked lips. ❞

He feels it first at the back of his neck. A buzzing, like the crackling of electricity underneath his skin, reverberating against the hollow of his skull. Something is knocking, making its presence known: A particular kind of evil that had snuck into Stiles’ mind once already, stealing away control over his body. Condemning him to sit back, trapped in his own mind, rendering him powerless. Doomed to watch in horror as his  blood-stained hands wielded sharpened blades against those he loved. They’d gotten him out, though nearly at the cost of his own life—a sacrifice Stiles had been more than willing to make, so long as no one else would get hurt because of him. And yet something must have stayed behind, lodged into the membrane of his skull like a shard of glass. For the longest time he’d managed to keep the horrors contained to only haunt him in the dead of night, leaving him sleep deprived and wrung out, every nerve ending scraped thin. But now, even the light of day no longer offers refuge for Stiles to feel safe. Long gone is the once obnoxiously loud, carefree kid—left in its stead is a man carrying himself with caution, treading quietly across the space between other people’s reality and what lies beyond. He knows there are demons out there listening, waiting for an opportunity to exploit any sign of weakness—a door left slightly ajar, perhaps, much like the door to Stiles’ mind they’d never managed to close. The feeling of impending doom crescendos and Stiles, feeling sick to his stomach with fear, clings desperately to the words he repeats to himself like a mantra. "Nothing gets in unless you let it.” But the words turn to ash in his mouth, memories of past experiences proving him a liar. 

an exploration of Teen Wolf's 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐊𝐈—𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐄 who, after leaving Beacon Hills behind, settled down in New York where he's now considered the FBIs golden boy ― crafted for @fakevz. following canon events of the show with additional headcanons. low activity & very crossover friendly. minors dni. this blog operates in english only. est. 2014 ♗ ©

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍: loss of innocence ⊹ comedic sidekick ⊹ overcoming demonic possession ⊹ a morally gray world ⊹ undying loyalty ⊹ survivor's guilt ⊹ agent of chaos ⊹ deflecting with humor

✧  𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ✧ 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 ✧ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒

I think I've loved you since I met you. I just mistook it for curiosity.

Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I felt this unquenchable need to know you. I blamed it on ulterior motives, justified it because I needed something from you, because you held the answers I was looking for, because no one else was able to help but you. Looking back on it now though, I'm starting to think that maybe some part of me knew right from the start, that first night I stumbled upon you in the woods, what took me years to see: Maybe my heart recognized that it was going to love you right away, and I spent the years to come catching up with what it knew right from the start. That it was always going to be you. How could it ever have been anyone else? Through mayhem and bloodshed, through fear and loss, through grief and sleepless nights, you were the one constant that remained. When I lost sight of everything—first myself, then reality, then hope—you were the one guiding my way like a beacon, or a north star. If I've ever known peace, it's in all the moments that your hand has touched mine and that your arms have held me tirelessly, putting your body like a shield between me and every inkling of danger. Of all the late-night wonderings of trying to make sense of the last decade (and failing), what remains is this singular thought: At least it was you. At least it was me. At least it was us, together. I'd bear it all a million times over if it meant I got to hold your hand at the end of it all. You are the moment of quiet at the end of a long day, you are breathless laughter, you're the patch of sunlight filtering in through the window that I stand in to warm myself. You are everything good in this world and living proof that there is hope despite it all, and I love you beyond measure.

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men (daenys)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Paring: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: contact

- Next part: the gift

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Previous part has been fixed.

I am Daenys Targaryen, born of flame and blood, heir to a legacy that stretches across millennia. My House was once the pinnacle of power in the known universe, its dragonlords feared and revered by all. We ruled from Valyria, the greatest civilization the galaxy had ever seen, until the Doom came. The fires of war—nuclear and cruel—swallowed our homeworld and all we had built. Our enemies conspired, believing us destroyed, our legacy reduced to ash and ruin.

But House Targaryen was not so easily extinguished.

In the aftermath, my ancestors did what Targaryens have always done—they adapted. They fled to the furthest reaches of space, to the uncharted corners of the galaxy where the light of the Imperium could not reach. There, we found a new home, a planet of red skies and volcanic peaks, a world where we could rise again. We named it Albiron, and from its molten heart, we rebuilt our civilization.

In the depths of Albiron, we discovered the drakaon crystals, a powerful source of energy that has allowed us to evolve beyond the constraints of the galaxy's fuel economy. The Imperium and the Spacing Guild cling to melange—the spice that gives them control over space travel. But we, the Targaryens, found a way to traverse the stars without reliance on their outdated systems. The crystals not only power our ships but enhance our technology, giving us the strength and independence we needed to survive.

And survive we did.

Our ancestors safeguarded the ancient knowledge of our House. The secrets of forging Valyrian steel, a craft thought lost to time, still live within us. Our swords, forged in dragonfire, remain unbreakable, as sharp as the day they were first drawn. We hold the wisdom of Valyria—its sciences, its alchemy, its weaponry—all hidden away from the prying eyes of the Empire that now rules the stars. The new emperors and their Bene Gesserit servants tried to create their own messiah, to forge a future in their image, but they could not control us.

They do not know what we are capable of.

And now, after millennia in the shadows, we are stirring again. The galaxy has forgotten our name, but the time will come when they will tremble at the sound of it once more.

For fire and blood will always rise from the ashes

The icy wind cuts through your cloak as you press yourself against the jagged cliffside, the snow swirling violently around you. Arctis is unforgiving, a frozen wasteland where the cold bites at your bones, and the endless white stretches far beyond sight. The Harkonnens are still searching, their patrols scouring the frozen plains, desperate to find you. Their ornithopters hum overhead, casting dark shadows against the snow as their engines roar through the storm.

You crouch low, your breath steady, watching as a squad of Harkonnen soldiers trudges through the snow below, their visors scanning the terrain. They’re relentless, but you’ve been trained for this. The cold, the endless hunt—none of it is new to you. The blood of the dragon runs in your veins, and you know how to wait, how to survive.

The satchel at your side holds something precious: an ancient dragon egg, long since turned to stone. It’s a relic of your past, a symbol of your House’s power, though the Harkonnens know nothing of its true worth. To them, it’s a prize, a trophy. They think capturing you and your egg will give them leverage—perhaps even power. But they do not understand what they’re dealing with.

The blizzard rages on, the wind howling like a beast across the frozen plains. You pull the hood of your cloak tighter around your face, your eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of the ornithopters. Their searchlights sweep across the cliffs, but they won’t find you. Not here, not in the storm.

You move silently, your footsteps careful as you navigate the narrow path along the ridge. The Harkonnens are close, but you’ve learned to avoid them, slipping between their patrols like a ghost in the snow. You’ve disrupted their operations, destroyed their mining equipment, and now they’re hunting you—desperate, angry, and foolish.

You crouch behind a snow-covered boulder, listening to the distant hum of their comms. Their voices crackle through the static of the storm, distorted but still clear enough to hear.

“…continue the search… she can’t have gone far…”

You smirk to yourself. Let them come. Let them search. You’ve been evading them for days, and they still have no idea what they’re up against.

Your thoughts flicker back to the hatchery—the ancient underground structure they uncovered in their greed. It had once been a place where dragons were born, a relic of Valyria’s greatness, long forgotten and buried beneath the ice. The dragon eggs within had turned to stone long ago, but the Harkonnens, ignorant as they were, believed they could extract some kind of power from them. They were wrong.

The Harkonnen soldiers below continue their search, unaware of your presence. You wait, patient, watching them pass by. When the last of them disappears over the ridge, you move again, keeping low to the ground, careful not to make a sound.

A distant shout catches your attention, carried by the wind. You freeze, listening. They’re getting closer. The hum of the ornithopters grows louder, their engines cutting through the storm. They’re sweeping the area, desperate to find you before you can strike again.

You tighten your grip on the hilt of your sword, the Valyrian steel cold against your skin. The ancient knowledge of your House flows through you—the blood of dragonlords, the fire that burns even in the coldest of places.

The storm is your ally, masking your movements, your presence. You can feel the Harkonnens growing frustrated, their search becoming more frantic. They think they can capture you, but you are not so easily taken. You were born of fire and blood, and you will not fall to the likes of them.

In the distance, the hum of the ornithopters fades, replaced by the howling wind and the silence of the frozen wasteland. You remain still, your breath steady, waiting for the storm to hide you once more.

The hunt continues, but you are patient.

You always have been.

The storm raged on, swirling the snow into thick, blinding curtains around you. The wind howled, its sharp edges cutting through the air as you huddled beneath an outcropping of jagged rocks. Your breath came slow and steady, your body still despite the cold biting at your skin. You had lived in conditions far worse than this; the ice and snow of Arctis could not force you out of hiding.

The Harkonnens had passed, their search party moving farther into the storm. But you remained cautious, listening for any signs of movement. The winds carried faint voices—not the harsh tones of Harkonnen soldiers, but something else. Low, deliberate, and organized. You pressed yourself deeper into the shadows, straining to hear.

The voices grew clearer as they approached from beyond the ridge. You crept forward, carefully peering out from your hiding spot. Through the swirling snow, you could make out a group of men, moving in two tight formations. They were well-armed, disciplined, their movements efficient and purposeful. It took a moment to recognize them, but soon you realized they were not Harkonnens at all.

These men were from House Atreides.

You observed them quietly, hidden in the shadows. Two distinct groups, both moving with military precision. Though you didn’t know them by name, you could tell from their movements and the way they coordinated their search that these were capable soldiers. Their formation suggested high-level training, and the way they swept the terrain for threats made it clear they were not to be underestimated.

Unbeknownst to you, these were two teams separated from Duke Leto’s main force—led by none other than Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck, two of the Duke’s most trusted men. But here, in the blizzard, they were just another force you had to evade.

You listened closely as the men talked amongst themselves, their voices carried by the wind, though still muffled by the storm.

“The Duke’s with them still now,” one of the men said, his voice barely audible. “Escorted willingly to their camp. There has been no contact since.”

“They didn’t try to stop him? By the sound of his voice Leto sounded determined.” another voice responded.

“No, they welcomed him. These unknown forces—whoever they are—they’re not hostile to us. Not yet, anyway.”

You felt your pulse quicken. Your brother, Aelor, had found them first. Of course he had. He had been scouting the planet for days, and if anyone could make contact with the Atreides without hostility, it was him. He had always been the diplomat, the one to make the first move. But that meant time was running short. The Harkonnens were still searching for you, and now the Atreides were caught up in the middle of it.

You leaned in closer, straining to hear more, but just as you shifted, the snow beneath your foot crunched—too loud in the stillness.

Two of the Atreides soldiers, their instincts honed from years of combat, immediately stiffened. One of them, a man with sharp eyes and a scar down his cheek, turned his head slightly, his hand moving to the hilt of his blade.

“Did you hear that?” he muttered to his companion.

The other man, stockier but just as alert, nodded, his eyes scanning the area. “Something’s out there.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn’t afford to be caught—not now, not before you had a chance to finish what you had started. Without waiting for them to spot you, you pushed yourself up from your hiding place and began to run, your feet light on the snow but fast enough to kick up a trail in the storm.

“Hey!” one of the soldiers shouted, his voice sharp. “Stop!”

You didn’t look back. The wind whipped against your face as you ran, the storm providing just enough cover to keep you from being seen clearly, but you could hear them behind you, their footsteps crunching through the snow, their voices calling after you.

“Stop, damn it!” another voice yelled. “We’re not Harkonnens!”

It didn’t matter. You couldn’t stop now. You had no idea what they would do if they caught you. For all you knew, they might try to turn you over to the Harkonnens in exchange for leverage or an alliance. You couldn’t take that chance.

You ran faster, weaving through the rocks and cliffs, your cloak whipping behind you. The Atreides soldiers were fast—faster than you had anticipated—and they were gaining ground. You could hear their boots thudding against the frozen earth, the clinking of their armor as they chased after you.

“Stop, we’re not your enemy!” one of the voices called again, closer this time.

You pushed yourself harder, but the storm was growing fiercer, the wind tugging at your cloak, pulling you back. The cold bit into your skin, slowing your movements as the snow thickened around you. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see the sharp-eyed soldier closing the distance between you, his hand outstretched.

“Stop!” he commanded, his voice firm. “We’re with House Atreides—stop!”

Panic flared in your chest, but you couldn’t let it control you. You needed a way out, but the storm was growing too intense, the landscape blurring before your eyes. You stumbled slightly as the ground beneath you dipped, but you caught yourself, forcing your legs to keep moving.

But the Atreides soldiers were relentless, their pursuit unwavering. If you didn’t find a way to lose them soon, they would catch you. And then everything—your mission, your House’s survival—could be compromised.

In the distance, you could hear the faint hum of more ornithopters, but whether they were Harkonnen or Atreides, you couldn’t tell. The storm masked everything now, the world narrowing down to the sound of your breath, the crunch of snow beneath your feet, and the pounding of your heart.

You had to escape. You had to find a way to evade them.

Because if they caught you, the consequences would be far worse than just being another prisoner.

Gurney Halleck’s boots pounded through the snow, his breath clouding in the icy air as he and Duncan Idaho sprinted after the fleeing figure. The storm was growing worse, and the swirling winds tugged at their cloaks, but Gurney’s focus was razor-sharp. Whoever this person was—Harkonnen, rebel, or some other unknown—they had to catch them before the Harkonnens did.

Ahead of them, through the thick snow, the figure moved swiftly, almost too fast for the conditions. Gurney could make out only a vague silhouette through the storm, darting between the jagged rocks and heading straight for the frozen lake that stretched out beyond the ridge.

Duncan glanced over at Gurney as they ran, his sharp eyes narrowing as the unmistakable sound of Harkonnen ornithopters roared overhead. Their black, beetle-like forms cut through the sky, their engines loud even over the howling wind.

“Harkonnens!” Duncan shouted over the noise. “I’ll deal with them—keep after the runner!”

Gurney nodded without breaking stride, his focus narrowing on the figure disappearing over the edge of the ridge. “Go!” he shouted back. “I’ll get him!”

With a final glance, Duncan peeled away, motioning to the rest of the Atreides soldiers to follow him. They fanned out, preparing to engage the Harkonnen forces as the ornithopters swept in low, their blasters lighting up the snowy landscape.

Gurney, now alone in pursuit, gritted his teeth and pressed on, his legs burning with effort as he crested the ridge and saw the frozen lake below. The figure was already halfway across, their feet moving swiftly but carefully over the ice.

Gurney’s instincts screamed at him to be cautious—crossing a frozen lake in the middle of a storm was dangerous—but he had no choice. The person was fast, but Gurney had tracked many runners in his time, and he wasn’t about to let this one escape. Whoever they were, they had answers he needed.

His boots hit the ice, and immediately he felt the treacherous surface beneath him. Every step had to be calculated, the slick ice making it difficult to gain speed. But Gurney was relentless, his eyes fixed on the figure ahead.

They were nearing the far edge of the lake, and Gurney knew he had to close the distance before they reached cover. With a burst of speed, he lunged forward, his feet sliding slightly on the ice as he tackled the figure to the ground.

The two of them hit the frozen surface with a thud, the impact jarring but controlled. Gurney quickly pinned the runner down, his strong hands gripping their arms and forcing them into submission. He expected a struggle, but what caught him off guard was the sudden stillness beneath him.

The figure twisted beneath his grasp, but not with the strength of a hardened soldier. Gurney blinked in surprise as he looked down at the person he had just caught—and found himself staring into the face of a young woman. You.

Her face was striking, though it was partially hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. She had pale blonde hair, almost silver in the dim light, and her eyes—unusual lilac eyes—narrowed at him with fierce defiance. There was something otherworldly about her appearance, something that startled Gurney more than the fact that she wasn’t a man, as he had first assumed.

“Who—?” Gurney began, but before he could finish, the woman twisted again, trying to free herself. Her movements were quick, but Gurney held her down, his instincts now on high alert.

She wasn’t Harkonnen—of that he was sure. No Harkonnen would move like this, or have those eyes. But who was she?

Before he could ask, a blaster shot echoed across the lake, and Gurney instinctively glanced up. The storm was still raging, but through the snow, he could see Duncan and the Atreides soldiers engaging the Harkonnen forces near the edge of the lake. Ornithopters circled overhead, firing down into the snow, but the Atreides were holding their ground.

Another sound—this one closer—pulled Gurney’s attention back to the woman. She had stopped struggling, but her eyes were fixed on something behind him. Gurney turned his head just in time to see another squad of Harkonnen soldiers emerging from the storm, their weapons aimed directly at them.

“Damn it,” Gurney muttered under his breath.

Without wasting a second, Gurney hauled the woman to her feet, his grip firm but not cruel. “Come on,” he said urgently, his eyes flicking to the advancing Harkonnens. “We need to move, now!”

She hesitated for a moment, her violet eyes darting between Gurney and the soldiers. But when she saw the Harkonnen forces closing in, she seemed to understand the danger and nodded.

Gurney tightened his hold on her arm and pulled her toward the far edge of the lake. They had to reach cover before the Harkonnens caught up—or worse, before the ice gave way beneath them.

The icy wind slashes at your face as your captor drags you across the frozen lake, his grip firm, unwavering. You twist your arm, trying to pull free, but the man doesn’t loosen his hold. His face—grizzled, hardened—remains focused on the danger ahead, but you know he’s underestimated what’s coming.

“Let me go,” you say sharply, your voice cutting through the storm as you glance back at the advancing Harkonnen forces. They’re closing in fast, their dark shapes moving with deadly precision across the ice.

The Atreides soldier barely acknowledges you, his grip tightening as he pulls you along. “Not a chance,” he mutters, his voice gruff.

You grit your teeth, frustration boiling inside you. He doesn’t understand the danger—not fully. The Harkonnens aren’t just after him or his men. They’re after you. And they’re not going to stop until they have you, no matter who stands in their way.

“You need to let me go,” you repeat, more urgently this time, your breath visible in the freezing air. “You can’t fight them while dragging me along. Let me go, and we’ll have a chance to survive.”

He doesn’t slow down, his eyes scanning the horizon, but you can see his jaw tighten. He knows you’re right. The Harkonnens are gaining momentum, their boots pounding on the ice, the sounds of their shouts growing louder.

As the blizzard intensifies, you can make out the rough bark of one of the Harkonnen officers through the storm. “Keep the girl alive! She must stay alive!”

You tense at the words, but your captor’s steps falter for just a moment, his head snapping toward you. He knows now—they want you alive. For a moment, he hesitates, his grip loosening just enough for you to jerk your arm free.

Before he can grab you again, you turn to face him, your lilac eyes flashing with intensity. “Let me fight, or we’ll both die.”

He studies you for a split second, his instincts warring with his sense of duty. But as the Harkonnens close in, their weapons raised, he makes a decision.

“Fine,” he growls, finally releasing you. “But stay close.”

You smirk despite the cold, the tension in your body finally easing as your muscles loosen, ready to move. This soldier doesn’t know what you’re capable of—but he’s about to learn.

The first Harkonnen squad reaches you, their weapons drawn, their faces twisted with a cruel determination. One of them rushes toward you, his blaster raised, but you move faster than he can react. Your hands find the hilt of your hidden Valyrian steel blade, and in one swift motion, you unsheathe it, the metal gleaming in the pale light of the storm.

With a speed and grace born from years of training, you dodge his first strike, your body moving fluidly as if in a dance. Your sword hums through the air, cutting through the cold like a whisper. Before the Harkonnen can fire, your blade is at his throat, and in a single, decisive motion, he falls.

Your captor—the Atreides soldier—watches you, stunned. He’s seen warriors before, but nothing like this. Your movements are unlike anything he’s witnessed—swift, lethal, and otherworldly. You hear his breath catch as he engages the Harkonnen beside you, barely keeping up with the chaos that’s unfolding around him.

The rest of the Harkonnens press forward, but you’re already a step ahead, moving like a shadow on the ice. Another soldier charges, his weapon raised, but you sidestep him with ease, your blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. His body crumples to the ground before he even realizes he’s lost.

The storm howls around you, the snow swirling in thick, blinding waves, but the battle is sharp, focused. You fight like the blood of the dragon runs through your veins—fast, furious, and unstoppable. The ice beneath your feet holds, but you can feel the tension in the air, the weight of the conflict hanging like a blade ready to fall.

Beside you, the Atreides soldier fights fiercely, but you can sense his astonishment. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected you. The Harkonnen forces are brutal, unrelenting, but you fight as if every strike has been calculated a hundred times before it happens. You are the storm, and the Harkonnens are nothing but kindling in your path.

A Harkonnen lieutenant rushes forward, his face twisted with rage. “Take her alive!” he roars. But before he can reach you, you spin, your sword flashing in the storm’s light as it cuts through the air, meeting his weapon with a sharp clash. The force of your strike sends him stumbling backward, his face a mask of shock.

You don’t give him a second chance. Your blade is at his throat in an instant, and with one final strike, he falls, his body hitting the ice with a dull thud.

The sounds of blaster fire and plasma rifles echo in the distance as the Atreides forces engage the Harkonnens, but here, on this frozen lake, you stand victorious over the bodies of those who had dared to hunt you.

Your captor—still catching his breath—turns to you, his eyes wide, his disbelief clear. “Who the hell are you?”

You sheath your blade, the cold wind whipping at your cloak as you step closer. Your lilac eyes meet his, unblinking.

“I am Daenys Targaryen,” you say calmly, your voice carrying over the storm. “And you were right to let me go.”

Before he can respond, another group of Harkonnen soldiers emerges from the storm, and this time, they don’t hesitate. They charge forward with renewed fury, their weapons raised, their intent clear.

Without a word, the Atreides soldier grabs your arm, pulling you toward cover as the next wave of battle begins.

The blizzard whipped violently around you and your captor, the snow swirling in a thick veil of white as the cold air bit at your skin. You could hear the Harkonnen soldiers shouting, their voices growing closer. They were relentless, but you were ready—your sword still slick with the blood of those who had tried to capture you. You glanced at the Atreides soldier next to you, his breath heavy as he clutched his rifle, scanning the horizon for more threats.

Then, through the storm, you heard a voice—a sharp, commanding one, calling out through the chaos.

"Gurney!" the voice called, rough but strong, cutting through the howling winds. "You there? Gurney!"

The man next to you—Gurney, apparently—responded immediately, his tone urgent. "Duncan! We’re pinned down! The Harkonnens have us locked here on the ice with the girl!"

At the word girl, you scoffed, barely able to contain your irritation. You were no mere girl; you were Daenys Targaryen, the blood of Valyria running through your veins. You had fought and survived where others would have perished. Being reduced to nothing more than a ‘girl’ felt like an insult—one you’d gladly repay once this was over.

But Gurney’s use of the word didn’t seem to faze the man on the other end of the comms—Duncan—at least not at first. You could hear a brief moment of hesitation in his voice as he processed what Gurney had said.

"Wait—what?" Duncan’s voice faltered for a heartbeat. "A girl? Out here?"

The disbelief in his tone was palpable, as though the very idea of a young woman being out in the middle of this frozen wasteland was beyond reason. You clenched your jaw, the irritation bubbling up inside you again. But before you could say anything, Duncan quickly recovered, his voice sharp and focused once more.

"Doesn’t matter," Duncan continued, his voice steely and decisive. "Both of you need to keep moving. I’m sending you coordinates now—regroup there. We’ll cover you. But don’t stop, Gurney, do you hear me?"

Gurney nodded, though his eyes remained fixed on the advancing Harkonnens. "Copy that," he responded, his voice clipped. "We’ll make a break for it."

Gurney’s grip on your arm tightened, and he pulled you back slightly, his face set in concentration as he surveyed the chaotic battlefield ahead. The Harkonnen forces were relentless, pushing forward through the storm, their blasters firing indiscriminately as they closed in on your position. The ornithopters circled above, their harsh lights cutting through the snow.

You could hear more of Duncan’s voice in the distance, directing his own men to lay down cover fire, but it wasn’t enough. The Harkonnens were too close.

“We need to move,” Gurney muttered, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Now.”

He glanced at you, his eyes hard and calculating. He didn’t know who you truly were—he only knew that you were important enough for the Harkonnens to want you alive. For now, that was enough for him.

“Keep up,” Gurney ordered as he turned toward the coordinates Duncan had sent. Without another word, he took off across the ice, moving swiftly despite the uneven ground.

You followed close behind, your movements fluid and precise. Every instinct told you to fight, to turn and face the Harkonnens who hunted you—but you knew there would be a time for that later. Right now, the priority was survival.

As you and Gurney ran, the sounds of battle raged all around you—blaster fire, the roar of engines, and the shouts of men locked in combat. You could feel the ice beneath your feet shifting slightly, creaking under the weight of the violence above it, but you kept moving.

"Stay low!" Gurney barked as he ducked behind a large chunk of ice, pulling you down beside him. Plasma shots zipped overhead, lighting up the storm with flashes of red and blue.

You could hear Duncan’s voice again, this time over Gurney’s comm. “We’ve got them distracted—keep moving, Gurney! Head for the ridge. I’ll meet you there with reinforcements.”

Gurney gave a terse nod, not wasting time with words. He glanced over at you, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—perhaps respect, or maybe just acknowledgment that you weren’t the helpless ‘girl’ he had assumed. Either way, you were both in this together now, and you had no intention of slowing him down.

As Gurney prepared to move again, you looked back over your shoulder. The Harkonnens were relentless, pressing forward, their eyes locked on you. You could hear them shouting to one another, their orders clear: "Take her alive!"

But they didn’t know who they were dealing with. You were no mere prize to be captured. You were fire, you were blood, and the day of reckoning would come soon enough.

“Ready?” Gurney asked, his voice low.

You nodded, your hand resting on the hilt of your sword. "Lead the way."

With a quick signal, Gurney rose from cover, pulling you with him as you both sprinted toward the ridge. The storm raged on, the ice creaking beneath your feet, but you moved with purpose, knowing that Duncan and his men were waiting.

The Harkonnens would not have you today.

The ridge came into view through the swirling storm, and you and Gurney pushed through the biting wind, your breath visible in the freezing air. Ahead, the forms of more Atreides soldiers emerged, and you could see Duncan Idaho standing at the front, his hand signaling his men to hold position. As you and Gurney neared, Duncan waved his men forward, laying down cover fire to drive the Harkonnens away. Their retreating shouts echoed through the blizzard, and soon the battlefield quieted, leaving only the howl of the wind.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Duncan signaled to his men again, his voice sharp. “Surround her!”

Immediately, several Atreides soldiers moved in, forming a tight circle around you. You could feel the irritation rising within you, your muscles tensing as their weapons remained trained on you. You clenched your jaw, biting back a retort, but the annoyance was clear in your eyes.

Duncan stepped forward, his gaze sharp and assessing as he took in your appearance. You noticed the way his eyes lingered on your sword, your stance—he was calculating, sizing you up, but you stood firm, refusing to let him see any sign of discomfort.

Nearby, Gurney moved closer to Duncan, and the two of them began speaking in low voices. You strained to hear, knowing they were discussing you, but the howling wind muffled most of their conversation.

“What’s her story?” Duncan asked, glancing briefly in your direction before focusing on Gurney. His voice was calm but edged with curiosity.

Gurney, his face still stern from the intensity of the chase, spoke quietly. “She calls herself Daenys Targaryen.”

Duncan’s reaction was immediate, his eyes narrowing as he glanced back at you, disbelief flickering across his face. “Targaryen?” he repeated in a hushed tone. “That’s impossible.”

“I thought the same,” Gurney muttered, his voice low and cautious. “But we’ve seen many impossible things on this planet.”

Duncan’s expression remained skeptical, but you could tell he wasn’t about to dismiss the claim out of hand. He took a deep breath, then stepped closer to you, his eyes searching your face for answers. There was a heaviness in the air, the kind that came with the weight of secrets and the unknown.

“What are you carrying?” Duncan asked, his voice calm but demanding, as he gestured toward the satchel at your side.

You stiffened at the question, your hand instinctively tightening on the strap of the satchel. “That’s none of your business,” you said coldly, your voice firm despite the storm swirling around you.

Duncan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could respond, one of the Atreides soldiers acted swiftly, stepping forward and snatching the satchel from your grasp. You spun toward him, ready to fight, but two other soldiers quickly closed in, blocking your path and preventing you from reaching the man who had taken it.

“Give that back!” you snapped, anger flashing in your eyes as you took a step forward.

Duncan opened the satchel carefully, his expression curious but guarded. His brow furrowed as he reached inside and pulled out the heavy, smooth object—the petrified dragon egg. He held it in his hands, examining it with a look of confusion and mild disbelief.

“It’s a rock,” Duncan said, shaking his head slightly as he turned it over in his hands. He glanced up at you, his expression puzzled. “The Harkonnens are chasing you… for this?”

Before you could respond, Gurney stepped closer, his eyes widening slightly as he saw what Duncan was holding. His tone was urgent, a hint of alarm creeping into his voice. “Duncan, that’s not just a rock.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. “What is it, then?”

Gurney took a breath, his eyes locking onto the egg in Duncan’s hands. “It’s a dragon egg.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. For a moment, the world seemed to still, even as the storm raged around you. Duncan’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, his eyes flicking from the egg to you.

“A dragon egg?” Duncan repeated, incredulous. “That’s… impossible.”

You stepped forward, your voice calm but laced with a warning. “There are many things in this universe that you don’t understand.”

Duncan stared at you, clearly trying to process the implications. He glanced down at the egg again, turning it over in his hands, as if expecting it to reveal more of its secrets. “The Harkonnens wouldn’t go to this much trouble for a stone,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But if what Gurney says is true…”

“It is true,” you interrupted, your voice steady. “That egg is more valuable than anything the Harkonnens could hope to steal. But it doesn’t belong to them—or to you.”

Duncan looked back at you, his expression unreadable. He still didn’t fully trust you, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes now, a recognition of the significance of what he was holding.

“Why are the Harkonnens so desperate to capture you?” Duncan asked, his tone softer now, but no less intense. “What’s your connection to this… dragon egg?”

You met his gaze, your lilac eyes unwavering. “Because they know,” you said, your voice steady despite the cold biting at your skin. “They know that House Targaryen is more than just a myth. And they will do anything to claim what is ours.”

Duncan glanced at Gurney, who gave a slight nod, as if to confirm the gravity of your words. The storm continued to howl around you, but now the weight of the moment pressed down on everyone standing there.

The Atreides had stumbled into something far greater than they could have imagined.

And for the first time, Duncan Idaho realized that their fight with the Harkonnens was about to take a turn none of them could have predicted.

Duke Leto Atreides sat quietly in the meeting room, his hands resting under his chin as he tried to process the gravity of what Aelor Targaryen had just revealed. The room was still, save for the faint hum of the advanced technology that surrounded them, but inside Leto’s mind, a storm was brewing. He had heard impossible things in his life—tales of lost Houses, ancient enemies, and forgotten powers—but this was something else entirely.

Aelor had told him in no uncertain terms who he was and who his people were. House Targaryen, the long-lost, feared enemy of the Imperium, had not perished. They had merely retreated into the shadows, rebuilding their strength, and now… now, the Atreides had aided them.

This could mean disaster for his House. If the Imperium learned that the Atreides had sided with the most feared enemy of the past, it could be seen as treason. And yet, there was something in Aelor’s calm, confident demeanor that made Leto pause. Something that told him this was not just another power struggle. This was about survival—about the future.

Beside him, Thufir Hawat stood, his arms crossed, his ever-sharp mind cataloging and analyzing every detail of the conversation. Leto knew that Hawat was already formulating plans, strategies, contingencies. That was his gift—his curse. The Mentat could see possibilities where others saw only chaos.

Leto exhaled slowly, his eyes still focused on the table before him. The weight of the decision ahead pressed heavily on his shoulders.

“I understand what you’ve said, Aelor,” Leto finally spoke, his voice calm, but edged with caution. “But you must know what this means for House Atreides. If the Imperium learns that we’ve aided your people—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Duke Leto,” Aelor interrupted gently. “You merely defended yourselves. The Harkonnens were the aggressors here, as they always are. The Imperium does not need to know what they do not see.”

Leto’s eyes flicked up to meet Aelor’s, searching for any trace of deception. But Aelor’s face was calm, his expression almost serene, as though he held all the pieces to a puzzle that no one else could solve.

Before Leto could respond, the door to the room slid open, and Kellor stepped inside. His expression was strained, but there was an urgency in his eyes that caught Leto’s attention immediately.

“Duke Leto,” Kellor said, “Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck are trying to establish communications with us. They’ve encountered something… unexpected.”

Aelor, who had remained composed, suddenly straightened, his violet eyes sharpening with interest. Leto glanced at Hawat, who gave a slight nod, his calculating mind already considering the possible scenarios.

“Patch them through,” Leto ordered, standing from his seat. His eyes flicked to Aelor, and he gestured for him to join. “We’ll find out what this is about.”

Moments later, the room was filled with the crackle of the comm system coming to life. Duncan’s voice, steady but with a hint of tension, echoed through the room.

“My Lord, we’ve secured the area,” Duncan began. “The Harkonnens have retreated for now, but there’s something else you need to know.”

Leto exchanged a quick glance with Hawat before answering. “Go on, Duncan.”

There was a brief pause before Duncan spoke again. “We’ve… captured someone. A young woman. She says her name is Daenys. Daenys Targaryen.”

At that, Aelor’s calm demeanor shifted instantly. His eyes widened, and he stepped closer to the comm system, his voice filled with sudden urgency. “I wish to speak with my sister.”

Leto, sensing the importance of the moment, didn’t hesitate. “Duncan, Gurney, Daenys’ brother is here. He wishes to speak with her. Patch her through.”

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by the sound of static as the comm system adjusted. Then, a new voice came through, heated, full of frustration and defiance.

“Aelor!” you said, your voice sharp, cutting through the distance like a blade. “What the hell are you doing?”

Aelor’s reaction was instant, the tension in his shoulders releasing slightly as he heard your voice. His response came swiftly, spoken in the fluid, melodic language of High Valyrian.

“Lykirys, jorrāelagon, līragon issa kesīr. Nykēla ñuha hāedar naejot ivestragīr.” 

Leto and Hawat exchanged a quick glance, both of them recognizing the ancient language but unable to understand its meaning. Leto’s mind, however, was elsewhere—focused not on the words, but on the sound of your voice. It was sharp, yes, but there was a melodic quality to it, a tone that stood out even in the midst of the moment.

Aelor spoke again, his voice softening slightly as he continued to address you in High Valyrian. For a brief moment, the storm of emotions seemed to calm between you both.

After a few moments of conversation, Aelor turned back to Leto, his expression more composed now. “I need to retrieve my sister, Duke Leto,” he said, his voice firm. “She is of great importance to our House.”

Leto nodded, the decision already made. “Duncan, Gurney—send me your coordinates. We will come to you.”

Duncan’s voice came through again, clear and direct. “Understood, my Lord. Coordinates incoming.”

Leto took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The impossible had become reality. House Targaryen was not only alive—it was standing before him, and the choices he made now would shape the future of House Atreides, for better or worse.

“Let’s move,” Leto said quietly to Aelor and Hawat. “We have a lot to discuss.”

The sky above the frozen plains of Arctis was a swirling gray, but through the storm, two banners flew proudly in the icy wind. A red hawk in flight on green and black, the proud sigil of House Atreides, stood side by side with a red three-headed dragon on black, the ancient and feared symbol of House Targaryen. The two House banners, both powerful in their own right, flapped together in the cold air as the transports descended toward the meeting coordinates.

Leto Atreides sat in the lead transport, his mind racing as they neared their destination. Beside him, Thufir Hawat sat in contemplative silence, his Mentat mind already running through countless calculations. Aelor Targaryen, seated across from them, was composed, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed his concern for his sister.

As soon as the transport landed with a soft thud on the snow-covered ground, the doors slid open. The cold wind rushed in, but before anyone could react, Aelor was already on his feet, stepping out into the snow with purpose. The Atreides soldiers followed suit, along with Leto, Hawat, and Sergeant Kellor.

Aelor spotted his sister immediately, her figure standing tall in the distance, surrounded by Atreides soldiers. Without hesitation, he rushed toward her, his cloak billowing in the wind as he moved across the snow with surprising speed.

You saw him approaching and, despite the tension of the situation, allowed yourself a brief moment of relief. Aelor reached you and without a word, he embraced you tightly, his arms wrapping around you in a gesture of both protection and reassurance.

“Lykirys, jorrāelagon,” Aelor whispered in High Valyrian as he held you, his voice soft, meant only for your ears. You had been through so much, and yet here he was, just as you had known he would be.

When Aelor finally stepped back, there was a flash of warmth in his violet eyes as he looked you over, ensuring you were unharmed. He then gently took your hand and turned to lead you toward the gathered Atreides men.

As you approached the Atreides soldiers, Duke Leto, Hawat, and Sergeant Kellor stood in quiet observation, taking in the scene before them. Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck were still standing near the transports, their faces reflecting a mixture of surprise and wariness at the unfolding events.

Aelor led you to stand before the Duke, who was visibly taken aback the moment his eyes landed on you. Though he recovered quickly, the brief flicker of surprise in his expression didn’t go unnoticed by Hawat. The Mentat’s sharp eyes caught the Duke’s subtle reaction—his gaze lingering a fraction longer than usual on your face, perhaps noting your striking resemblance to your brother, or perhaps something else entirely. Hawat filed the observation away in the recesses of his mind, a detail to be discussed later.

Leto, however, was quick to compose himself. He offered you a respectful nod, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke, his voice steady. “Lady Daenys, it is an honor to meet you, though I wish it were under less perilous circumstances.”

You met Leto’s gaze, your posture regal despite the harsh conditions. “Duke Leto,” you acknowledged, your voice firm but respectful. “The peril is far from over. I fear the Harkonnens will not stop at their defeat here.”

Leto nodded thoughtfully. “That’s precisely why we need to discuss the situation further. The Harkonnens won’t let this go. We’ll need a plan to contain them.”

Aelor glanced at you, then back to Leto. “My sister is right. The Harkonnens have learned of the underground structures beneath this planet. If they know about this place, they’ll soon search for more. Every world we’ve known that contains these structures will draw their attention.”

At that, Leto frowned slightly. The gravity of the situation was clear—this was no isolated conflict. The Harkonnens were after something much larger than just control of Arctis.

Thufir Hawat, standing beside Leto, broke his silence, his sharp eyes locking onto you for a moment before addressing the group. “We must assume that the Harkonnens will use any information they’ve gathered here to pursue your House further. If they know of the structures, they won’t stop until they’ve uncovered whatever they believe to be of value.”

Sergeant Kellor, ever the practical soldier, crossed his arms, his gaze shifting between Aelor and you. “What exactly are these underground structures? What do the Harkonnens think they’ll find?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Aelor, and for a moment, there was a silent conversation between you—an unspoken understanding. You had both known this day would come, but it didn’t make it any easier to explain.

“These structures,” you began, your voice measured, “are remnants of our ancient civilization. Some of them were once hatcheries, places where our dragons were born. Though the dragons themselves are long gone from there, the Harkonnens believe they can extract something of value from what remains.”

Leto’s gaze hardened as the weight of your words settled in. “The Harkonnens believe they can use your history to gain power.”

Aelor nodded. “They will stop at nothing to claim what they think gains them leverage.”

Hawat’s mind worked quickly, processing the implications. “Then we need to ensure that they never get that chance.”

Leto met Aelor’s gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. Whatever else was happening here, the Harkonnens were a common enemy, and for now, that was enough to unite their Houses.

“We’ll work together,” Leto said, his tone decisive. “We’ll put a stop to the Harkonnens, but we need more information. We need to know the full extent of their plans.”

You stepped forward, your voice calm but insistent. “I can help you with that. I know what they’re after. And I know how to stop them.”

Leto studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, before nodding. “Then let’s begin.”

...

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the cruel and ambitious heir to House Harkonnen, stood at the center of the command room, his back to his men, staring down at a tactical map of Arctis. His fingers clenched into fists, his knuckles white with barely contained rage.

The silence was suffocating, broken only by the low hum of machinery and the distant howl of the blizzard. Feyd's men, hardened and ruthless as they were, stood rigid, afraid to speak but knowing they couldn’t stay silent for long. They had failed—again—and there would be consequences.

Finally, one of the soldiers, braver or perhaps more foolish than the rest, cleared his throat and spoke, his voice shaky. "My Lord, the girl… she managed to escape. The storm provided cover, and our forces were scattered. We—we lost her in the confusion."

Feyd turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the man who had dared to speak. His face was a mask of barely controlled anger, his lips curling into a sneer. "She escaped?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "One girl… against an entire Harkonnen strike force, and she escaped?"

The soldier swallowed hard, his throat bobbing nervously. "Yes, my Lord. The storm—"

"The storm?!" Feyd exploded, slamming his fist onto the table, sending the holographic projection flickering. His voice echoed through the tent, and every man within it recoiled at the sudden outburst. "The storm is no excuse for incompetence! She’s a single target, and you let her slip through your fingers like sand!"

He began to pace, his hands flexing and unflexing as his mind raced, the fury building with each step. "And now… not only has the girl escaped, but the Atreides are here. They’ve joined forces with the Targaryens." His voice dripped with venom at the mention of House Atreides, his family’s ancient enemies.

One of his lieutenants, a man with a scar running down his face, stepped forward cautiously, trying to keep his voice calm in the face of Feyd’s wrath. "My Lord, the Atreides forces have bolstered the Targaryens’ position. They outnumber us now, and our operation is compromised. If we continue this conflict, it will draw the gaze of the Emperor… and the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood."

Feyd stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he looked at the lieutenant. "The Emperor? The Sisterhood? And do you think I care about their gaze?"

The lieutenant opened his mouth to respond, but Feyd cut him off, his voice colder than before. "You think they don’t already know? You think they aren’t watching? We are all pawns in their game, but make no mistake, I will not be humiliated by Atreides dogs and Targaryen ghosts!"

His words hung in the air, the weight of his threat clear to everyone in the room. Feyd had no intention of retreating, no intention of admitting defeat. His hatred for House Atreides ran deep, and the very idea of their forces allying with the Targaryens had ignited a fury that could not be easily quelled.

The tent fell into a heavy silence, the soldiers exchanging uneasy glances. They knew better than to argue with their commander when he was like this. No one wanted to be the one to deliver more bad news—or face the consequences of his wrath.

After what felt like an eternity, another soldier, younger and clearly less experienced, nervously cleared his throat. "My Lord," he ventured carefully, "what… what should we do about the Targaryen girl?"

For a moment, the tent was silent again, but this time it was different. Feyd stopped pacing, his expression shifting from anger to something more sinister—something almost amused. A slow, twisted smile spread across his face, and he chuckled darkly.

"Oh, don’t worry about her," he said softly, his voice dripping with malice. "I’ll catch her. She can’t run forever."

He turned back to the map, his eyes gleaming with a cruel light as he traced the coordinates of their last known position. "Daenys Targaryen may have escaped for now, but she’s made a fatal mistake. She’s shown us just how far she’s willing to run. And when we catch her… well, I’ll make sure she regrets every step she took."

His men remained silent, their unease palpable. Feyd’s mood had shifted, but it hadn’t improved. The promise of what was to come for Daenys Targaryen and her allies was not one of mercy.

Feyd turned back to his men, his tone hardening again. "We’ll regroup and press on. This failure—your failure—will be delivered personally to the Baron." He smiled coldly at the thought of his uncle, knowing the consequences for his men would be severe.

"But until then," he added, his voice dangerously soft, "we hunt. And when we find the girl, we’ll make sure the Atreides and the Targaryens learn that no one crosses House Harkonnen and lives to tell the tale."

The soldiers nodded in grim silence, knowing there was no room for argument. The hunt would continue, and this time, there would be no escape.

Feyd’s eyes gleamed with the cold fire of vengeance as he turned back to the map. He had no intention of letting this go. House Targaryen, House Atreides—they would all pay. And it would start with you, Daenys.

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 12

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: death of loved one, misogyny, violence. we're getting into it now my dudes, beware! chapter map

-You did not expect your father’s death to affect you so brutally, and without Paul at your side you are not sure how you would have gotten through the week that followed his passing. The funeral mass and the burial went by as a blur, and it feels like he carried you through it all. He lets you cry on his chest, and holds you through your lengthy silences.

It takes a long time for you to realize that the thing you might mourn most, are the parts of your father you were never allowed to know. The free way he spoke with you in his last days, reminiscing about your mother when he was young–it all suggested a very different man who you would have liked to have the acquaintance of. That the loss of his love destroyed him so completely scares you, true, but also…you pity him in a way you’d never thought possible. 

You wonder if maybe you are more like him than you want to admit, and you rise from the ashes determined not to be such a coward with Paul. 

You never did finish that sentence for him, but you will. When the time is right, and you are not a tearful mess clinging to him like a limpet. You tell yourself that he deserves better than that. 

-”Is it really that much better than this out there?” asks your sister Anjélica. It is a fine sunny day, a breeze cutting through the mountains. You are sitting beneath the shelter of a massive oak, watching the children of Las Nubes play with Paul. She is one year older than you, and already has two, with one on the way. 

“It’s just different,” you say diplomatically. “You’re welcome to come visit me anytime you want a change of scenery.” 

She laughs goodnaturedly at the thought, rubbing her rounded belly. “I’m afraid if I left my children and husband would starve and go feral,” she admits. You know it’s more than that, though. Her husband would never let her go to the city, just for a fun little break. There’s always too much work to be done. Good women are martyrs who do not shirk their responsibilities, no matter their own needs. 

“Heaven forbid Julio be bothered to cook something for himself and his own children,” you say with an eye roll. 

Knowing you all too well, Anjélica just smiles. She is, perhaps, the most forgiving of you and your strange ideas. “I know you think I’m trapped by marriage and children and housework…”

You make a grumbling sound in your throat, picking at a knot on the top of the wooden table. 

“But have you ever considered that I do it…because I love them?”

You blink at that, not proud of how this perspective does kind of blindside you. She chuckles at your owlish look. You think you’re so goddamn smart, and she always does this to you. 

“I know you’re still just settling in with Paul. But you’ll understand what I mean soon.”

You burn to tell her the truth–but you can’t. The ruse must go on. 

Worse yet…you’re afraid she could be right, if you and Paul do make a life together after this. You haven’t really decided what you’re going to do…but the thought of being apart from him hurts.

Your attention is drawn back to the children as a joyful yell echoes across the field. Paul has the littlest one on his shoulders, and they are running–though not too fast, from some imaginary entity. Little Lucia’s peals of laughter are, in fact, the sweetest sound on earth.

“He’s good with the children…”

You make a warning grumble to this, only winning yourself more laughter. 

You love your nieces and nephews, but you truly have no interest in making children of your own. Is something broken in you? 

Anjélica just giggles at you, a wicked glint in her eye. “Look at that man God has given you! Are you telling me you are not making love to him every chance you get?”

Your mouth twists into a reluctant smile at that. “Maybe. But you know they make these marvelous things called…” You lower your voice to a dramatic whisper. “Condoms.” If you could just fucking get your hands on some… And, diaphragms too, of which a woman was not allowed access to without the permission of her husband. Unmarried women…were just screwed, literally and figuratively. The disconnect between reality and morality in medicine was vast, and you hoped someday things would be better for women. 

Anjélica waves you off with an eye roll. “See how long he wants to wear one of those things. You’ll get tired of it too. It does not feel right, for something to be between you and your mate. You’re going to be ripe with a baby by next year. Just you wait.” 

The thought makes your skin clammy somehow despite the warm summer day. Your sister, who knows your every tell, reaches across the table to you. “I’m not trying to scare you, muñequita. It’s just…life. What happened to Mama…that’s not what it’s always like.”

Maybe it isn’t…until the one time it is, and that’s all it takes to break everything. 

-You and Paul decide that you will accompany the crew of Las Nubes to the fiesta of the harvest, partake in the festivities, and from there you will return to the world on the other side of the rabbit hole. A part of you will miss the slower pace of life in the countryside. But a part of you is eager to get back to the excitement of the bustle of the city, back behind your desk in San Francisco, and back behind your typewriter in your little rented room. 

You are still not sure yet, where Paul is going to fit into all this. 

He isn’t either, and you can tell that he is maybe experiencing an opposite reaction to the thought of returning to life outside. It’s been like living in a fairytale, carrying on like husband and wife here. Las Nubes has been home for several months, and you understand how it grows on you. 

If don Juan was not master there…maybe things could have been different.   

-After your period of mourning, you are looking forward to the bright spot of the fiesta on the horizon. Everyone dresses in their best. You don a ruffled dress you have not worn for years, and silver filigree earrings that belonged to your mother. 

Paul looks so handsome in his uniform, and you watch him dress for what you realize is the last time, in this room that has been your sanctuary.

All packed and ready to go, the two of you look around the space in each other’s arms one last time. Such grand things happened in this tiny room–with any luck, it’s just the beginning for the two of you. You smooth your hand down his tie, straightening his medals that don’t really need it. This man is so humble, but the story of his bravery is written in shining metal upon his chest.

“Ready?”

He pays you a sad smile, and you understand his reluctance to leave the bubble the two of you have made here. He has carried you these past dark days, and you decide that now you will do the same for him. 

“Today will be fun,” you try to assure him, holding his cheek. 

He leans into your touch, but you see the question in his eyes. And the day after? 

You don't have an answer to that, so you kiss him sweetly, and lead him outside.

-You try not to admire don Juan out the corner of your eye, in his short embroidered charro jacket and a silver belt cinching his slender waist. But the moment you fully look his way he makes a sweeping bow with his sombrero.

He’s been on his best behavior since your father died, but you can’t help but feel like he has something up his sleeve, especially now that you’re leaving.

Juan and his entourage will ride to town, and the rest of you will follow in the farm truck. 

-You mill around the fair with your arm linked with Paul’s, your head on his shoulder as you look at the displays and crafts and food and farm animals. Napa county has become such a melting pot. There is music, and later there will be dancing. You introduce Paul to churros and hot chocolate, and you can’t help but laugh at the way his eyes light up after that first bite. You can’t stop yourself from kissing him, your lips sweetened with cinnamon sugar. 

His mood has lifted a little, though you still sense the weight of melancholy upon him. You think to yourself that maybe today will be the day you tell him how much he means to you. Not to cheer him up–but because it’s the truth, and you’ve known it for a while now. He should too.

“Paul…”

He turns to you with hope in those soulful dark eyes, after hearing that certain note in your voice. He knows you so well. Almost like…you were made for him too.

“I–”

Of course, Juan and his entourage choose that very moment to enter the fair, greeted with shouts of, “It’s the Aragóns!” as they ride under the stone arch. You have to admit that they do cut a dashing picture, dressed to the nines upon their fine horses. You feel a reluctant kindling of pride in your heart. Juan winks at you as he trots by, but you give him nothing, except for resting your chin on Paul’s shoulder. 

You all watch as the Padre invokes the blessing of the wine–a thing you’re sure he's happy to do, as he is a notorious lush. 

After watching some of the horse show, you sit down to eat with Josefa, Anjélica, and their husbands. The levity of the fiesta has been good for all of you, after losing Papa. In the distance, you see Juan with his head bent, speaking to a severe looking anglo man in a dark suit. Juan is nodding to whatever the man is telling him, a terrible smile curling his lips. Dread settles like a stone in your gut, all your joy siphoned away in a matter of a second. You just know something bad is going to happen.

The bus to the train station in the next town has already gone. But before you can suggest to Paul that the two of you go back to your hotel to hide, don Juan swaggers up to your table, his two worst henchmen and the man in the suit in tow. 

His eyes are all for you.

“My dear, sweet, y/n. What a naughty girl you’ve been.”

You frown up him. “¿Perdón?” 

“Oh, don’t play the innocent now.” 

Where this man gets his nerve, you’ll never know, but you begin to have an inkling of what he’s about.  

“Don’t speak to me as though you’re my father,” you hiss, standing. “Come on, Paul.” Suddenly you know that the two of you need to get somewhere that don Juan does not feel as though he owns. You fear you won’t reach it until you get all the way back to San Francisco. 

“I may not be your father…but I will be your guardian, now that he’s gone. This man is not your legal husband.”

You shake your head, even as your heart falls to your feet. More Old World nonsense. Yet it matters here…because he says so. That is the true measure of power. 

“Of course he is.” 

“Oh no. I’ve had it looked into. May I introduce Mr. Smith of the highly reliable Pinkerton Detective Agency. He has found zero record of your legal union anywhere in California.” You shift your glare to the man in the suit. 

“Good for him.” 

“Prove us wrong? Where’s your certificate?” 

“I don’t have it with me.” 

Because it doesn’t exist…

 Juan smirks, that low-banked fire in his eyes you remember all too well from when he knew he was winning an argument. That familiar rage fills you, that this man thinks he has any right to tell you anything, just because he is Man. 

“This is ridiculous. We’re going.” You take Paul’s arm to lead him away, but more of Juan’s men block your exit. Eyes wide with panic, you look to your sisters. Anjélica is shocked, and Josefa’s jaw is set with disapproval. By the steely expressions on their husband’s faces, you know they are Juan’s men, no matter how much they came to like Paul. In the conservative, patriarchal world of Las Nubes, you have committed a terrible sin. Perhaps even an unforgivable one. 

Juan’s smirk only widens, and he holds his hand out to you. “Be a good girl for once and come quietly, y/n. We’re going home.”

This is when Paul steps in front of you. “She’s not going anywhere with you.” 

“Stay out of it, gringo. You have no standing here, and none of this concerns you.” 

“I’m not letting you take her.” 

Don Juan makes a sound through his teeth like the hissing of a snake. “You don’t have a choice, cabrón.”

That is when all Hell breaks loose. 

You don’t really see who throws the first punch, but suddenly the two men are on each other like mad dogs in a furious exchange of blows. When Juan’s lackeys try to go to his aid you are quick to pick up the heavy ceramic water pitcher on the table, breaking it over one of their heads. A strong arm grabs you around your waist, trying to drag you off. You flail and screech and scratch and bite, until whoever has you drops you with a string of curses.

You see that Paul is straddling Juan on the ground, delivering punch after punch. 

That is when the Sheriff himself arrives, flanked by two deputies. They drag Paul off of Juan, the latter of whom is laughing with blood in his teeth. 

You realize he must have arranged all this ahead of time, paying off anyone he needed to, to be sure his will was done.  

“Lock this madman up!” declares don Juan, spitting out blood. “He attacked me with no provocation! These soldiers are like wild animals, thinking they may do as they please!” 

In the end it takes four men to subdue Paul, who fights like a trapped bear to get free, shaking off one of the deputies as he tries to put the soldier in handcuffs. “Y/n! Get off me! Don’t let him take her! Y/n!”

You try to go to him, but Juan’s biggest minion has you in his grasp again, your arms twisted behind your back. 

“Señor!” you beg the sheriff, even as you know it’s futile. “He has done nothing wrong! Please don’t hurt him!” The moment you say it one of the deputies hits Paul hard in the temple, and you see him slump in their grasp. “No!” You are crying, angry, ugly tears streaming down your face. “No, this isn’t right!” 

Smirking like the devil, Juan gets to his feet, making a show of brushing himself off before fixing his attention on you. He steps in close, speaking just for your ears. “Behave yourself, and he’ll just sit in a cell for a few days to cool off. Make trouble…and I’ll make certain they hurt him.” 

You slump in Borrachio’s iron grasp, your knees going out from under you. 

You look to your family, who have watched this exchange wide-eyed, but made no move to help you. You understand. Their homes, their whole lives, take place on don Juan’s land. He is their master. You are just inconvenient–and you always have been. 

“Please don’t hurt him.” You sound as defeated as you feel, and Juan clicks his tongue, chucking you under the chin. 

“Pobrecita. That’s up to you, now.” He wipes a bit of blood from his split lip, then turns to his minions. “Put her in the truck,” he instructs Borrachio. “I’ll be there shortly.” You behave yourself, until Borrachio gives you an opportunity while he is opening the truck with one hand. You nearly twist away, fighting again like a hellcat. Losing patience with you, the big man cuffs you across the face, hard. It knocks the lights out of you, and when you come to again you are trussed in the back with your hands tied and a gag in your mouth.

________

*muñequita - little doll **¿Perdón? - pardon? *** pobrecita - poor little girl

[jurijyuu]

In the Ashes of the Garden

AdamxLucifer (Hazbin Hotel)

3.7K Words

When death came for him a final time, a new god reached out her black-fogged hands with a promise.

"Kill for me." She whispered.

"Only if I can drag that punk Lucifer with me too!"

Tags: Hazbin Hotel x Dead By Daylight Crossover, Stabbing, Slashing, Typical DBD stuff, angst, hurt

This is part of the Hooked on Hazbin 2024 event @fraugwinska and @macabr3-barbi3 hooked us into. Please check out these other creators below! Happy Halloween!!

Link to Hooked on Hazbin 2024 Masterlist

It always felt surreal how bright the sun shone in this place, how golden it colored the corn fields and painted everything in a golden afternoon. But the sun’s warmth never reached you. The Entity, the being that trapped you here, was far above understanding how humans interacted with weather. It simply plucked images from memories and reconstructed them into its game. If it brought neither pain nor fear, it didn’t spend any energy to perfect an object’s detail.

So the sun shone brightly but you couldn’t feel its warmth. The yellowed corn stalks swayed lightly though there wasn’t a breeze to be felt. And your footsteps crunched against gritty dirt, each sound a beacon that could lead the Killer to your location.

“Psst.” 

Your eyes followed the soft hiss, finding a white face haloed by golden hair calling you from one of the gym walls. You quickly ran over, deciding quick steps were worth the extra noise if you could get to your trial mate faster.

Lucifer, a short man with a lithe build and covered in way too much white for all the shit you were both going through, had started on a generator. Pale hands reached into the belly of the machinery, pulling and twisting wires with the knowledge the Entity granted its Survivors. Coming to the other side, you did the same, hoping to fix the generator before this trial’s Killer found you both.

“Did you figure out who it is?”

“I heard rock music. Could be one of the Legion. Maybe the Dragon.” Though you’d traveled a good distance from where you’d spawned on the trial ground, you hadn’t seen your opponent for this match. In the distance, you heard a faint sound of music. It narrowed it down. Only a few Killers were cocky enough to play music as they went hunting. 

“If it’s Adam, run. I’ll distract him like usual.” The sun shone in your eyes when you tried to glance around the generator to your friend. His suggestion was a given. Around the same time he was kidnapped into the Entity’s game, a new Killer popped up too. Not long after, it became apparent that the two were related. Lucifer referred to the new Killer by his name and the Killer had a particular bone to pick with the ex-angel.

Your experience with the new killer was limited though enough to give you a firm impression. Adam, or the Dragon as the other survivors preferred to call him, was a cocky asshole. He would taunt and act nonchalant before brutally hitting people with his guitar-axe. He gave off a carefree attitude most of the time. He did have a temper though, often getting vindictive for the littlest things. If you laughed at him because someone stunned him with a pallet or if you managed to lose him during a chase, he just went berserk. 

It was worse when Lucifer was in a trial. All that nonchalant air that hung about him disappeared. It turned into a fiery rage. It didn’t help that Lucifer, all too familiar with the man, seemed to just love throwing jabs at him. It always ended up with Adam chasing Lucifer around the whole map without a care for any of the other survivors. 

You felt bad for that. You’d been the object of a chase plenty of times to know that it wasn’t easy to get away from the Killers who got a boost of everything from the Entity. Whether it was speed, strength or bloodlust, the spidery being had amplified it within the bodies it chose to torture you all. 

At the end of the day, it was still the best strategy. Lucifer distracts and everyone gets out (or sometimes just the other three) gets out. You nodded to Lucifer, letting the man know your acknowledgement.

Just as the generator roared to life, a scream rang throughout the rotten fields. It sounded like Meg. Not long after, a male voice screamed and you saw Detective Tapp fall down quite a distance from you two.

“What the fuck are they doing?” To get downed one after the other…was it Legion after all or were the two just not paying attention?

You and Lucifer glanced at each other and nodded before heading in opposite directions. You needed to save the other two if you wanted to get out of here alive. There were still four more generators to do. Sneaking your way across the field to where Meg dangled from a hook, you glanced left and right. The Killer wasn’t in sight but you didn’t hear the distinct thrill of someone getting a hook through their shoulder so you guessed Tapp was still okay. 

With another quick check at your surroundings, you ran for Meg. The poor girl was quietly sobbing, blood gushing from her wound as you took her off the hook.

“It’s the Dragon.”

“Okay. Lucifer went in his direction. He should be chasing him now.” Understanding dawned on Meg’s face not long after and she immediately prostrated her shoulder and side for you to help treat. With the Killer distracted by his strange obsession with Lucifer, you had time to patch her up before you split up again to cover more ground.

At least, that was what you thought.

“Hey girlie.” A snide voice was all you heard before a fiery pain erupted from your shoulder, the push of a heavy blade tumbling you forward with only your shock and many experiences to catch you. Without looking back, you bolted, almost stumbling into Meg who was also shocked by the sudden appearance of the Killer.

You tried to block a hit for Meg, hoping to give her more time to escape as she’d already been hooked once. But the Dragon wasn’t going to ignore your sacrifice, swinging wide until his blade sliced the back of your thigh, sending you tumbling to the ground. It would have been fine had he actually focused his attention on you, had he actually picked you up to try and hook you. But the man ignored you, focusing on chasing Meg as he left you to bleed out on the ground.

That…wasn’t his usual modus operandi. The man was…kinda lazy. Once he downed a survivor, he’d hook them and scare away everyone else. He guaranteed one kill a match unless he was in a mood. The only times he actually deviated from that would be when Lucifer was in a trial, and only then because he tunneled the pale man with such avid hatred and fury, a look too worthy of calling Lucifer his obsession.

This trial went to shit so quickly after that. No amount of distraction or taunting from Lucifer could stop the killer from chasing everyone else. He tunneled and wrecked generators, played mind games like you’d never seen. It was like a completely different man altogether had taken over him, turning an annoying yappy murderer into a cunning ruthless monster. All the while, a guitar riff played in the background, flames sprouting from his mouth as his bloodlust reached new heights.

Rounding the corner of the barn with your heartbeat in your throat and feet desperate to escape the killer on your heels, you toppled to the ground, another slash joining the many others slicing your body open. Despair trickled through your body like your blood seeping into the dirt and dried hay. Only two generators were done but Meg and Tapp were already sacrificed and once a hook pierced your shoulder, you would be gone too.

“Take that ya little rat.” A voice gruff from running but high off of victory came from above you, from a mask that glowed with flame yellow eyes and a grin as sharp as his blade. With two huge horns coming from his head, a bloodied and torn robe, he stood against the light of the false sun. Like the devil himself come to drag you to Hell.

Sharp black claws grabbed fistfuls of you sides, digging into your injuries, as he hefted you onto his shoulder. You just hoped Lucifer could find the hatch and escape this round.

“So fucking hard to catch, always dodging and hiding like a little mouse. But I got your ass, babe. Hah!” A sharp slap of a hard palm whipped your ass and you struggled to break free. Just as he went back around the corner you came from, a bright light shone from behind you and you felt yourself drop before someone’s hand went to drag you forward from the blinded killer. 

“Aargghh! You fucking asshole! Come here you little bastard!” 

With adrenaline in your veins, you ran but the wounds took their toll and you eventually lagged behind and got caught again, eating a face full of dirt as you skid to the ground, Adam’s axe still swinging as he tried to get a hit on Lucifer too. But the shorter man was nimble, easily scrambling just a hair away but close, so close. Close enough that in the midst of his bloodlust, the killer didn’t even bother with you.

He figured with how battered you were, you’d bleed to death while he chased after Lucifer. Without the other pesky chumps in the trial, the fallen angel wouldn’t be able to escape him this time. 

You watched the two disappear, crawling into a corner to recuperate. There wasn’t much left in you and you had to decide, did you let yourself die so Lucifer could get the hatch or did you try to win? In all honesty, with how the killer was acting during this trial, the odds were against you but…in the distance, Lucifer was laughing, taunting the killer while dodging and outrunning him like he’d been stuck in this God-forsaken world for centuries rather than…maybe a few weeks. If you died, he could get to the hatch and escape.

You were about to let yourself bleed out when a scream rang through the empty fields. The killer got Lucifer.

It was enough to shock you into action, the surprise of it giving you just enough strength to push to peer over the corn and hay bales in the direction the scream came from. That couldn’t be right. Adam had never caught Lucifer before. But it was bound to happen eventually, wasn’t it? The pale man always too the heat from the Dragon, becoming the most essential part of surviving against this particular killer.

Now, he was at the man’s mercy. And Adam had it out for him. You were afraid. Cold dread and a wash of concern speared through your chest. Each killer was cruel but none of them seemed to hold a grudge against any particular survivor. They favored some over others, enjoying hunting those particular people. But Adam, the Dragon, had only hatred and rage when it came to Lucifer. And you were scared of what that meant. What kind of sick mori would he subject the pale man to.

All your worry for him solidified into action, pumping worry and adrenaline through your veins until you found the strength to get up again, you would seemingly numb against the need to make sure that Lucifer got out of this match. The man had yet to be broken, truly traumatized by anything in this sick realm of an uncaring god’s creation. He was strong against his deaths, laughed against pain and injury. He encouraged you when it was your job to get him up to speed with things he had yet to learn. You couldn’t…couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him like some of the others.

When a match went worse than they’d ever thought possible, when the killer had truly turned into a monster. When they’d been determined to inflict suffering to a degree that even the Entity didn’t demand of them. When it took many cycles around the campfire before the cracks in their souls mended and they could stand to face another killer. When the Entity snuffed them out, the pain they’d suffered left them too broken to be her toys.

You ran as best you could, just in time to see a punch hit Lucifer square in the guts.

“Not so hot now, are ya you punk.” A heavy studded leather boot kicked the shorter man, causing him to stumble and splay onto a dropped pallet. “Think you were hot shit cuz you got away all those times? Well news flash you clown-faced freak, you can’t do anything without those losers to help ya.” The Dragon landed another heavy blow onto Lucifer’s face.

“What did you say? Oh right. You’re in my house now, bitch!” Fist and fist rained meaty blows against the smaller body, the white outfit Lucifer wore turning red with each piece of skin broken. Meanwhile the man, himself, only coughed, laying limp against the onslaught in a show of demureness that you’d never seen from him. The fight was one-sided, abuse raining on a defenseless party. 

“It wasn’t enough that you stole my wives! You had to get me cast out of Eden too! Then you have the motherfucking gall to kill me!? Kill me!!? I’m the original man! All those humans that you love so much come from me! But you—“ Adam lifted the smaller man up, the blood seeping from his split lip trickling down his face. The fucker had the nerve to smile helplessly at him, the same one he had when he spoke of his dreams and the rejection of the grand council of archangels. Back when they were friends. 

So many fucking trials since he died and was first brought here and he finally caught this fucker. He could finally let him taste the end. Cut into him with his axe, hear him scream with the agony and misery he deserved. But the man just looked at him, a calm smile on his face like he was indulging his spoiled child. With a yell, he slammed the man into the pallet, the makeshift structure creaking at the force.

“You should’ve been my guide, should’ve been my friend! Instead, you screwed me over!” Lucifer just watched, letting the blows come without a fuss. Why!? Why wasn’t he fighting back? You expected a snappy quip. The devil had a tongue to match but he just lay there. You moved from your hiding spot, ready to push the killer off of him when a worn voice, strained and bloody, cut through the pause in Adam’s fists.

Lucifer coughed. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it would have had Adam had his Heavenly blessings but his powers weren’t fully there either, his body healing so slowly from the blows. Blood pooled in his throat as he swallowed. Above him, he spied what the mask Adam wore hid behind slanted yellow eyes and snarling teeth. It was endearing, something tickling his heart to hear. Adam’s held back cries still sounded the same, thousands of years later. He smiled, a sad little thing at the first man. “I would’ve stolen you too. I wish I did.”

“What the fuck did you just say!?”

“It wasn’t just Lilith or Eve.” It strained his throat to talk but each breath without getting punched gave him strength to pour out a confession he couldn’t have said before, not as the King of Hell. But here, he was just a soul trapped by the Entity, and the man above him was his killer. “I wanted you too.”

“Fuck you! You—you ruined everything! Damned all of humanity and—and…” The nerve of this asshole! Spouting shit when—when…“you left me.” The weight of ten thousand years of anger and hate condensed into a pathetic whisper as familiar red eyes looked at him in that dopish way from so very long ago. “You took Lilith with you and when Eve died, she went down too…but you left me. All alone. Just me.” Was that really it? Not the cheating? Not the damnation of humanity? In the face of the first friend he’d ever made, all his blazing hate and anger turned to ashes in his chest, leaving only the feeling of that first dawn in Heaven. The first dawn without any of his loved ones with him.

“I never wanted to.” A deep whisper, sincere and gentle as sin came from the man he was trying to choke, regretful pity gazing up at him from a cracked face that was already mending itself.

“Shut up! Liar!” He snarled, slamming the small body again. Lucifer was always a liar. A snake in the grass. He said he’d always be there. He said he was his guardian angel. He said he loved him but let him face the disappointment of God and an afterlife in regret!

“Adam—“

“I said, shut up!” That mouth that only whispered lies and temptation, he shut it with his mouth, letting his teeth cut into soft yielding flesh. And he cried. Because he could feel the angel kiss him back. 

You watched the exchange, shocked still only a few yards away. What the fuck did you just see? Your eyes trailed over them, trying to find even a hint of distress or pain. Something that told you what to do. But even as the killer pushed his weight onto Lucifer, the two remained locked in a kiss. Blackened hands and gloved claws started to roam slowly, gently, desperately and shame filled you. You shouldn’t be seeing this. 

But what if Lucifer needed help? But he didn’t look like he needed it. Conflicted, you watched, stepping back into the shadows with caution. Not too far from you, you spied a generator. Should…should you continue the trial? 

A ravenous tongue plundered his mouth but he had an equally monstrous one of his own to battle with. Above him, the bigger man groaned, pressing deeper into him.  Black fingertips slowly curled their way under the mask and Adam pulled away.

“Adam, let me see your face.” Lucifer looked up at him with wide serious eyes and a stubborn rip within him mashed defiantly at the look. He was in control here. He dragged the angel into this realm. He had all the power to finally fuck this asshole up.

“You’re not in any position to be making requests here, mother—“ 

“Please.” But Lucifer looked up at him with his wide red eyes, the dots on his face drawing close as he frowned in a small plea. Here was the King of Hell, softly asking to look upon him. He’d never imagined he’d see that face ever again, only seeing the mockery on the harlequin features when his enemy’s face came to mind. He’d spent many years pushing away the memories of the Garden after all. He’d forgotten how soft Lucifer could look, the former favorite of Heaven, and it stilled the resistance in him. 

“Please, Adam.” He called again. The man above him frowned, torn and unsure. He brought his hands up, tentatively placing them at the seam of his mask, waiting for resistance, taking the lack of it as permission. Lucifer breathed a sigh of relief when under the mask was the same man he saw at the battle of the hotel, piercings and mussed up hair. Only his horns were permanent now, standing proudly atop his head. He wondered how the gods knew he had a thing for them. Why else would his beloveds all have them?

“Like what you see, old man?” A rebellious curve on his mouth couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a sneer or a smirk. 

“I’ve always thought you were handsome.” He wrapped his tail around the taller man, not letting him pull away. A teasingly soft smile lifted his cheeks when he felt the man settle where he’d looked ready to dive into a fit again for a moment.

“Oh fuck off.” Adam huffed, the fight going out of him as Lucifer remained soft and yielding beneath him. What the fuck man?! He just felt tired all of a sudden, put out by the lack of fight from the guy he’d dreamt about pummeling for millennia. He sighed and shifted their positions, pulling the smaller man off the palette so he could lay down on it himself. And pulled Lucifer back onto his lap, much to the confusion and delight of the fallen angel.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck off?” Lucifer grinned, not quite sure what mood the other man was in but happy nonetheless to have this moment with him. The aches on his body faded more and more as his attention was solely on the man between his legs. He wouldn’t admit how many times he’d thought of this in the thousands of years since the garden.

“…come here.” The mischievous grin on the devil’s face was closer to the same taunting asshole expression he was used to. It was also closer to a time when the Angel had indulged him in breaking some small rules where God wasn’t watching. Days spent learning about the creations, pulling pranks and discovering new wonders.

It was like he could taste those days again when he pulled the blonde down for another kiss, this one softer but just as demanding as before. Through the dirt and blood, he could taste the sweetness, the temptation, the sin and it burned.

“Hnngh.” He bit Lucifer’s lip, reopening the wound, and the smaller man ground, hips pitching forward.

“So you like pain?”

“You learn a few things over the years.” With a smirk, his voice came out huskier than intended, the surreal yet pleasant sting of Adam’s bite sending sparks to his brain. Beneath him, Lucifer could feel an answering hardness, tenting the robes the man wore as a light dusting of pink colored Adam’s cheeks. It was cute. “Want me to show you?”

“Let’s get one thing straight here, I’m fucking you, you got it?” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not a very straight thing to do but sure, you can take me for a ride.”

[deusvervewrites]

What were the best fics you've read this year?

I'm narrowing this down to the fics that I started reading in 2023

Genesis: AFO!Midoriya as a Vigilante, and Ashido getting OFA.

Shuten-Doriya: Transfem!Midoriya with an Oni Quirk. She and Inko end up making a highly-popular Sake brand. Hatsume and Melissa make a robot that turns communist.

CoG: The Missing Link: A MHA crossover with Psyren that adapts it to the MHA setting in a fascinating way

Hellspawn: Midoriya with a demonic Quirk

Supporting a Hero: Support course Midoriya dating OFA!URaraka. Hero!Toga.

Oops, Seiai: Midoriya is accidentally enrolled in Seiai. Shenanigans ensue.

Mechanize!: Support course Midoriya who has a Quirk, unknown to him.

Changing Gears: Come on. You already know.

Four Minutes for the Truth: Ace Attorney crossover with Ghost Trick that assumes you know the twists in Ghost Trick. Sissel has to keep Edgeworth alive

Gears & GFs: Quote the summary, "Momo hacks. Mei invents. They fall in love, meet, fight, and kiss— in that order."

Ghost of a Chance: Another Ace Attorney and Ghost Trick crossover, this time with Mia as the ghost

Heroes Beneath the Mask: Persona 5 crossover with MHA with the interesting twist of not having Joker and Midoriya roleswap.

Welcome to demon school, Izuku-kun!: Fucking read it.

When Fangirling Reaches New Heights: Fem!AFO!Midoriya is bad at being a Villain but good at flirting with OFA!Uraraka.

Good Intentions (Make Bad Excuses): Dadzawa arrests Quirkless Vigilante Midoriya in an effort to make him a Hero only to discover that he is in a Midoriya Has Trust Issues fic and just shattered the tenuous relationship he'd built

Those who Help the Heroes: Another Support!Midoriya fic, this time with online friends

Pony Tsunotori's Second Quirk: Bootleg One for All: Look there is nothing here I can say that the title doesn't.

Oops, One for All for All: Same author and description as the previous entry.

Accidental Apotheosis: Ash is actually an Arceus because his dad is secretly the Arceus. Hilarity ensues.

Ghost of Tatooine: From the author of my favorite BotW fic, this Star Wars fic is based around the idea that Anakin didn't become Darth Vader because Sideus fucking killed him and Luke can see his ghost.

Feels Like There's No Gravi-TEA!: A fluffy one-shot of Uraraka and Yaoyorozu getting together.

Grindstone and Forge: Midoriya clears extra-dimensional dungeons to gain superpowers and Yaoyorozu has OFA.

[sobredunia]

So.

I made a silly crossover AU pretty much exclusively for only me and @radioroxx

more doodles under the cut (its mostly shitposts and clover descending into insanity lol)

Translation: holy shit is that sans undertale

(i know it doesnt make sense in canon for Gomez to speak zuish but shhh this AU is founded on self-indulgence what's a bit more)

Translation: hello im dot god is dead

and, of course, can't forget the spiderman meme

I spent longer on the zuish formatting than i'm willing to admit

also. i spent longer on Dot than im willing to admit. i couldnt find a png and the character's semi transparent so i took an image and color selected and slightly altered each individual color and drew over it. all for a singular bit. i havent even learnt how to draw 4d objects from this but ngl it came out p neat so ya

for the people who are just browsing the uty tag/only know of uty: fez is a videogame where your hat allows you to see change perspectives and navigate a 3d world as if it was 2d. you have a companion named dot that is a 4d cube that just follows you around and explains stuff. also god is actually dead and you killed it so now you have to put it back together. i am not exaggerating in any of these aspects in the slightest

uhh yknow what. art taglist too. look at this deranged crossover boy

@rotkad @sansxfuckyou @blackfright @beetroot-merchant @ashs-hellhole @h3xt0r @bree-sae @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @zecrisketch

[random-doctor-on-the-internet]

Hello earthlings, your favourite aliens back! Well, not favourite, I probably don't even make it to the top fifty, but let a guy have dreams.

I am currently drowned in exams and two days late on my art commissions schedule, but I've just eaten coffee beans thinking it was chocolate (don't do that, kids) and decided that it's time for a new BSfLM.

@weirdly-specific-but-ok , tagging you because I haven't bothered you in a while. Read this coffee induced masterpiece and cry.

global cheering

So, since @randomvoices and @zonzolik asked about the cults, I'll talk about...well, the cults. And now, mortals, IT'S SHOWTIME. Neil Gaiman have your mercy, for the worst is yet to come.

global slightly worried cheering

Okay, buckle your seatbelts, here's the story of how I almost got dragged into a cult. Welcome to hell.

Alrighty-almighty, it all starts, as it will end, in some little russian town. You know, these little towns that seem to only exist to say things like "this famous guy was born there", "that famous guy tried to sleep there for a night but was met with a lot of suspicion", "that one blorbo on the net got dragged into a cult there", etc. You see what I'm talking about.

"But, Ash, why were you in this town?", you ask.

The truth is, I don't know. We were looking for a place to sleep, then God decided that my life will be a crossover between Florida News and those traumatic fairy tales from your childhood that you remember all your life, and threw me there. Hi!

So, we arrive there, it's late, almost everyone is sleeping, and we need to stay unnoticed for runaway reasons. The villagers, however, are not very eager to welcome two black haired strangers carrying an impressive amount of close combat weapons. After a bit of useless bargaining, we realised that it's time to pack our bags and hitch the road.

So, we get a loaf of bread for dinner and go away, trying to look very offended. Historians don't say if it was effective. We're almost gone when we see a guy who yells us that there's a small community of monks in the woods who usually welcome well minded strangers.

Sleep in a monastery is better than no sleep at all, we decide, and go in the woods. We arrive, the monks are nice even if not very monkish, they give us some mushroom stew and send us to sleep.

I don't know what they put in the stew, but we both sleep for more than three days. When we wake up, they're all nice, all seem very worried that we haven't woken up earlier. We apologize for abusing their hospitality and ask if we could do something to make up for it. We may be punk, but we have a heart. They happily agree and we spend an unknown amount of days alternating between enormous amounts of sleep and chopping wood, collecting flowers, brewing beer, and other monastery stuff.

We start thinking about leaving, but every time we mention it, they ask us if we could help with something else, and make clear that they won't tell us where they put our travel bags (with the guns inside.). Now that we live with them, we can see that they don't look like monks at all. Neither of us knows a lot about Christianity, but I'm pretty sure monks aren't supposed to wear flower crowns, sleep together, and sing songs about how Nature is a massive slay. They're hippies, we think, nice ones, and keep chopping wood.

They seem pretty excited about the full moon. Is God supposed to look at us through the moon's eye? Is God the moon? Were they secretly werewolves? Who knows. But they were acting very strange when we mentioned it. Told us that we need to see the full moon ceremony, that it will change our lives.

We help them decorate the woods, and put a small monolith around which it's going to take place. They ask Beez to pick a goat, because they're going to do a thing in our honour. Goat meat stew? Why not. Another 2 day-long nap later, it's the full moon. They give us white robes. Beez insists to keep all the things they haven't put away under them. The black-white combo doesn't look good, but it works.

We reunite in the clearing. As soon as the moon appears, they start singing. I don't know that song but it sounds metal. I'm joining them, stammering some lyrics about burning Christians. It fortunately goes unnoticed.

And then, the goat arrives. It's very clear that there won't be any stew. Beez looks at me. I look at Beez. And we run like our lives are in danger, which is probably true. Without the robes, we're almost invisible in the night. And we mindlessly run for dear life, two days of running almost without stopping. I don't know if they sent people after us, but they didn't catch us.

So, yeah, here's how we survived a moonlight cult, and people from said cult obtained two brand new backpacks, a dozen guns, perfectly done passports (it was awful to redo these without being found) and half a loaf of bread. Hope they remember us.

Remember, children, always trust suspicious strangers. Fun adventures might happen.

[doctorsiren]

OMG I LOVE LOVE LOVE THE SPLIT MILES AU HEWFUHJJF. HI ITS ME, THE ONE WHO ASKED ABT IT LOL, just woke up and I had to make a doodle of it ASAP!!

ALSO, it has me wondering how he ended up splitting in the first place since Phoenix got split due to his disbarment so,, what event was it for Miles? SORRY FOR ASKING SM, IM JUST SO INTRIGUED BY THESE AUS

(HERES THE DOODLE BTW, it’s rushed + it was on notes so it’s kinda wonky SRRY)

CUTE CUTE CUTE CUTE I LOVE IT EEE

Okay okay okay so

The Split Miles AU is a separate universe from the one where the Split Phoenix AU takes place in (however I am adoring the crossover possibilities)

So his event is Turnabout Goodbyes and Phoenix uprooting everything that had been drilled into his brain by von Karma. So after Rise from the Ashes, when he leaves The Note, thats him running away and hiding as he split into two people because the side of him that felt he needed to embrace von Karma’s teachings still was in conflict with the side of him that wanted to fulfill that sense of justice instilled in him by both his father and by Phoenix

And so over that year, he sort of came to terms with these two sides of himself, and by the time he returns in AA2, he’s whole again, although it’s kind of an unstable situation, and so that’s why he keeps running away and staying away for periods of time. Phoenix doesn’t know there’s two of them, and only Edgeworth’s sort of “team” knows

Eventually (not sure when yet), Phoenix either finds out, or he is told about the two prosecutors

[we-ezer]

FFVII X BATMAN AU LESS GOOO

i had been struggling to come up with an idea for a crossover like this just bc i wanted to combine two of my favorite fandoms when BAM green glowing eyes that make u act up r u kidding me???? am i BLIND?????

SO cloud slips into a natural mako pool that had shinra’s dirty reactor run-off leaking into it that he had been investigating for the WRO. he is revived via lazarus pits into the batman universe. like we’re talking rising from the pits standing and covered in green glowing goo revival. in a pit-induced rage he burns the league hideout to the ground sephiroth-style. his eyes are slitted as he drags his sword behind him in the sand away from the wreckage.

ra’s shows up in the batcave to tell damian his mother is dead. damian believes it a trick until ra’s takes out a jar and pours it onto the ground. he claims it is her ashes and leaves. the batfam test it and the test confirms it. talia is dead. damian is conflicted and the rest of the batfam scrambling to figure out what happened. they find out about the destruction of the hideout and make to travel to the site to look for evidence.

cloud is stuck in a haze. he doesn’t know what day it is, where he is, and sometimes who he is. sometimes the sand looks green and he’s back in hojo’s tank, swimming in mako. other times he is desperately gulping down the liquid in hopes of quenching his thirst. then he’s back in a desert wasteland. finally he comes upon a house. a woman rushes out to help him as he collapses.

cloud stays at the house helping the family there until the batfam eventually find him. they connected him with the description of the hideout’s attacker. he is confused until they start describing the destruction and then he is seeing flashes of sephiroth’s ravaging of nibelheim overlaid with his own. he clutched his head then looks up with glowing cat eyes and attacks.

cloud overpowers them all until the little boy from the family that helped him jumps in the way when he goes to finish them off. cloud sees denzel then in place of the boy and backs off. his head starts pounding and he collapses.

the batfam transport cloud back to gotham. there he is processed and stuck into arkham with meta-cancelling shackles/collar. he’s deemed a joker-level risk and made his cell neighbor. joker’s constant needling mix with sephiroth’s. cloud is spiraling until poison ivy is brought in one day. she sits next to cloud in the cafeteria when he is given his only reprieve from joker and asks about his ribbon. cloud is startled to be reminded of it and tells her it is from a dear friend. poison ivy confesses she felt a pull towards him like the planet was telling her to help him. a tear runs down cloud’s face and he wipes it away. he’d thought he was abandoned here but gaia and aerith were still looking out for him.

cloud and poison ivy become fast friends and when harley is caught she quickly latches onto cloud too. someone has to protect him from the joker (no one protected her)! harley especially likes to treat cloud as a “long lost twin brother” considering how alike they look. she insists cloud is unfairly prettier than her tho. eventually they bust out together and get an apartment for the three of them. cloud loves cuddling on the couch with bud and lou. the girls do their best to help cloud heal.

one day red hood is waiting in their apartment in the dark. he wants to talk to cloud (he wasn’t there when ra’s showed up and the following investigation. he hacks the fam’s files regularly to keep up with their intel and saw the case flagged and locked under mountains of encryption. bruce didn’t want him finding out).

[rayshippouuchiha]

Sooooo Ray we talking bout rare crossover pair hell how bout kagome/gojo huh? Like just imagine the shenanigans and possiblities like damn. Here you have the strongest Miko pitted against the strongest sorcerer and not only that kagome would have none of gojos shit. Also they would balance each other out I think

Imagine kagome meeting Gakuganji (did I spell his name right idfk) fir the first time and the absolute shit storm coming that old farts way kagome can already tell she doesn't like him and he brings up yuujis execution and kagome absolutely tears him a new one.

~~~~

Oh god man yes. Just, a Kagome in her 20s (perhaps now forever in her 20s) who made her peace with her and InuYasha's relationship never coming to fruition and for whom the well never reopened anyways so she had to live her life in the present instead of going back.

And the problem is that her time in the past changed her in a way that no one else can really relate to.

She came out of all of her travels and battles as the undisputed Strongest Priestess. And now there are no more monsters.

Only that's not true.

Come to find out that the Higurashi Shrine has simply been providing a very big buffer zone of purity.

She ends up finding out about curses and realizing that, much like youkai, she can purify them with little to no issue. A single touch, or even a wave of her powers sent out from her body, and they're ash in the wind.

And if she bothers to use her bow?

She can fell them by the hundreds if necessary.

When she first sees Gojo it's not his aura or his height or the blindfold that catches her attention.

It's his hair.

That purity of color, the way she can tell it's natural, she automatically assumes some sort of demonic heritage.

And then she ends up pulled into the actual world of Jujutsu Sorcerers.

A world that honestly doesn't know how to deal with her.

Because she knows the true history of youkai, had lived it, breathed it, bled for it, and she has no time to indulge old men who think they know and who are really only interested in solidifying their own power.

Add to that the fact that Sukuna is wary of her?

Well she absolutely captures Gojo's attention.

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

What other crossover characters would you not give an Arc Mark because they are with someone else? Rarity with Spike is an example. This goes to anyone that you might draw in the future.

Asta and Yami's ships from Black Clover Merlin cuz she is Lord Escanors! (PRIASE THE SUN!!!) Krillin is always under 18 (Lol) Cheelai and Broly is probably the most adorble ship in the entire Dragon Ball Series Bulma and Chichi are Vegeta and Gokus... (Except for when their fused, but they don't talk about that, cuz only a fool would say no to Vegito or Gogeta) Vidal is half of Gohan's everything (Was was his everything before their precious daughter was born) Mai is Trunk's Future Hayase Nagatoro and Naoto Hachioji are the oddest couple I've ever love. Naruto and Hinata are a ship all others should strive to be (Also Tsunade, if Naruto's personal Gilf and Hinata needs a hand cuz let's face it Naruto is a walking gangbang, hell throw Shizune and Naruto's many Movie Waifus into that mix too. Maybe even Sarada just to throw a little age gap in the mix) Shikamaru and Temari are just too damn cute together for me to accept anything else. Karui Akimichi may be sorta bitchy but honest to god lets face facts she loves Choji and more importantly we know for a fact he can make parts of his body WAY bigger... Let that sink in. She is for sure a Size Queen. Gojou and Kitagawa from 'My Dress Up Darling' and if we're being honest it's cuz Gojou is just too fucking adorble of a man and a hell of a artisan. Ichijo and Orihime, I've loved this ship since forever and nothing and nobody will convince me otherwise. Bleaches best couple in my opinion. Kaguya-sama: Love Is War has made it in my mind that Shirogane/ Kaguya and Miko and Yuu are simply too pure and perfect to be with anyone else.

Ash and Serena, I never thought I would be invested in a love story in Pokémon of all series, but here we are.

INUYASHA, KAGOME AND KIKIYO, fuck anyone and everyone who can adore the former and feel bad for the later girl. The only solace is that as her reincarnation that at least to some extent Kikyo is with Inuyasha. Also Moroha is the best part of Yashahime, hands down without doubt

These are what come to me off the top of my head, any and all these are off limits period.

[purplesigebert]

Favourite Line Tag Game

Thank you to @iamstartraveller776 and @artemisravencourtney for tagging me. Sorry this took forever 💜!

Rules: Share a favorite line that you've read or written that impacted you!

Mine is from the DW crossover.

Context: The Doctor is a fan of Klaus' artwork. As such, there is a room on the TARDIS filled with Klaus' paintings. Caroline goes to that room when she is stressed, upset, or is missing Klaus.

Caroline couldn’t stop thinking about all of the people that were buried under the remnants of the ash cloud that had settled over Pompeii. Twenty-thousand people; they were responsible for the deaths of twenty-thousand people. The three of them had pushed the lever that made Vesuvius erupt. The Doctor's justification of "it's Pompeii or the world" hadn't provided her any comfort in the last three weeks. Night after night, she would wake up after gasping for breath, the screams and the looks of panic and fear on the people’s faces were heart-wrenching. The only thing she could do to calm down was to push the covers off, tip-toe into the galley, make some vervain tea, and go to sit in the gallery. When she was in there, the TARDIS provided her with her favourite fluffy blanket and pillow. With a murmur of "thank you, Old Girl," she would only have to stare at the paintings for a few seconds before the tension started to drain out of her.

No pressure tags: @sergeantpixie @the-road-betwixt @thetourguidebarbie @kirythestitchwitch @forasecondtherewedwon @garglyswoof @allulily @galvanizedfriend @averseunhinged @idreamofspring1 (I know that you were tagged already but I thought you might like to see this), and anyone else who wants to play!

[muserepeats]

29 or 36 for fexi? Maybe the first time they call each other baby or another pet name???

Or 36 would kill me

Your writing is so incredible. And you write them so in love with each other, I am melting and get all emotional 😩🥹. and also hot and bothered because the smut is top tier too! We are blessed 💖

Thank you for the kind words! It really means a lot to read them. (And again, apologies for not responding sooner. Soft prompt post here in case anyone is curious.) Here is #29, from a new crossover fic (promised long ago) that I've started and hope to share next year. 🏈 😉✨

Lexi hears the buzz of her cell phone on the bedside table. It’s not a surprise to be interrupted by a phone call at this hour, but the excitement never fades. She knows as soon as she drops her book, reaches for the device beside her, and turns the screen towards her, Lexi will see his name. Every night it’s the same.

The flutter in her chest was unfamiliar that first time he called her, after the New Year’s Eve party and her brave trip to the convenience store and a few days of texting. Now, nearly 8 months later, the feeling is reliable, his calls are expected, but her heart races just the same. It’s enough to make her pause before answering, to remind herself that this is the feeling she’s been dreaming of her entire life. 

“Hey, Fezco,” she says through a blush and an uncontrollable smile. 

“Hey, Lex. How you doin?” His familiar drawl in her ear is a balm for every bad memory, every moment of self doubt. Finally, she has someone to count on.

“I’m good, even better now.” Lexi steals a glance over at her sister, who responds with an annoyed glare.  The sight of Cassie pushing herself off the bed with a huff is something she enjoys a little more than she should. Lexi tries to ignore the distraction and focus on the voice on the other end of the line.

These days, Cass has mastered the mix of a disgusted scowl and frustrated sigh, complemented by an almost imperceptible eye roll. Just a year ago, the tables were completely turned. It was Lexi sitting across the room, trying to concentrate on her Algebra 2 problem set as her sister cooed some saccharine nonsense into the phone. 

"How was your day?" she continues with a grin. Cassie stalks over to the door, her feet landed loudly the carpet in a dramatic display of revulsion.

"Alright," he says through a sigh. "Like you said, s'even better now. Kinda spent most of it missin' you, baby."

The door snaps shut and, despite her sister’s obvious jealousy over someone, anyone, making Lexi the center of their world, there’s only one thought rushing through her mind. He called me baby.

Her teeth gnawing at the center of her cheek are just one challenge to finding a response. There's also the rush of adrenaline in her belly, and the flush of heat on her cheeks, and an undeniable tingling sensation between her legs. She has to remember to breath.

“Sorry, ion’ mean to be derogatory,” Fez blurts, a quicker cadence than his typical slow pace. “I guess we talked about a lotta things, but we ain’t talk about me callin’ you that…”

He was right — they had talked about a lot of things, especially since school started and he had fully settled into life at the Taylor’s house. They talked about what happened that night, right before the play. They talked about the feelings that Lexi felt, ad nauseum, through each act of said play as that saved seat meant for him sat empty. They talked about Ash, and they talked about the hospital. They talked, more frequently, about what happened at school or practice or rehearsal that day. And, just last weekend, they talked about their relationship status. A relationship status that definitely made it appropriate for him to call her baby.

“It’s okay,” she mumbles softly, responding just as he trails off. “I like it. You can say it again.” 

The soft grumble of his voice continues, "Baby, baby, baby." There's a hint of teasing in the word, but she knows he savors speaking it as much as she loves hearing it. Lexi chuckles and flops herself onto her back and stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on her ceiling. "Like that?" he goads, his voice turning more suggestive.

"Yeah, like that," she says, her cheeks pained from a wide smile. There's a very good chance that his expression matches hers on the other side of town. She thinks to return the gesture, call him baby, too. But it doesn't feel quite right. Maybe they don't need pet names, but she's waited long enough for this relationship to blossom into something real, something more tactile than the bounds of her imagination. Lexi wants all the silly little clichés of a high school romance, and she wants Fez to have them too.

He clears his throat to break the long beat of silence, and a rush of bravery allows Lexi to ask the question on her mind. "And what should I call you?"

[isaaagloom]

can i talk about how much i hate the ow2 & mha/bnha collab???

i am a HUGGGEEE fan of both ow2 and mha/bnha, but???? ooooh my god???? also all of this is my opinion, i am simply a teenager who's hyperfixated on BOTH THINGS!!!! dont attack me ^_^

i know theres probably a limit to how many skins they can put out at once, how many they can advertise, dadaddaa... howeverrr!!! that does NOT take away from how ass the skin selections were?? (not counting reaper, i’ll get to him later :3)

for one! this was a perrrfect time to give venture a skin, and there were SO many good options!!! the one i've seen the most is venture as izuku, which i think would've looked a lot better than tracer as izuku. 2, everyone says this, but i feel like kiriko should nottttt get one of the mha skins!!!! she has 4 skins in the season that hasnt even started yet. i feel like a greaaaaat pick for toga would be echo!! (toga and echo can both turn into other people, even if their designs dont match well, i think its a cool idea to have a character collab with matching abilities !!!!!! also, robotic toga wouldve been SUCH a cool design) 3, the complete absence of one of the most popular characters in mha... :(( I AM MOURNNNINNNGGGGG the loss of junkrat bakugo. bakugo has won sooo many recent popularity polls, and with junkrat becoming a bit more popular recently, i feel like giving junkrat a bakugo skin was just?... necessary? clearly not!!!!!! not only do the two have similar abilities, they also look sooooo much alike!!!!!! it wouldve probably been the easiest skin in the collab to make!!! v upset ab this

4, extras because siighhhhhhh!!!!

pharah as uraraka, juno as mina, genji as iida, ana as tamaki, d.va as tsuyu, ashe as camie, cassidy as snipe, lucio as kirishima, hanzo as aizawa OBVIOUSLY.

^^ and thats just off the top of my head! they couldve put sooo many better options into this crossover, but they did NONE !!!:3 i know its smarter to do more recognizable characters from mha AND ow2, but that doesnt mean you need to be basic and lazy with your choices! ending on a good note, reaper skin is so cool. probably one of the only skins i like from this crossover! shigaraki & reaper is such a cool combo and now that its a skin its evennnnn better!!!!

k im done with my rant im tired. ow please get better at choosing skins im begging on my hands and knees (ignore any spelling or grammar errors pls......)