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imagine-darksiders · 1 month ago

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Absolute Anarchy

A Darksiders/SCP Foundation crossover nobody asked for but is here regardless.

Summary: SCP-8103. Object class; undetermined. There's a new entity at the Foundation. Four D-Class have already been supplied with weapons and pitted against it, only to be cut down before they could get more than a couple of shots in. Eager to determine which calibre of rifle can pierce its armour, they send you in next - D-1935 - to accomplish what your predecessors couldn't. It's too bad they never taught you how to actually use the rifle...

This has the vague semblance of a plot btw, but I'm trying not to be too finicky, and just to write as it comes to me, so hopefully it'll still be easy enough to follow and enjoyable at the same time.

Tw: Blood, guns, death, imprisonment, threat, violence, trapped, typical SCP violence.

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If there was ever a moment where you should have felt the stars aligning to determine the path your life might take, it would have to be the moment you decided to steal that godforsaken sports car.

It was an instance born of desperation – a tantalising lure cast by the owner of a chop-shop who made heartfelt promises to lift you out of poverty, only to throw you under the proverbial bus when the heat ventured too close to his illicit operation.

He only wanted the money from that Ferrari.

You reduced yourself to grand theft auto for a chance to escape the homeless shelter and land on your feet.

And where did you land instead?

Behind bars, that’s where. Tossed into some dingy prison that seemed only built for the sole purpose of hiding away society’s miserable, forgotten dregs.

You thought you knew what rock bottom looked like.

How were you to know the depths this pitiless world could drag you down to?

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

A strident voice bellows a set of all-too familiar numbers at what must be the top of his already bursting lungs. The door to your cell is wrenched violently open, spilling light into a room that’s a damn sight smaller and bleaker than the one they pulled you from in St Ives.

Bureaucracy had been your ultimate enemy, in the end. A signature in the wrong place, a ‘t’ dotted where it should have been crossed, and an ‘i’ absent from your paperwork had all lead you to a place you couldn’t have imagined in your most turbulent nightmares. A place that shouldn’t - and so far as the public is aware - doesn’t exist.

The SCP Foundation.

Specifically, site 12; a rancorous offshoot of what you’ve come to learn through eavesdropping and rumour, is a worldwide operation.

It turns out the people in charge here couldn’t less of give a hoot whether you’re a petty thief or a renowned and unrepentant serial killer. If your name is on their list, they won’t bother to see a difference. You’re all Disposables, in the end, and no amount of pleas for your innocence or requests for an evaluation will get you any closer to that glorious taste of freedom.

You’ll serve your time or die trying. And as of yet, you haven’t heard of anyone who’s reached the end of their ‘sentence.’

The bed springs underneath you shriek with relief as you scramble up onto your feet, nearly tripping over the long hems of your jumpsuit.

Heart thundering like a jackhammer, you cower before the imposing shape silhouetted in your doorway, warily eyeing the M9 Beretta that’s being aimed directly at your forehead.

You’d hoped that by now the guards here would have learned that you’re not a threat. Hell, it didn’t take you long to figure out that anybody even vaguely considered a troublemaker in this place will earn themselves a one-way ticket to a fate that would make you beg for a bullet between the eyes.

That first week, you ended up trying to plead your case to the wrong scientist and wound up on the bi-weekly rota to clean SCP-173’s cell. Twice.

How you got out of there with your neck facing the right way is one of life’s greatest mysteries. If it hadn’t gone for your poor cellmate first…

“You listening, Scuzz!?” The handgun jerks to the left of your doorway. “Get your ass outta that cell!”

Ah... Mullins. One of the guards assigned to your particular block.

A meaner son of a bitch, you’ve never known. Rumour has it that the towering brute used to be a D-Class, like you, but through shows of force, an unflinching disregard for his fellow man, and an uncanny ability to survive, the Lab Coats bumped him up to guard status, if for no other reason than to keep the inmates in line.

You’re loathe to admit it, but he is damn good at his job.

Ducking your head, you scurry from your bed through the open door, pressing yourself as close to the frame as possible to squeeze past the Beretta that he keeps trained on your head. You don’t even have to look at him anymore to know that there’s a wide smirk on his face when he jabs the barrel at the back of your skull, shoving you into an awkward stumble down the hallway.

“Move. Got a new assignment for you today,” he goads, falling into step behind you, his thick, rubber boots thudding purposefully on the linoleum.

In contrast, your plimsoles make rather pathetic ‘slaps’ with each, hurried step you take.

You know the drill by now. Head down. Eyes front. Mouth shut.

You’ve walked this path to the lifts a hundred times before.

It's been weeks since you stopped asking him when you can go home.

‘When you’ve served your sentence,’ became ‘When we damn well feel like it,’ became ‘You still think you’re getting out of here?’

“SCP-Eight-One-Oh-Three~,” Mullins sing-songs at your back, entirely too cheerful all of a sudden, “This one just came in. The Lab coats don’t know nothin’ about it. And guess who’s the lucky little D-Scuzz who gets to ‘further the advancement of science?”

Although your body trembles like a leaf in a hurricane, you don’t make a sound, not even when the moisture in your eyes wells up into a fat, salty teardrop and breaks over the dam of your lash line, carving a damp path down your grubby cheek.

An unknown SCP?

Your odds of making it to the end of the day in one piece have just plummeted into the single digits, and you once again find yourself asking, 'why me?'

‘We’re doing this for the good of humanity,’ one doctor with a particularly punchable face had once announced to a room full of orange-clad prisoners, and you can still remember wondering when you and your fellow inmates stopped being a part of that same Humanity this Foundation seems to keen to protect.

The cold steel of a gun jabs you again in the base of your neck, pushing a quiet sound of protest from your lips that you hurriedly clamp down on, fists balling up at your sides.

“That’s right!” Mullins continues, “Damn, you gotta be feelin’ proud as a peacock, kid. Not every day someone gets to be the first to make contact. Hell, maybe you’ll get lucky, and it’ll be a Euclid.”

The row of lifts appears as you turn the next corner and come to a stop obediently in front of the closest one, head still hanging nearly to your chest as you wait for Mullins to reach past you and jam his thumb on the ‘down’ button.

“Wouldn’t bet on it though… That thing has Keter written all over it.”

With the damning chime of a bell, the heavy, metal doors slide open, and Mullins shoves you roughly into the claustrophobic space with one fist to your spine. Jesus, trapped in this finite space with him, the smell of cheap brand cigarettes wafts from his jacket and drifts up into your nose, sitting stale and musty on the back of your tongue.

The walls are dull in here, unreflective, which you nearly count as a blessing.

It means you don’t have to see the mess you’ve become.

----

It’s only when you’re standing outside the containment cell that you realise Mullins was either lying, or just plain wrong.

You aren’t the first D-Class to make contact with this SCP.

In fact, if the stiff-faced scientist shoving a rifle into your hands is to be believed, you’re precisely the fifth.

“That,” he begins with an aloof air of bored professionalism, watching impassively while you fumble to find purchase on the heavy gun, “Is the CZ-Five-Fifty. And today, you will be testing its armour-piercing capabilities.”

‘Armour?’ you think, swallowing thickly, ‘What the Hell kind of monster have they brought into this place?’

The cold circle of steel still pressed to your shoulder blade reminds you of Mullins’s unpleasant presence.

“No funny business,” he growls, “You couldn’t get the safety off before I put you down like a lame bitch.”

Charming.

You don’t fancy telling him you couldn’t get the safety off anyway. And that it... hadn't occurred to you to even try and turn it on him and the scientist, though it probably should have been the first thing you thought of.

The weapon sits like a dead weight in your hands, heavy and fundamentally useless. You don’t know how to fire a gun, let alone one this powerful.

But the scientist doesn’t seem to know that, lazily racking off the terms of your contract and your ‘obligation’ to the Foundation.

Yes, you imagine it would get tiresome having to rehash the same speech five times in a row… Perhaps he just assumes you know how to use it?

Bastard.

Wetting your lips, you peel them apart and croak out a question, wincing at the pathetic crack in your voice, dry and reedy from disuse. “What happened to the others?”

At that, the scientist’s lips purse, and an eyelid twitches then settles.

They all hate being interrupted. Especially by a D-Class.

At least the guards acknowledge your autonomy through rage and demeaning names and acts of violence.

To the Lab Coats, you’re just cannon-fodder. Nothing. Empty vessels for them to use as they see fit.

Even so, the one in front of you straightens up and peers down the length of his nose at you, sighing as though he were trying to explain the concept of algebra to a dog. “The D-Class personnel-“ he begins, and you have to bite your tongue to hold in a scoff. ‘Personnel’ is a funny way of pronouncing ‘Prisoners.’

“-who came before, all failed their assignments.”

Behind you, Mullins pipes up with a distinguishable sneer. “Emptied their whole clips into the thing before they got turned into Swiss cheese.”

Oh… God.

“Didn’t even make a dent,” he concludes, sounding not in the least bit sad to have wasted four lives.

“Yes, well-“ the scientist clears his throat, “The first step to knowing your enemy is knowing how to kill it. And the supplied Rugers proved… ahem… inefficient. But at least we now know the three-five-seven calibre isn’t strong enough. We’re hoping the point six hundred will be.”

“Six hundred Overkill…” Mullins whistles appreciatively. “Elephant killers.”

Your stomach twists into a tight, clenching ball. You think you might be sick if there was anything to bring up except bile.

So, this is the SCP that finally kills you.

Shit.

In a whirlwind of sudden, dizzying movements and barked orders, you’re unceremoniously surrounded by three more guards who bodily ‘escort’ you into the loading dock – an empty room set in the midway of two descending doors that are made from several feet of a solid titanium alloy. The primary door slides open with a mechanical hiss, and you’re shoved roughly into the space between it and the secondary door.

On trembling knees, you gape up at the grey metal, noting with no small degree of alarm that it’s tall and wide enough to admit the shipping container of something titanic.

Above your head on the wall, an orange light pulses as the primary door slams shut behind you, and the sound of enormous locks sliding into place fills the room. Your rifle almost slips from your grasp, leaving you to fumble for it with sweat-slicked palms.

The drawback of not being a hardened death-row inmate is that when it comes to moments of great danger, you’re inclined to neither fight nor flee.

Instead, worst of all, you’re the type to freeze solid.

Now is no exception.

As the light flashing above you turns green, signalling for the second door to ascend into its slot high in the ceiling, your spine promptly goes rigid, fingers locking up around the gun whilst your feet turn to two blocks of cement.

All of a sudden, you can’t help but let out a shriek when something flops down onto the ground on your side of the door once it’s been raised a couple of feet, and at first, you assume something is trying to crawl through the space to get at you.

Once you realise what the dark object actually is, you almost wish your initial assumption had been correct.

What lays on the ground, spread across the threshold between the dock and the cell, is a body. ‘A human body!’ your addled brain registers.

Or what’s left of a human…

Swiss cheese might not have been an exaggeration after all.

Entry and exit holes have torn the poor bastard apart from head to toe, shredding to ribbons what remains of a grubby, orange jumpsuit, much like the one you’re currently garbed in. Bones and muscle and sinew show through torn flaps of skin, and the stench of blood mingles with gun smoke, seeping into your nostrils before you can scrunch your nose up to block it out. You could have done without the acrid taste of iron resting on the back of your tongue.

‘That’s gonna happen to me,’ you gasp silently, choking on a sob, unable to tear your gaze from the body, ‘Oh god, that’ll be me in a minute!’

Jesus Christ, they hadn’t even waited for the blood to dry, the assholes!

With a ‘click’ and a ‘thud,’ the door slides gracefully to a halt, utterly and completely open, exposing you to whatever entity lays in wait beyond the threshold. The fear of what lies ahead outweighs your horror of seeing a fellow D-Class on the ground. In an instant, you wrench your eyes away from the body and gape out into the room in front of you.

Sturdy, grey walls lit by an overhead fluorescent light are a familiar view, as are the bloodstains spattered across the stone slabs.

The pockmarks littering the adjacent wall are new however, each about the size of your fist. There are hundreds of them, like someone took a gatling gun and sprayed it all over the cell. They look… far too large to have been made by any ordinary rifle…

A hard blink sends twin tracks of tears leaking down your face. The room beyond angles sharply to the left right outside the door, and it plucks at your frayed nerves to realise you can’t see what’s around the corner…

Nearby, facedown on the floor just several feet from the entrance, is the second body, a gun laying close to their side and an arm outstretched towards you, their final act in the throes of death. They must have skidded around the corner and were making for the door when they were cut down…

Despite the carnage, the cell is eerily silent, not a breath nor a shift to give away where the SCP might be.

Is it lurking just around the bend to ambush you?

Is it seconds away from tearing into the pocket of space and doing to you whatever it did to these sorry sods?

Aside from quivering fit to bust, you can’t move a muscle.

You won’t.

You won’t go in there, they can’t –!

“D-Class!”

A sharp staccato shout is thrown from a speaker in the corner of the dock, causing you to nearly leap out of your skin. But worse than your visceral flinch is the sound the voice elicits from something inside the cell.

It’s like a roll of thunder, soft then loud then soft again, a guttural growl, so rich and deep it shakes the walls and travels up through your plimsoles, undulating across each section of your spine until you can feel it hum behind your eyes.

The reverb hasn’t even faded before the same voice barks, “Proceed into the containment chamber at once.”

“To Hell with that!” you retort, feet still rooted firmly to the ground.

“You will proceed or you will be reassigned.”

It’s a threat that’s worked before.

And Hell… It works again now.

Reassignment is an absolute. A guaranteed death sentence. At least in here, even with an unknown entity, there’s a slim, albeit nearly imperceptible change of survival or at the very least, a quick death. Besides, the previous victims look well and truly dead, and that’s frankly a fate that’s a Hell of a lot better than becoming a living hive for a colony of insects or a tumour-riddled larder for giant, cave-dwelling rodents.

“D-Class. You have precisely three seconds to-“

The inescapable terror of a worse ending is your greatest motivator down here. You don’t even wait for the countdown to start.

Heaving in a wet breath, you squeeze your eyes halfway shut and yank one leg stiffly into the air, planting it forwards, once, twice, three times until you pass the body on the threshold and step out into the cell. Into the open. Like a doe entering a meadow when she damn well knows there are hunters lurking in the trees nearby.

Your eyes are still clenched almost shut when you turn yourself to the left and spot the remaining pair of bodies, one almost laying on top of the other, weapons still locked in their cold, dead hands,

Another, blood-curdling growl blasts through the air around you, sudden and violent enough to nearly send you toppling over onto your backside.

Flinging your eyes open with a gasp, you immediately wish you’d kept them closed instead. You wish the SCP had just killed you outright.

You wish you never stole that wretched car.

You were expecting big.

This SCP is bigger.

You can see why the scientists want to find a calibre that can pierce armour.

The creature that hunches before you, eating up ample space between the floor and the ceiling dozens of feet overhead, is almost solid metal from top to bottom. And armoured, you realise in horror, covering flashes of grey, scaly skin the colour of iron.

Bipedal, is the second thing you note, towering all the way to the roof on a pair of long, lithe legs, each ending in a three-toed foot with claws that remind you of some long extinct theropod.

A scrawny waist feeds into a contrarily powerful chest and monumental shoulders that are made even larger by the armoured struts encasing them.

Your eyes, wider than saucers, travel along the length of its arms – the first hanging down to its bent knee with a hand that looks large enough to wrap around your whole body and crush you between its fingers. The other arm, however, doesn’t end in a hand – clawed or otherwise.

It ends instead, from the elbow down, in a four barrelled gun the size of cannon.

And all four of those chambers are aimed directly and unwaveringly at you.

Behind the sights, several cylinders spin over one another like a minigun ramping up to fire, clanking angrily in an obvious threat.

You don’t dare pull in a breath, not when your gaze locks onto one of the chambers of the gun arm, and from somewhere deep in the pits of those long barrels, a dim, red glow sparks to life, the same light you imagine the fires of Hell would kick out if Satan ever eventually sets foot in this horrible place.

And that’s without even mentioning its other apparent weapon.

You think it must be some kind of tail, arched up and over the SCP’s head like the tail of a scorpion, swaying very gently from left to right and back again. Whip-like, it tapers to a point, and from what you can see from down here, the grey of its scales beneath the armour fades into an angry red right near the tip, glowing the same colour as the lights in the barrels of its gatling arm.

Vivid images of your body being impaled on the end of that wicked appendage flicker through your mind’s eye, and you have to drop your gaze to banish them, moving on to take in the rest of the monstrosity.

A pair of metal horns sweep forwards from the sides of an avian helm, long and sleek and ending in deadly points perfect for goring, like the tusks of an elephant. There’s a mane sprouting from its back too, a vibrant purple that stands out fiercely against the silver of its armour. Each strand of hair seems to wave and snake about through the air as if they’re alive.

And then you make the mistake of meeting its gaze.

You’ve seen SCP’s with no eyes, some with too many eyes, a few that are made up entirely of eyes and even those that have eyes in places where eyes have no business being.

These though… you don’t like these eyes at all, even despite the fact there are a regular number of them.

Gold as gleaming bullion, unnaturally bright and forward-facing, all nature’s warning signs that you’re staring up into the eyes of a predator.

Once they’ve locked you in their sights, it’s nigh on impossible to tear yourself free.

The snarling visage opens up like a steel trap, baring black fangs the size of axe heads, and a burning heat behind its jaws that rises like-

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

“Shit!” You don’t mean to yelp aloud, nor do you intend to nearly drop the gun, scrambling to secure your grip on it before it can fall from your hands. In the blink of an eye, the entity’s gigantic head swings around to hiss furiously at something you’d missed completely when you stumbled into its cell.

An observation window dominates the far wall, and behind it, several figures donned in white coats stand watching, their faces only slightly blurred behind the thick – presumably bullet-proof – glass.

Just above the window on this side of the cell, another speaker has been fitted into the wall, and from it, the same nasally voice as before barks a command.

“You are to proceed with testing the Overkill’s capabilities.”

… Are they serious?

The SCP’s tail has swung around to follow its head and aims warningly at the glass, though its weaponised arm stays fixed on you.

Your own weapon remains useless, hanging from your grasp, pointed at the ground. You can’t muster the courage to raise it.

What defence could it possibly provide? What could such a tiny rifle do, really, against a weapon that made holes that size in the concrete walls?

The scientists are insane. The lot of them...

Well, to Hell with them, and to Hell with this stupid experiment.

Still blurred over by salty tears, your eyes reluctantly trail back up to the entity’s head. If you’re to die, you want to look this thing in the eye when it kills you. You might have lived as a coward, but you’re not so eager to die as one.

You’ve been afraid to defy them for so long, terrified – paralysed by the possibility of what these people might do to you in retaliation of defiance. But somehow, being here surrounded by the bodies of your fellow prisoners, knowing you’re about to meet the same fate, you can’t think of anything more satisfying than not giving the Foundation what they want.

Oh certainly, you imagine they’ll soon get some other D-Class to do the job you failed to do, but if causing the Lab Coats a mild inconvenience before you die is how they remember you, you think you’ll be okay with that.

You have to be okay with it. There’s nothing else you can be now, seconds from having your body turned into, as Mullins so eloquently put it, Swiss cheese.

Stiffening your upper lip, you aim a shaky scowl at the window, eyes bloodshot with tears and fatigue. And in an act you hope looks as rebellious as it feels, you open your arms and let the gun fall to the ground with an almighty clatter, drawing the SCP’s attention back onto yourself.

A strangled noise escapes the speakers before you hear, “D – One-nine-three-five! Retrieve your weapon at once!”

Ignoring him, you roll your gaze over to the SCP and let your arms flop defeatedly to your sides, teeth clenched shut to try and hold onto your sobs.

That enormous, horned head cocks sideways at you, and through your tear-streaked vision, you almost believe you can see its gatling arm drop ever so slightly, and the glow in its barrels fade from red-hot to warm-orange.

“Please,” you find your voice, blindly toeing a plimsole forwards and giving the gun a weak kick, listening to it slide a few feet away from you. You’re unaware that the beast’s gaze tracks your discarded weapon across the room. “Just… make it quick?”

The body closest to you still has his eyes intact, and they stare up at you from the floor, glassy and unseeing. You wonder if his death was quick. You hope so. It looks like it should have been.

The entity regards you with its wide, fiery snarl, unblinking, calculating. As the seconds tick by, you find yourself fidgeting and sparing glances between its gun and its armoured face.

What the Hell is it waiting for?

All of a sudden, two slitted nostrils appear above the SCP’s mouth, glowing with the same liquid gold that shimmers in its eyes. They flare hotly for a moment, kicking out a noisy whumph of air, and then…

Against every odd…

The SCP snatches its head away from you and… and drops its gun arm with a gruff snort, glaring at the wall opposite the scientists.

You blink once.

Seconds later, you have to blink again, clearing your vision slightly.

Why… are you still alive?

“Um…” you utter, for lack of any better ideas.

The SCP doesn’t turn to acknowledge the sound of your voice. In fact, it seems entirely adamant in subjecting the concrete wall to a fearsome glower instead as it thumps the barrels of its gun to the ground and leans its weight on that arm, its mighty chest heaving in and out with a huff.

… Perhaps you’re going mad. That’s it. That must be part of its power. It makes people go mad. Why else would you be plagued by the feeling that you’re being deliberately ignored?

On the other side of the glass, a young scientist hovers over the microphone, trembling with unprofessional agitation and apprehension.

“D-Class!” he barks shrilly, pushing down on the button so hard his fingertip turns white, “If you don’t pick up your rifle at once, I will have no choice but to-!”

“- Quiet Spencer…” Another voice - older, authoritative – snaps, causing the shrieking man to immediately fall silent and cower away from the microphone as obediently as a beaten dog. It even hushes the mutters of every other scientist in the observation room. Narrow eyes stare unblinkingly through coke-bottle spectacles, observing the interaction beyond the observation window with cool interest. “This is the longest a D-Class has survived with this specimen…” she points out, listening to the intern beside her scribble down the minutes, “I’d like to find out why.”

She watches the Disposable’s face turn towards the glass, trying to meet any of the scientists’ gazes, apparently seeking some sort of explanation to the SCP's behaviour.

Join the club.

“… Ma’am?” someone asks after several seconds pass without an answer, turning to face her, their expression inquiring.

For a further minute, she elects to stand there in silence, thoughtfully tapping a manicured nail against the microphone button, contemplating the magnificent creature and the miniscule human currently sharing a space.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, she slides her finger from the button and folds her arms, lab coat wrinkling around her elbows.

“The D-Class gets five minutes inside before extraction,” she declares, shooting a nod at her intern who scrambles to fish a stopwatch from his pocket and stabs his thumb on the button. Once she hears the sharp ‘beep,’ she returns her attention to the staff around her and adds, “No external input.”

There are murmurs of varying approval rising and falling all throughout the room, but once again, she only has eyes for the SCP.

“Let’s see if this D-Class proves more useful than the predecessors…”

---

“Hello?” you whisper-shout at the scientists behind the window, keeping the entity in the corner of your eye, “Um...”

Christ, this is awkward... "Can I... Can I leave, or...?"

Silence.

Impassive, boring silence.

Aside from the occasional motion made to scribble something down on a clipboard, none of the scientists seem inclined to offer anything more through the microphone.

Gradually, the tired muscles in your shoulder tighten.

You’ve seen this before. D-Class call it the ‘silent treatment,’ where scientists are more interested in seeing what you can find out about SCPs of your own volition.

Are you supposed to have survived for this long? Your mind races with the thought that your predecessors might have been subjected to the same thing before they met their end. You may end up a smear on the wall yet. Half of you is weary enough to hope that’s the case. You’ve just defied a direct order from one of the Lab Coats. You shudder to imagine which SCP they’ll toss you to after this.

It’s that thought alone that spurs you to take a single step towards this entity, intending to get this over with, but no sooner have you moved closer than it whips its head towards you again, and that gun is back up, the cylinders clicking furiously in response to your proximity.

You realise at once that you’d become too bold without its weapon pointed at you because now, that same fear has returned tenfold, sending you staggering backwards again to put some more distance between you and that deadly arm.

Slamming your eyes shut, you raise your hands up in front of your face, breath hitching as you wait to feel the first of many bullets slamming into your flesh.

… You count no less than ten heartbeats without feeling a thing.

------------------------------------------------

“Two minutes to go, ma’am,” the intern quibbles at her side.

Eyes gleaming, she watches you stand shaking in front of the SCP, arms lifted in what she presumes must be surrender. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “The entity still hasn’t fired a single round…”

“You think it’s run out of ammo?” one of the other scientists asks, bolder than his fellows in the face of their superior.

“Perhaps,” she muses, eyeing the SCP’s ‘tail’ that hangs slack behind it this time, not poised to strike over its head like a cobra, “But perhaps it’s just as likely that it won’t fire unless it’s fired upon first.”

The intern, apparently emboldened by another voice speaking up before him, says, “Um, would that class it as a Euclid then?”

Someone scoffs derisively.

“That cannot be determined at present,” she returns cooly, “We haven’t enough data… That being said...”

Stepping closer to the window, arms coming to clasp loosely behind her back, she tilts her head sideways and regards you with the mild interest of a spider watching a fly struggle in her web. “Thanks to this D-Class, we now know far more about the SCP than we did before… And all because an order was disregarded…”

“Impertinence,” someone spits.

“Initiative,” she returns sharply, the beginnings of a rare and pensive smile lifting her cheeks, “Mullins.”

The guard near the back of the room snaps to attention.

“Prepare for extraction in one minute’s time… And return our lucky D-Class to isolation. Forty-eight hours, I think. Regular meals. That should give us enough time to make arrangements for the next test.”

“Ma’am,” he grunts, moving up to the primary door.

“Er…” The intern beside her shifts on his feet, casting apprehensive glances between the SCP and the D-Class, “What is the next test…? Oh-! Um, Ma’am?”

What indeed? Her mind is already swirling with possibilities, the first of which sticks in place as she contemplates the logistics of it, turning it over and making mental arrangements that’ll need to be put in place.

“The next test?” she replies absently, gazing up at the entity’s fangs that are still being bared down at you, though it hasn’t made a move against you yet, “We’re going to see what, if anything, this SCP likes to eat.”

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #Strife x Reader #Anarchy x reader #SCP au #D-class #Already tapping up chapter 2 as we speak

161 notes · View notes

moonselune · 20 hours ago

Note

companions and drunk reader crying and cuddling with scratch + owlbear :33

I did this set at the reunion party because for some reason I thought that was part of the prompt but hey ho, some fluff to warm our souls and brighten us up during this darkside of the year <3

Karlach:

The reunion party was in full swing, the lively hum of conversation and laughter filling the air. Music played from a makeshift ensemble, and the scent of roasted meat and ale mingled with the crisp night breeze. You and Karlach had been inseparable for most of the evening, both of you reveling in the joy of being free from the hellish grasp of Avernus - even if it was a brief respite. Friends surrounded you, their faces lit with genuine smiles—a rare luxury in the trials you’d all endured together.

But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed freely, Karlach found herself chatting animatedly with Wyll and Gale about some shared escapades. It wasn’t until a lull in the conversation that she noticed your absence.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the crowd. Where had you gone? You’d been right beside her just moments ago. Her heart sank slightly as her mind played through the possibilities, but then she noticed a faint commotion near the far side of the camp, where the light of the bonfire barely reached.

Curiosity and concern prompted her to investigate.

As she approached, Karlach was met with a sight that was both hilarious and heartwarming. There you were, sprawled on the ground, your cheeks flushed from too much drink, nestled comfortably between Scratch, who was contentedly licking your face, and the owlbear cub—no longer a cub but still unmistakably affectionate. The owlbear had draped itself partially over your lap, its massive body radiating warmth, while you murmured incoherent endearments and occasionally giggled.

“You are such a good boy, Scratch,” you slurred, scratching behind the dog’s ears with one hand while your other patted the owlbear’s soft feathers. “And you—big ol’ fluff monster—you’re my second-best friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Scratch, though.”

The owlbear let out a low, rumbling coo, and Scratch wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Karlach leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, and just watched you for a moment, her expression softening. The firelight caught in her amber eyes, reflecting the warmth she felt in her chest. After everything you’d been through—fighting, surviving, struggling—it was moments like these that made it all worthwhile. Seeing you so carefree, surrounded by creatures who adored you, filled her with a quiet contentment.

“Well, well,” she drawled, stepping closer, her voice laced with affection. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’ve already gone and replaced me with fur and feathers.”

You looked up at her, blinking owlishly, and broke into a wide, dopey grin. “Karlach! Join us! There’s so much love here, it’s like… like a cuddle explosion!”

She chuckled, her heart melting a little more. “A cuddle explosion, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

“It’s the best kind of dangerous,” you declared, patting the ground beside you.

Karlach didn’t need much convincing. With a theatrical sigh, she dropped to the ground beside you, her warm body pressing against yours. Scratch immediately climbed into her lap, while the owlbear shuffled closer to include her in its feathery embrace.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and tender, “I think this might be the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“‘Cause I’m with you,” you mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder. “And Scratch. And Big Fluffy. It’s perfect.”

Karlach wrapped an arm around you, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

“You’re perfect, babe” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Minthara:

The reunion party was a raucous affair, the camp alive with laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional outburst of song. Minthara had joined reluctantly at your insistence, her usual composed demeanor barely hiding the faint amusement she felt as she observed the chaos.

The Drow paladin rarely indulged in such frivolity, the two of you had an Underdark to conquor afterall, but tonight she allowed herself to linger, even engaging in a deep conversation with Astarion, who had recently returned to the Underdark to settle down.

As the two shared dry wit and sharp banter, Minthara’s keen eyes darted across the camp, instinctively searching for you. When she realized you were nowhere in sight, she narrowed her eyes.

"Where has that fool wandered off to now?" she muttered under her breath, much to Astarion’s amusement.

“Ah, love,” Astarion quipped, a sly smirk on his lips. “It makes us chase after them even when we’d rather not.”

Minthara rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She excused herself, muttering something about responsibility, and began to search for you. It didn’t take long—muffled giggles and low, rumbling noises led her toward the outskirts of the gathering. There, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, she found you sprawled on the ground.

You were nestled between Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it had long since outgrown the 'cub' moniker—and were clearly the drunkest she had ever seen you. Your face was flushed, your hair mussed, and your arms were wrapped tightly around the two creatures as if they were your most precious treasures.

“Listen,” you whispered conspiratorially to the owlbear, though your volume defeated the purpose. “We’re gonna take over the Underdark. Me, you, Scratch, and Minthara. She’s so scary and smart. We’ll rule everything. But don’t tell her—it’s a secret plan.”

Minthara crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she approached.

"A secret plan, is it?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock disdain. “Taking over the Underdark with a dog and an owlbear? Truly, you’re a visionary.”

You looked up at her with wide, bleary eyes, your face breaking into a sloppy grin.

“Minthara! You found me!” you exclaimed, holding out a hand. “Join us! It’s a cuddle coup.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, though there was a flicker of amusement in her crimson eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, turning to walk away.

But before she could take a step, you staggered to your feet with surprising agility for someone so far gone. With a triumphant shout, you lunged at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down to the ground.

Minthara yelped in surprise, glaring daggers at you as she landed unceremoniously on the grass.

“Have you lost your mind?” she snapped, but her anger quickly gave way to resignation as Scratch and the owlbear cub immediately joined in, nuzzling against her.

She froze, her normally stern expression softening as Scratch licked her cheek and the owlbear rumbled contentedly. She didn’t push them away, though she grumbled, “You’ve turned me into a damned pillow.”

You beamed at her, your face close to hers as you slurred, “You’re the best pillow ever. And the best everything else. I adore you, Minthara. You, Scratch, Owlie—you're all my favorite.”

Her cheeks darkened with a faint blush, though she refused to acknowledge it.

“You’re drunk,” she said curtly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

“And in love,” you replied with drunken sincerity, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, but Minthara didn’t pull away. She sighed, her hand coming to rest on your cheek for just a moment before she let it fall.

“I'm going to kill you,” she muttered, though her tone was more affectionate than irritated.

You grinned, nuzzling against her like a contented cat. “I can't wait.”

Minthara rolled her eyes, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of her mouth. As Scratch and the owlbear settled around you both, she resigned herself to her fate, lying back against the grass and letting the warmth of the moment wash over her.

Perhaps you were impossible. But you were hers.

Lae'zel:

The reunion party was in full swing, the air buzzing with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs. You’d coaxed Lae’zel into attending, promising her that Xan, your precious hatchling, would be fine under the watchful eyes of Voss and the rebels - who were surprisingly more than happy to look after him. Though she had reluctantly agreed, you noticed her gaze drifting toward the camp’s perimeter now and then, her brows furrowed with that familiar Githyanki intensity.

“Relax, Lae’zel,” you teased, nudging her gently. “Xan is fine. Tonight is about us.”

Lae’zel gave you a skeptical glance but said nothing, her hand brushing against yours briefly—a rare public display of affection from her that made your heart swell. For a while, the two of you enjoyed the festivities, sharing drinks and banter with your companions. But as the evening wore on and the wine flowed more freely, you became… well, significantly more inebriated.

At some point, Lae’zel turned to speak with Wyll, who was recounting one of his latest exploits. When she turned back, you were gone.

Her jaw clenched as she scanned the crowd, her warrior instincts kicking in despite the harmless nature of the gathering. She stomped through the camp, muttering curses under her breath as she searched for you.

“You couldn’t stay in one place, could you?” she growled.

It wasn’t long before she heard familiar, albeit slurred, murmuring. Following the sound, she found you sprawled on the ground near the campfire, flanked by Scratch and the now nearly full-grown owlbear cub. Tears streamed down your face as you hugged the animals close, stroking their fur and feathers.

“I love her so much,” you sobbed into Scratch’s neck. “And Xan. Xan is perfect. Perfect little hatchling.”

Lae’zel froze, her expression caught between exasperation and disbelief. She crossed her arms and glared down at you. “What are you doing, fool?”

You looked up at her, your face lighting up with drunken joy.

“Lae’zel!” you cried, holding out your arms. “You’re here! You’re so amazing, and strong, and—hic—beautiful. I love you.”

Lae’zel pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulders heaving with a deep sigh.

“You are worse than Xan when he is hungry,” she muttered. Turning her attention to the animals, she pointed toward the river. “Drag this mess into the water. Perhaps it will sober them up.”

Scratch tilted his head, his tail wagging, while the owlbear let out a soft, rumbling croon. They looked at her, clearly uninterested in complying.

You giggled, stroking the owlbear’s feathers. “They like you, Lae’zel. They know you’re the best. Everyone knows you’re the best.”

Lae’zel’s irritation flickered, her lips pressing into a tight line as she fought to suppress the small smile threatening to emerge.

“You’re insufferable,” she declared, but there was no venom in her tone.

At her words, you burst into fresh tears. “Xan is so lucky to have you as a mom. I’m so lucky! How did I get so lucky?”

Lae’zel knelt beside you, her movements stiff but deliberate as she pulled you upright and into her arms.

“You’re drunk and ridiculous,” she said, her voice low but steady.

You wrapped your arms around her, clinging tightly. “But I love you,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

Lae’zel let out a small, exasperated sigh, but she didn’t push you away. Instead, she adjusted her grip, holding you firmly against her.

Her fingers brushed against your hair as she murmured, “You are fortunate I have patience tonight.”

You snuggled into her embrace, your tears finally subsiding as warmth and exhaustion took over. Though her expression remained stoic, a faint, hidden smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She did love you, she loved Xan, and the feathered and furred beasts weren't too bad either.

Shadowheart:

The reunion party was a vibrant celebration, a gathering of friends, companions, and allies, each reveling in the hard-won peace after so many battles. You and Shadowheart stood together, hand in hand, sharing a quiet joy amid the merriment. The news that the owlbear cub—now a formidable but still affectionate creature—would be coming back to your farm had filled you both with delight. The prospect of a peaceful life on your little slice of the countryside, surrounded by Scratch, the owlbear, your other small army of animals and each other, was everything you’d dreamed of.

You’d both mingled, laughed, and shared drinks, but at some point, Shadowheart turned to grab another bottle of wine, only to find you had disappeared. Her brow furrowed, though she didn’t panic. You weren’t exactly subtle when you were drunk, and it wasn’t hard to follow the sound of your voice, rising in animated, tearful elation.

When she finally found you, Shadowheart couldn’t help but pause, her arms crossing as she observed the scene before her. You were seated on the grass near the campfire, Scratch pressed against your side, his tail wagging lazily, while the owlbear nestled on the other side, its feathers ruffled as you gently stroked its beak.

“And you’re gonna love the farm,” you slurred, gesturing wildly with the bottle in your hand. “There’s fields to run in, and soft places to sleep, and you two—” you sniffed, your voice breaking slightly as you turned to the animals— “are gonna be so happy. So loved.”

The owlbear let out a deep, contented rumble, and Scratch licked your cheek, which only made your drunken tears flow harder. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small smile.

“You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” she said, stepping into the firelight.

Your head snapped up, your face lighting up as if you’d seen the sun itself.

“Shadowheart!” you cried, scrambling to your feet only to stumble and flop back onto the grass. “You’re here! Come here, come here—cuddle pile!”

Shadowheart sighed but couldn’t suppress her amused grin as you reached out for her.

“You’re hopeless,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words. She approached and allowed herself to be pulled down into the pile of fur and feathers, the owlbear shifting to make room for her as Scratch barked happily.

“This is the best night ever,” you declared, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m so happy, Shadowheart. We’re gonna have the best life. You, me, Scratch, and this big feathery baby.”

She shook her head, laughing softly as she snatched the bottle from your hand.

“You’ve had enough,” she said, taking a swig herself. The wine burned pleasantly as it went down, and she let out a contented sigh. “Though I suppose I can’t argue with your enthusiasm.”

As the night wore on, Shadowheart found herself caught up in your infectious joy. She joined in on your rambling talks of the future—of gardens you’d plant, adventures you’d take, and all the little moments of happiness waiting for you both.

“You know,” she said, her voice soft as she leaned her head against your shoulder, “I think you’re right. This is going to be a good life.”

Your only response was a drunken hum of agreement, your arms tightening around her as the warmth of the fire, the animals, and each other enveloped you both. In that moment, everything felt perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.

Jaheira:

The reunion party was in full swing, laughter and music filling the air as friends and allies celebrated the peace you had all fought so hard to achieve. You and Jaheira stood together for much of the evening, your hand occasionally brushing against hers in a quiet intimacy. She was radiant in her element, speaking with old friends, trading stories of past battles, and offering wisdom to those who sought it.

At some point, she became engrossed in a conversation with Halsin, the two of them naturally drawn together by their shared love for nature and nurturing. Their talk turned to the orphans Halsin had come to care for, and Jaheira, with her ever-compassionate heart, shared tales of her own tendency to adopt and guide wayward children.

“I suppose I can’t help myself,” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “Perhaps it’s the druid in me, or perhaps just the mother.”

Halsin nodded with a knowing smile. “It’s a noble trait, Jaheira. The world is better for it.”

But as Jaheira began to share another story, she realized something: you were no longer at her side. She scanned the crowd, her brow furrowing in mild irritation.

“Speaking of wayward children,” she muttered under her breath, excusing herself from Halsin with a polite nod. “Now where have you wandered off to?”

It wasn’t hard to track you down; she simply followed the faint sound of sniffling and tearful rambling. What she found made her stop in her tracks, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh.

There you were, sprawled on the grass near the fire, clutching Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it was hardly a cub anymore. The owlbear sat with a dignified sort of calm, its feathers ruffled from your clumsy affection, while Scratch lay happily across your lap, his tail wagging lazily.

“And you guys,” you sniffled, gesturing to the animals with the bottle still clutched in one hand, “you’re the best. I love you so much. You’re good boys. The best boys.”

Jaheira approached, shaking her head as she took in the sight of you, your face red from tears and wine.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, though her voice held a note of amusement. You looked up, your tear-streaked face lighting up at the sight of her.

“Jaheira!” you cried, holding your arms out dramatically. “You’re here! Come cuddle with us!”

“Cuddle?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Darling, you’re drunk.”

“I’m emotional,” you corrected, your voice wobbling as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “And you have to cuddle with us, or—or I’ll never forgive you! Ever!”

Jaheira sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead as though trying to muster the patience of a saint.

“You are worse than Halsin's orphans,” she teased, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her tone. “And that’s saying something.”

Your lip wobbled, and you clutched Scratch tighter.

“Please,” you whimpered, the plea so earnest and pitiful that Jaheira couldn’t help but laugh.

“All right, all right,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “If it means that much to you.”

She knelt beside you, allowing you to pull her into the chaotic cuddle pile. The owlbear gave a soft hoot, adjusting its position to include her, while Scratch wagged his tail even harder at her presence.

“See?” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her as you leaned heavily against her shoulder. “This is nice. Isn’t it nice?”

Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh, though a smile tugged at her lips as she rested her head against yours.

“You’re ridiculously impossible,” she said softly. “But yes, this is… nice.”

For a while, the two of you sat there, surrounded by warmth and fur and feathers. Jaheira found herself relaxing despite the absurdity of the situation, her arm slipping around your waist as she pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured. You hummed happily, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“I know,” you slurred, the wine making your voice thick. “And I love you, too. So, so much.”

Jaheira chuckled, shaking her head as she tightened her hold on you.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she said fondly. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Gale:

The reunion party buzzed with energy, laughter and conversation flowing freely among friends old and new - thanks to Minsc's addition. You and Gale were nestled in a quieter corner of the celebration, a glass of wine in your hand and Gale gesturing animatedly with his own as he launched into an impassioned tale about his latest trials as a professor at Blackstaff Academy.

“…and would you believe it? One of the students thought it prudent to attempt wild magic on their first evocation test! I spent half the afternoon dispelling chaos and putting out fires—literal fires—and the other half explaining why summoning imps in a classroom was hardly conducive to learning.”

You nodded along, smiling as you watched the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his work. His passion was endearing, and yet… a mischievous thought crept into your mind as you caught sight of Scratch wagging his tail nearby, the owlbear cub—no longer quite a cub—lounging lazily beside him.

When Gale paused to take a sip of his wine, you saw your chance.

“Fascinating,” you said quickly, standing and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Be right back, love.”

He blinked, caught off guard but easily reassured by the peck. “Oh, certainly. Don’t wander too far.”

You didn’t answer, instead making a beeline for the animals. A few moments later, you were leading Scratch and the owlbear cub away from the main gathering, giggling to yourself as you went. An hour later, Gale finally noticed your absence and set off to find you.

He tracked you down by the sound of your voice, soft and teasing as you lounged in a quiet grove just beyond the party. There you were, sprawled on the grass with Scratch snuggled into one side and the owlbear cub resting its heavy head on your lap. Your cheeks were flushed with drink, your eyes glassy with a mix of affection and mischief.

“And Gale,” you slurred, stroking the owlbear’s feathers as if imparting some great wisdom, “wanted to be a god. A god! Can you believe it? Silly Gale. He doesn’t need to be a god. He’s already… already my god. My love, my life…” Your voice dropped conspiratorially, and you hiccupped. “But he would’ve been a prick as a god. Don’t you think?”

“Do you think so?” Gale’s amused voice cut in, and you turned your head to see him standing there, arms crossed but a fond smile tugging at his lips. You gasped dramatically.

“Gale!” You grinned at him, patting the grass beside you. “Come here! Join us! Cuddle!”

“I think not,” he said, though the smile on his face betrayed him. “Someone has to ensure you don’t declare my divine candidacy to the owlbear.”

Your grin wavered, and you pouted, your bottom lip trembling as your eyes filled with exaggerated tears.

“You won’t cuddle with me?” you sniffled, your voice wobbling. “You don’t love me anymore?”

Gale’s resolve crumbled instantly. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I can’t say no to that face.”

With a dramatic flourish, you opened your arms wide. “Then get over here, Professor Dekarios!”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the laughter bubbling in his chest as he lowered himself to the grass beside you. Scratch immediately wriggled over to press against his side, while the owlbear gave a satisfied huff and shifted to accommodate him. You threw your arms around him, nuzzling into his chest as if he were the most comfortable pillow in the world.

“See?” you murmured, your voice soft and content. “This is perfect. My god. My Gale.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I suppose there are worse fates than being your god. Though next time, perhaps less wine and more water.”

You hummed in agreement, already half-asleep against him. Gale shook his head, his heart full as he tightened his arms around you and let the peaceful moment wash over him.

Astarion:

The reunion party was in full swing, with the warm glow of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. You and Astarion had arrived arm-in-arm, though the two of you quickly found yourselves mingling with different groups. Astarion had gravitated toward Minthara, the two of them caught in an animated conversation about how you and he had adjusted to life in the Underdark—a topic Astarion spoke of with a surprising fondness.

You, however, had been immediately distracted by Scratch, whose wagging tail and joyful demeanor were too much to resist. You’d spent some time tossing a stick for him before finding the owlbear cub—now fully grown—lounging nearby. One thing led to another, and soon enough, you’d wandered off, leaving Astarion none the wiser.

When he finally noticed your absence, it was only because Minthara raised an eyebrow mid-conversation. “It seems your partner has… disappeared.”

Astarion sighed, his eyes scanning the crowd. “They do tend to wander, don’t they? One moment they’re here, the next, they’ve likely befriended every stray within a ten-mile radius.”

It didn’t take him long to find you. The sound of your drunken sniffles and delighted murmurs led him to a quiet corner of the grove, where you were sprawled on the grass, your arms wrapped around Scratch and the owlbear cub. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glassy, and you were mid-sentence in what appeared to be an earnest declaration.

“You’re just… so cute,” you hiccupped, scratching the owlbear behind its feathered ears. “Both of you. The cutest. I don’t deserve you. Nobody does.”

Astarion stepped closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “The drunkest I’ve ever seen you, cuddling animals and crying over their cuteness. Truly, a sight to behold.”

You looked up at him, your expression a mix of delight and indignation.

“It’s not my fault!” you exclaimed, sitting up—though the effort made you wobble. “Scratch… Scratch has been fetching me wine!”

Astarion raised a skeptical brow, his smirk widening. “Scratch has been fetching you wine? Darling, I taught you to lie better than that.”

You gasped, clutching Scratch protectively. “Are you calling me a liar? Scratch would never let me lie. He’s too good, too pure!”

The dog wagged his tail innocently, clearly pleased with the attention. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he moved to sit beside you.

“Yes, yes, Scratch is the pinnacle of virtue. Now, move over before you collapse completely.” He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. You immediately snuggled into him, still hiccuping slightly as you continued to pet the animals.

Just as Astarion was starting to feel truly settled, Scratch suddenly trotted off.

“And where are you going, you furry little enabler?” he called after the dog. Moments later, Scratch returned, tail wagging proudly as he carried a bottle of blood in his jaws. Astarion’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and then he laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Well, I’ll be damned. He really is a very good boy.”

He took the bottle from Scratch, patting the dog’s head affectionately.

“My apologies, my love. It seems you weren’t lying. Who would have thought Shadowheart’s greatest contribution to our journey all those months ago was teaching this beast to fetch drinks?”

You giggled, leaning up to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Told you so. Scratch is a genius. The cutest genius in the whole wide world.”

"And what about me, am I not cute?" Astarion asked in mock offence as he brushed a rogue strand of hair out of your face.

"Not as cute as Scratch and Owlbear but you try -hey give me back my wine!" You whined as Astarion took your bottle from you, brows raised, suggesting you try again. You huffed and rested your head on his shoulder looking up at him with big wet doe eyes. "You are not as cute, because you are twice as beautiful."

"I don't know if that makes sense, but I'll take it." He said, giving you back your wine with a small smile. He would have taken it off you, you really were the drunkest he had ever seen but your so-called 'wine' was actually water, Scratch really was a genius.

Wyll:

The reunion party was in full swing, a mix of old friends, laughter, and the clinking of glasses raised high in celebration. The air buzzed with the joy of shared victories and the promise of futures finally free of hardship. You and Wyll had spent much of the evening together, arm in arm, swapping stories and indulging in the abundant wine. It was a rare, beautiful moment to simply be—no battles to fight, no worlds to save.

For Wyll, the sight of you laughing and glowing with life was a reward all its own. But as the hours ticked by and the wine loosened tongues and inhibitions alike, you had somehow slipped away.

It wasn’t unusual. You had a penchant for wandering when the drink took hold of you, curiosity leading you to wherever your heart fancied. Wyll, ever patient and knowing, only chuckled to himself when he realized you were gone. After excusing himself from a lively conversation with Halsin and Minsc, who were subtley trying to out-brag the other (nothing had changed there) he set out to find you, his long strides carrying him through the grove as he kept an ear out for your familiar voice.

It didn’t take long. He followed the soft sound of sniffling to a secluded patch of grass where the moonlight spilled down like a spotlight. There, nestled between Scratch and the owlbear—no longer a cub but still affectionately devoted—you sat, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you buried your face in the owlbear’s feathers.

“They’re just… so cute,” you murmured, your voice thick with drunken emotion. Scratch’s tail thumped happily against the ground, clearly basking in your attention, while the owlbear tilted its head in quiet curiosity.

Wyll stopped, the sight making him blink in surprise. His hand rose to cover the grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my love,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both amusement and affection. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and the moment your eyes met his, a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“Wyll!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as though his very presence was a miracle. “You’re here! And you’re so… so cute!”

Wyll blinked, momentarily startled, before laughter rumbled low in his chest.

“I’m cute, am I?” he asked, kneeling beside you. His grin widened as he took in the wine bottle lying haphazardly nearby and the glassy, adoring look in your eyes.

“Yes!” you wailed, throwing your arms out dramatically. “Your smile is cute, and your horns are cute, and your eyes are cute, and your hair is cute!” You punctuated each word with a hiccupping sob, your hand waving wildly as if to emphasize your point.

Wyll’s brows lifted in amusement, though his gaze softened with love.

“I see the wine has been particularly generous with you tonight,” he teased, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so… unbearably adorable. Shall I tone it down?”

“No!” you exclaimed, clutching his hand as though the idea was unthinkable. “Don’t stop being cute! It’s the best thing about you—no, wait.” You gasped as though struck by a revelation. “Everything about you is the best thing!”

Wyll let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You are truly something else,” he said, his voice warm as he reached out to steady you. “Even when drunk, you’re determined to flatter me into blushing.”

Your lip wobbled, and you suddenly looked utterly distraught.

“Even your boots are cute,” you whispered, as though it was the most profound truth you had ever spoken.

That was enough to undo Wyll completely. He laughed, full and unguarded, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“Alright, alright,” he said gently. “I’ll take responsibility for being impossibly charming.”

You sniffled, your tears slowing as the exhaustion of the evening began to creep up on you. With a soft hiccup, you slumped forward, burying your face in his chest. Wyll’s arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close as he stroked your back.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” he murmured, though his tone held no irritation—only affection. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The owlbear gave a low croon and leaned in, its head nuzzling against Wyll’s shoulder as though to share in the moment. Scratch let out a soft bark of agreement, his tail thumping against the ground. Wyll chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“You’ve managed to rally quite the crowd,” he said softly, glancing down at your peaceful face. But when you didn’t respond, he realized you had fallen asleep, your breath even and steady against his chest.

“Oh, my heart,” he said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “What am I to do with you?”

Carefully, he adjusted his hold and scooped you into his arms. The owlbear and Scratch followed as he carried you back toward the firelight of the party. Wyll’s steps were steady, his gaze warm as he looked down at you. Even in your drunken, tearful mess, you were his mess.

And he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Halsin:

The reunion party was nothing short of spectacular. Lanterns hung from the ancient trees, casting soft, golden light over the gathering. Music and laughter mingled with the sounds of the old faithful camp at night, a serene backdrop to the revelry. You had started the evening with Halsin, both of you basking in the joy of seeing friends and allies together again. It was a rare chance to relax, to celebrate the life you had built after the chaos.

Halsin was soon drawn into a conversation about the orphans you and he had taken in. A circle of the more compassionate companions had gathered around him, captivated as he spoke about the children’s growth, their joy, and the home you were creating. His deep voice carried over the crowd, filled with pride and hope. You stood beside him for a time, sipping wine and listening, but your attention was eventually caught by a familiar sight—Scratch wagging his tail and the owlbear, now fully grown, ambling nearby.

"Look at them," you murmured, already swaying slightly as the wine took hold. "Two perfect, fluffy creatures, and they need my attention."

With a mischievous smile, you slipped away, weaving your way through the crowd, wineglass in hand. By the time Halsin realized you were gone, you had already disappeared into a quieter part of the grove. He smiled to himself, fondly amused, and excused himself from the conversation.

“She’s probably plotting something,” he said with a chuckle, following the faint sound of your voice.

It didn’t take long to find you. Beneath a sprawling oak, you were sprawled on the grass, cuddling Scratch and the owlbear. You had an almost-empty bottle of wine in one hand, your other arm draped dramatically over the owlbear’s shoulders. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit disheveled, and your voice carried through the night as you spoke with exaggerated fervor.

"Listen here, Scratch," you said, poking his nose gently with your finger. "And you, too," you added, pointing to the owlbear, who blinked at you with wide, curious eyes. "You’re coming home with me. No arguments. It’s decided. We’re a family now."

Scratch barked happily, his tail thumping against the ground. The owlbear hooted softly, tilting its head as if contemplating your declaration.

You nodded solemnly, taking another swig of wine.

"Halsin might say no, but don’t you worry." You leaned in close, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that was anything but quiet. "I have my ways of convincing him. Very persuasive ways." You wiggled your eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, giggling at your own implication.

Then, as if struck by the sheer emotional gravity of the moment, your voice wavered, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"But if that doesn’t work," you said, your words thick with feeling, "I’ll just cry! Like this!" You dramatically buried your face into Scratch’s fur, letting out a loud, theatrical sob.

From the shadows, Halsin watched, arms crossed, a bemused smile playing on his lips. Finally, he stepped forward, his voice warm and steady. “Tears, my heart, will not be necessary.”

You froze, your head snapping up to look at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Halsin!" you exclaimed, scrambling to sit up and almost tipping over in the process. "When did you get here?"

"Not long ago," he replied, crouching down beside you. "Long enough to hear your… strategy."

You waved the bottle in his direction, sloshing a bit of wine onto the grass.

"It’s a good strategy," you insisted, pointing at him with exaggerated authority. "Very effective."

Halsin chuckled, his large hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I’m sure it is," he said indulgently. "But I assure you, no convincing is necessary."

“What about the other thing?” you asked, your voice dropping into a clumsy attempt at sultriness that only made Halsin laugh more.

“When you’re sober,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You turned back to Scratch and the owlbear, lowering your voice to a loud whisper. “See? I told you it would work. He may be Daddy Halsin, but we all know who the real daddy is.”

Halsin’s brows shot up, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest. “Do we now?” he asked, scooping you into his arms with practiced ease.

You clung to him, your head resting against his broad chest as you continued to mumble incoherently about your master plan.

"Fluffy family forever," you declared, nuzzling into his tunic.

Scratch barked again, wagging his tail enthusiastically, while the owlbear lumbered after you both. Halsin shook his head fondly, his smile softening as he looked down at you.

“You are a marvel,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As he carried you back toward the heart of the party, you sighed contentedly, your arms tightening around his neck.

“You’re the best, Halsin,” you murmured, your words slurring but full of affection. “The absolute best.”

“And you,” he replied, his voice low and full of warmth, “are an utter wonder.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this, I worked quite hard on it and it was quite a good distraction. Love you all - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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kenobes · 5 months ago

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The 501st Legion as Shitposts I Have Saved on My Phone

Anakin

Ahsoka

Rex

Kix

Jesse

Hardcase

Fives

Echo

Tup

Dogma

Still having too much fun with these. 212th is in the works, not sure who to meme after that 🤔 maybe darkside users?

#tcw #the clone wars #memes #shitposts #characters as #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #captain rex #trooper kix #arc trooper jesse #trooper hardcase #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #trooper tup #trooper dogma #501st #star wars

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yanderecookierunkingdom · 1 year ago

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Hello you can skip or delete this request,

Can I have a fallen hero’s / beast x fem reader, probably before they went to the darkside and can reader be the one who helps the witches to seal them.

Headcanons or one shot is fine.

Just gonna quietly hijack this for 6 becomes 5..

"I wish it didn't have to be this way.." You weeped, covering your face with your hands. Tears fell down your face as you knelt before the Witch, one of your Creators. She looked down upon you with sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Sparkling Joy Cookie, but this is the way it must be." She soothed you, Her voice like a melody of chiming bells. "They can not be allowed to spread to other lands and cause their destruction. You are our only hope."

"I understand.." You wipe some tears. "I just.. I wish things could have been different."

Gently, She places a fingertip under your chin. "We all wish we could change fate, but fate is fickle. Fair is foul, and foul is fair." She frowns. "But no more moping, Sparkling Joy Cookie. We must act with haste."

Shakily, you exhale. "What do I have to do?"

The five Fallen Heroes were excited. You had prepared a special dance for them, and them alone! One you claimed that no one had ever seen before, meant for their eyes only.

Oddly, you had them sit in a circle around you, but you claimed it was merely so that they could all see.

As you began to dance, from above in the sky, the Witches watched. The one you had comforted you had five glowing Forks raise behind her in the air.. and one by one they fell.

During a grand sweeping gesture, Mystic Flour Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie were trapped.

Twirling in Eternal Sugar Cookie's direction, a Fork fell upon her. Smiling in Silent Salt's direction, a Fork upon him.

You outstretched a hand toward Shadow Milk Cookie, and before he could react, his prison fell upon him. His hands gripped the bars, body shaking from the betrayal and rage running through him.

As you leapt into the air, a silver seed fell from the heavens and planted itself into the ground. A small sprout quickly began to grow.

You landed and bowed to your friends.

"I wish.. things could have been different," you whispered mournfully before turning and walking off, ignoring their anguished pleas.

#series: six becomes five #yandere crk #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere shadow milk cookie #yandere burning spice cookie #yandere eternal sugar cookie x reader #yandere mystic flour cookie #yandere silent salt cookie #cosmos constellations

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stephstars08 · 1 year ago

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Welcome to my Darkside

GF!Ethan Landry x Reader

Warnings: Obsessed!Ethan, Adult Language, Jealous!Ethan, Murder, Blood, Violence, Weapons, Sexual Tension, Sexual References, Make Out Sessions, Implied Smut, and Maybe Some Grammar Errors. (Sorry if I forgot any)

Summary: Ethan has a darkside and when the girl he’s obsessed with decided to go on a fake date with another guy Ethan can’t help but let his darkside come out. But, what Ethan doesn’t know is that Y/N has a darkside of her own.

Inspired Song: DARKSIDE by Neoni

Word Count: 1,956

Author’s Note: Here is another Ethan story for all of you Ethan Girls and it’s even more special since it’s Ethan as Ghostface which I’ve only written one other time! I hope you all enjoy!!

Ever since the first day that Ethan met Y/N he immediately became obsessed with her. Since Y/N is roommates with Mindy and Ethan is roommate with Mindy’s twin brother Chad they both hang out with the same group of friends. Well, Ethan doesn’t refer any of them as his friends since the only reason why Ethan is in New York is to get revenge on Sam for murdering his brother which was a year prior in Woodsboro.

Ethan isn’t doing this revenge plan on his own. His sister Quinn is roommates with Sam and her little sister Tara, and his father is a detective at the NYPD. However, no one knows that Ethan is related to them so to keep that a secret he changed his last name to Landry while his sister and father changed their last name to Bailey, so no one knows that they are related to Sam’s ex-boyfriend.

Ethan knew the number one rule his father gave him, and Quinn was to not get attached to anyone. Ethan was doing fine with that rule till he met Y/N. Quinn did notice that Ethan was growing feelings for Y/N, and she told him was to be careful because if their dad finds out about is little crush, Y/N will be first on the slaughter list.

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

It was Friday night and Ethan was at the groups regular Friday night hangout with Tara and Chad. The hangout place is a restaurant that is right down the road from the college campus that they all go to. Ethan was sitting at a table with Tara and Chad who were sitting right across from him when Y/N finally showed up. “Hey, sorry I’m late.” Y/N said as she slid into the booth Ethan was sitting in. “It’s okay, we just sat down about five minutes ago.” Ethan reassured her.

“Where is Mindy?” Y/N asked in a curious tone. “Apparently she has a date with that girl Anika.” Tara told her which made Y/N roll her eyes. “She never fucking tells us anything.” Y/N said in annoyance as she started to look at the menu. “Better get used to it since that’s just how my sister is.” Chad told her.

“Why were you running late?” Ethan asked Y/N changing the subject since he doesn’t give a fuck about what’s going on with Mindy. “I ran into Max right after I got out of my last class.” Y/N answered keeping the annoyance in her voice. Ethan felt his blood boil right when Y/N said Max’s name.

Max is a guy who Y/N shares two classes with, and he’s been trying for two months to get Y/N to go out with him. He follows her around like a puppy dog and it drives Ethan fucking crazy. Even though Y/N has turned Max down thousands of times, he can’t help but get extremely jealous when he sees them together. Ever since the day Ethan laid eyes on Y/N he declared that he will be the only one that’s allowed to have her. He’s the only one that can have a romantic relationship with her. She belongs to him and only him.

“That simp is still trying to get you to go out with him?” Chad said looking up from the menu in his hands to look over at Y/N. “It’s like right when I walk into any building on campus, he’s right there waiting for me.” Y/N explained with little hint of anger in her voice. “It’s so fucking annoying!” Y/N added.

“I have an idea on how you can get Max to stop asking you out and leave you alone.” Tara told her putting the menu down flat on the table. “What is it?” Y/N asked her in a curious tone. “You’re not going to like it.” Tara told her in warning tone. “Tara, I am willing to do anything to make this little shit leave me the fuck alone.” Y/N told her in a stern tone. “You’re going to have to agree to go on one date with him.” Tara told her which made Ethan’s heart rate speed up. “Wait, so to get Max to leave her the fuck alone she has to go out on a date with the desperate simp?” Chad asked Tara with confusion. “I wasn’t finished.” Tara said giving him a quick side glare and then looked back at Y/N. “Agree to go on one date with him and during the date make it the worst date he’s ever been on to make him not want a second date.” Tara explained the idea. “So, I need to act like a total bitch to make him not want to go on another date with me?” Y/N asked her. “Yeah, pretty much.” Tara told her with a nod. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan, so I’ll do it.” Y/N said which made Ethan’s heart drop to his feet.

He couldn’t believe that Y/N is going along with Tara’s plan. Yes, it’s going to be a fake date for Y/N, but Ethan’s jealousy couldn’t help but start to take over his body. Anything can happen during this so-called date. What if the date actually starts off good and it makes Y/N not want to do the plan anymore? What if Max charms her? Ethan knew that he has to talk her out of doing this plan. Ethan was too busy in his thoughts to notice that everyone was telling the waitress their order till Y/N said his name. “Oh, sorry!” Ethan said coming back to reality. Ethan told the waitress his order and then gave her the menu. “Okay, I’ll go put in your orders.” The waitress told them and walked away.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked Ethan with concern in her voice. “Yeah, just got a lot of Econ shit in my head.” Ethan answered her with a lie which did make her let out a giggle. “Don’t we all have college shit stuck in our heads.” Y/N told him. “It’s Friday. Those thoughts can wait till Monday.” Y/N told him putting her hand on top of his’s hand that was resting on the table. After Ethan gave her a nod she went back and to talking to Tara and Chad. She kept her hand on Ethan’s till their food came.

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

It was Monday morning and right when Ethan step onto the plaza of the college campus he saw Y/N talking to Max. He knew that Y/N just agreed to go on a date with Max by just the stupid ass grin on his stupid ass face. Jealousy quickly shot up Ethan’s body the same it did Friday night.

Max has been on Ethan’s death list for a while now. It took everything in Ethan to not go over there and kill that son of a bitch. It took everything in Ethan to not go over there and punch Max in the face and tell him that Y/N belongs to him. The only thing that made Ethan feel a little better was the fake smile Y/N was giving Max.

Right when Max walked away from her, she dropped the smile and Ethan quickly walked over to her. “You’re seriously going along with Tara’s stupid ass plan?” Ethan said to her trying his best to hide his jealousy. “I’m only going along with half of the plan.” Y/N told him which quickly confused Ethan. “What do you mean by only doing half of the plan?” Ethan asked her in confusion. “I’m going to welcome Max to my darkside.” Y/N told him as her lips curved up into a smirk.

Before Ethan could say anything else Y/N walked away from him.

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That night Ethan was in the alley way next to Max’s apartment building in his Ghostface costume. He knows Y/N isn’t going to do what she’s planning till the date comes so Ethan is going to take Max out before the date. Plus, he doesn’t know what Y/N meant by showing Max her darkside. Ethan knows he’s playing with fire killing Max as Ghostface and if he gets caught it will ruin his families’s revenge plan, but he needs to make sure that this date never happens, and this is his only solution.

Ethan heard a car door close, so he perked out of the alley way and saw Max walk into the apartment building. Ethan knew it was go time so he started to make his way up the fire escape. When he got to the right fire escape, he quietly opened the window that was to Max’s bedroom. Before Ethan climbed through the window, he heard two-gun shots which made him jump. Ethan climbed through the window and quietly closed it.

Ethan made his way to Max’s living room to see Max laying in a pool of his own blood on the hard wood floor. Max had one gunshot wound to the chest and the other one right through the middle of his forehead. “What the fuck?” Ethan said with a mixture of confusion and shock in his voice. “Well, look what we have here.” Ethan heard a familiar voice say from behind him. When he turned around, he saw Y/N standing there holding a gun in her left hand.

“Really, Ethan? Ghostface? Are we in a fucking Stab movie?” Y/N asked him. Ethan took off his mask. “That’s a long story.” Ethan told her. “So, you have a darkside, too?” Y/N said looking him up and down. “Doesn’t everybody.” Ethan told her. “Agree to disagree.” Y/N told him. “I couldn’t wait till the date to show him my darkside.” Y/N said putting her gun away in the pocket that was inside her jacket.

“You know.” Y/N started as she walked closer to him. Ethan’s heart rate sped up at every step Y/N took towards him. “I never thought that Ghostface was sexy till now. Seeing you in this costume is really turning me on.” Y/N told him look up at him him with lust in her eyes. Y/N put her right hand flat on his chest and started rubbing it lightly which was quickly turning him on as well. Seeing this side of Y/N was making Ethan’s obsession grown more for her.

Before either one of them could start to lean in they heard police sirens. “Shit! They got called quicker than I thought!” Y/N hissed taking her hand off Ethan’s chest. “Come on!” Ethan said grabbing her hand. He led her into Max’s bedroom. “We can go down the fire escape.” Ethan told her letting go of hand to open the window. He let her climb through the window and then he followed her out onto the fire escape. After Ethan quietly shut the window, they carefully made their way down the fire escape.

When they got onto the ground it was Y/N’s turn to grab Ethan’s hand. Ethan let her drag him by the hand down the alley way to the back-alley way behind all of the buildings. They passed by five buildings to get to Y/N’s car that was parked in the back-alley way. Y/N let go of Ethan’s hand to get her car keys out of her pants pocket. After she unlocked her car Y/N got into the driver’s seat while Ethan got into the passenger seat.

Right after Ethan closed the car door Y/N grabbed him and smashed their lips together. It didn’t take long from the kiss to turn into a make out session. They continued to make out till they needed air.

“My place or yours?” Y/N asked him once she caught her breath. “Mine.” Ethan answered. Y/N started up her car. She backed out of the alley way and sped down the street.

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squidsponge · 2 years ago

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That time Fives didn't duck at all and then smiled softly while Jesse bluescreened, because even though their odds were shit, Fives had faith in his brothers, and they proved that his hope wasn't misplaced.

And then less than a year later, on the orders of another darksider.

Poetry rhyming in the worst way possible.

#thanks i hate it #the clones deserved better #including the Coruscant Guard #i'm so normal about this #arc trooper fives #clone medic kix #clone trooper jesse #commander fox #coruscant guard #501st battalion #captain rex #umbara arc #conspiracy arc #clone trooper tup #clone wars #star wars #clone troopers #clone wars gifs #star wars gifs

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headcanonthings · 9 months ago

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Random Darksider: I have come to take you. Ahsoka, pulling out her comm: Hang on, let me ask my Master first. Random Darksider: What are you-? Ahsoka: He said he's coming over in five minutes. He's also bringing Kenobi. You should probably leave if you still value your life.

#the disaster lineage is many things and overprotective is one of them #the darksider should just be glad they're not bringing the clones too #incorrect quotes #incorrect star wars quotes #star wars #ahsoka tanno #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi

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alex-the-life-destroyer · 1 year ago

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AAAAA!!!

ONE OF THE BEST NIGHTS IN MY LIFE!

I DIDN'T KNOW I NEEDED THIS!

Behind the scenes of the FNAF MOVIE.

From Josh Hutcherson Instagram

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #josh hutcherson #YOOO!!#THE 1ST ONE THO-#JOSH IS SO FUCKING FINE!#AND YOU'RE SO FAST #THX DARKSIDE #BLESS YA!#🙏🏼😭#❤️

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fanfic-obsessed · 11 months ago

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Unavailable

This started as the seed of a different idea, but it fit so well into this beginning that it was like they were made to go together.

Just before the intel starts arriving that would lead to the Rako Hardeen mess, the Force gets a warning to the Jedi. This warning, once translated, is very clear. Obi Wan Kenobi needs to be out of communication for a while (can’t be sent on a mission whose real purpose is to fracture the relationship between Obi Wan and Anakin, if Obi Wan is not there…).

So Obi Wan and Cody get sent undercover to infiltrate some criminal enterprise whose main base is on Endor (while they are undercover the 212th will be on leave-part of an initiative to prove that the clones are not actually being abused). Their cover is married mandalorian bounty hunters, thus their faces can be covered. The mission is that they will arrive on Endor, find a place to live, and start taking bounties that would make them highly visible to the criminal enterprise. It is anticipated that this mission will be at least 4 weeks, and there cannot be any contact (Because this is not faking Obi Wan’s death, Anakin is warned the Obi Wan will be out of communication for a while, though he is still given no details) throughout this time.

It all goes well at first, then three days in (due to Force shenanigans, and a Force artifact that was disguised as an antique) both Obi Wan and Cody wake up with no memories. They were just far enough into their mission to have found a place to live and all of their idents and paperwork is in the names of Ben and Kote Beroya, married bounty hunters. Ben (Obi Wan) is just aware enough of the Force to know that they both need to keep their armor on while they are not alone. Not knowing about their other mission, they find a decent bounty, complete it, and leave the planet.

Meanwhile on Coruscant Palpatine tries to go forward with the Rako Hardeen plan, in spite of his main goal (which requires Obi Wan Kenobi) being impossible. Without the additional emotional damage to Anakin Skyalker to distract everyone, Palpatine is found out. The high council, barring Obi Wan but with Anakin, goes to confront Palpatine.

It is the middle of an emergency senate session.

Palpatine activates Order 66(galaxy wide it should be noted) … for about 45 seconds before a Force fueled panic attack from Anakin disables all of the chips at once (also galaxy wide-incidentally giving Kote Beroya a headache from half a galaxy away). Palpatine was planning on relying on the controlled clones and might have considered going quietly (with an idea to salvage the 1000 year plan) with the realization that the clones were now free. It was all a moot point, since moments after the clones (now very confused and more than a little horrified themselves with their new knowledge) were freed, Palpatine is fatally shot by Bail Organa (Bail has been up for five days working on a draft of the clone rights bills. He is tired, cranky, and pissed that this meeting cut into his scheduled Comm call with Breha).

In the aftermath it is found that Palpatine used Dark Side Magic to partially (at varying degrees) control a number of people in the Senate. This includes Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala. In this one Palpatine’s control is what caused Anakin to slaughter the Tuskens. Anakin is not the only one who needed specialized Jedi therapy (meant to deal with the topic of ‘so the Darkside fucked with your head/possessed you’). It very quickly became the most common type of therapy in the Senate

Palpatine also forced the relationship between Padme and Anakin. There was attraction there, and it was possible that the attraction would have grown into something more but their entire relationship was hijacked by Palpatine (Padme alone had been mostly controlled since she was 14 and needed to go through 4 Jedi exorcisms). More horrifyingly Palpatine used more Sith Magic to put Padme’s womb into stasis, which was currently occupied by fraternal twins, held at the three week marker (so that he could make her ‘become pregnant’ when he was ready to start his end game) that were biologically Anakin’s and Padme’s, though after the Sith magic controlling them was removed, neither remember having sex.

Everyone involved is utterly horrified. It seemed impossible to conceptualize the level of violation on all parties. The Jedi Order eventually bought an incubation tube from the Kaminoans and, with Padme’s grateful permission (who had been a bit conflicted, she truly did not want to be pregnant- especially in these circumstances- but did not personally feel comfortable with getting an abortion), moved the twins there for the duration. The Twins would then become part of the Order and both Padme and Anakin would be allowed to decide how much the children would be told.

At this point Anakin requested that his Master be brought back from his mission. Anakin really needed Obi Wan, and a couple of dozen hugs. The clones are doing their part cuddling their general and Ahsoka is trying too, but sometimes you just need your dad/older brother figure to tell you everything is alright. Especially when everything is fucked up.

The Jedi Council agree and reach out to the secret Comm to contact Obi Wan and recall them (theoretically the whole operation became moot after the Chancellor's death). There’s no answer (as it was a hidden, secret comm neither Ben nor Kote knew to bring it along). The council looks at each other. They try again. Still no answer. They manage to get in contact with the landlord of the place that was rented to Ben and Kote, who goes ‘Oh those guys. Good tenets, quiet. They left six weeks ago (two weeks into their mission). Think they said they were heading toward Corellia.’

Now the Jedi council are wondering just what happened that sent Obi Wan and his commander to Corellia and why they didn’t get in contact about the change. It is decided that this was a good mission for Anakin to go on, as it would help distract him, leading both the 501st and the 212th.

So now Anakin is on the galaxy’s biggest scavenger hunt, being evaded by two bounty hunters that do not know they are being hunted.

Back with Ben and Kote, they have been taking bounties and slowly learning about themselves and each other throughout (and what married means to them). They realized quickly that they had some specific standards (they DO NOT kill kids or innocents, but Kote has found that he takes a particular glee in bringing betrayers in and Ben has a hatred for anyone who would hurt kids). They have also found that Ben had a tendency to draw the attention of slavers, without fail. They had shut down an even dozen slavery rings in the middle rim. Because they are always wearing a helmet, except for around each other, they have not realized that their faces are really famous. They have also realized in that time that Kote is a hand to hand fighter and Ben can do some really weird things (lifting things with his mind) when he concentrates.

It takes another few months before they start to hear that Galactic General Anakin Skywalker is apparently asking for them by name. Rather desperately, at times almost violently. Ben’s instincts (supplemented by the Force) says that General Skywalker does not mean any harm. Both of them, in a fit of whimsy, decide to lead the General on a merry chase across the galaxy (incidentally giving Anakin more time to not focus on the body horror of…well everything to do with Palpatine or Padme).

During this time the Galactic War ends.

The chase eventually ends because Ben and Kote encounter another member of the Beroya clan (Obi Wan had been legitimately inducted into the clan when he protected Satine as a teen), who they are around long enough to take their helmets off around them.

This being blinks twice and basically says holy fuck you are a famous republic general and his commander, you have been missing for months. Ben and Kote blink at each other, shrug and go ‘that explains Skywalker stalking us’ and admit their amnesia to the being.

Anakin is greatly surprised that the next time his fleet comes out of hyperspace he is greeted by his former master, in armor, asking what took him so long.

For a moment Anakin considered Falling right then and there.

Then he considered it again when he met up with Ben and Kote and realized they had no memories.

How the fuck was he going to explain this to anyone…

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #star wars au #fanfiction prompt #anakin skywalker #codywan #sheev palpatine #bamf obi wan #padme amidala #anakin needs a hug #Anakin did not fall #Some Anidala but not by either choice #mind control #amnesia #Different Order 66

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jalapainio · 7 months ago

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As I've been reading Comics, I've slowly been assembling a Batman readthrough Timeline, which encompasses the full scale of Batman. I made a post before of years 1-10, but now I have years 1-17 (Sorting them based on eras rather than by dates). Each also includes a canonized Trade Paperback list, for anyone who wants to read this timeline!

(Also this is going to be a long one)

Years 1-10

These years will mostly encompas reprints and post-crisis retells of the Golden and Silver Ages.

Batman Year 1: 22 year old Bruce (first of many soft head cannons) becomes Batman. Many early villains of Batman pop up, including Joker, Catwoman, Mad Hatter, Riddler, and Calendar Man. Canonized Comics include Batman: Year One and Batman: The Brave and the Bold.

Batman Year 2: This year is dedicated entirely to the Long Halloween, which also introduced Poison Ivy, Solomon Grundy, and most famously, Two-Face. Canonized Comics include Batman: The Long Halloween.

Batman Year 3: Much like Year 2, Year 3 is dedicated to its sequel, Dark Victory. In it, a new serial killer known as the Hangman has started killing cops in Gotham. This year sees the end of the classic Mafia in Gotham, and ten year old Dick Grayson being taken in by Bruce Wayne. While he does put on the Robin colors and even goes out with Batman, he is not Robin just yet. Canonized Comics include Batman: Dark Victory.

Batman Year 4: This year gives the main focus towards training Dick. We can also assume that the Justice League, or at least a version of it, has been formed during this year. In addition, Killer Croc is introduced. Also, Batman, Superman, and Wonderwoman meet. Canonized Comics include Batman/Superman/Wonder Woman: Trinity

Batman Year 5: The beginning of year five starts with a bang, with Darkside invading earth. The Original Justice League is formed. I used the basis of the New 52 Justice League 1: Origin as a starting point, and until I can find a better comic, that is the ‘origin’ of the Justice League. While most of the year is like the one above, a calm year for Batman, at the end of year, 12 year old Dick wears the Robin suit for the technically second time. He is the one who makes his suit, angry at Bruce for forcing him through constant training as a stall to prevent Dick from going out. Canonized Comics include Justice League 1: Origin and Robin and Batman.

Batman Year 6: Dick goes through his next big villain during the spring of this year, facing off against Two-Face. After a brief moment when he is fired as Robin, he returns to the Cape, this time with a new perspective on his role. Canonized Comics include Robin Year One.

Batman Year 7: Dick, while working with Batman, notices Bruce's strange behavior. Collaborating with his other teen heroes he met in Year 5, he figures out that the entire Justice League is acting weird! Together, the five (Robin, Speedy, Kid Flash, Aqualad, and Wondergirl) team up and work together to take down the Justice League! They called themselves the Teen Titans. Later, Barbara Gordon, 16 years old and an accelerated graduate of College (she has to be not on a normal track, or else her entire relationship with Dick would just be so weird) puts on a bat themed costume to spite her father, and ends up going against Killer Moth. Batgirl, as she's newly christrained, is supported by Robin (but not Batman) to become a superhero. Firefly takes up the costume with Killer Moth, and Batgirl takes them down. Canonized Comics include Teen Titans: Year One and Batgirl: Year One

Batman Year 8: Batman and Superman work together to defeat the Devil Nazha, which ends up with Dick being stuck in time. Bruce rescues him. Also, sometime this year something went down between Dick and Supergirl, but I cannot for the life of me figure it out. Canonized Comics include Batman/Superman World's Finest: Devil Nazha

Batman Year 9: Batman and Superman deal with a new superhero from another dimension and travel around the world to “have their strangest adventures yet.” Idk what that means, but I do know they fit on the Timeline right here. Canonized Comics include, Batman/Superman World's Finest: Strange Visitor and Batman/Superman World's Finest: Elementary.

Batman Year 10: 17 year old Dick and the rest of the Teen Titans fight off a rabid cult of fans! Again, I haven't read it, but I want to. Canonized Comics include World's Finest Teen Titans.

Alright, you still with me? Good. Here is years 11-17. These years mostly encompass the 80s and 90s Batman and the first three robins.

Batman Year 11: The New Teen Titans are formed! While I'm not including the titans book, the New Teen Titans, as it is pre-crisis, many of the events still happen. Mainly, Starfire, Raven, and Cyborg join the team. Canonized Comics include N/A

Batman Year 12: Bruce gets concerned that Dick is spending too much time torn between several different responsibilities, between College, the Teen Titans, and helping Batman as Robin. In a fit of anger, and oh boy how I hate that phrase and how it perfectly describes what happened here, he fires Dick as Robin. Dick goes on to become Nightwing, and 12-Years-Old Jason Todd is taken in as the New Robin. Canonized Comics include Nightwing: Year One

Batman Year 13: Unlike Dick, Jason gets thrust into his role as Robin. He learns of his father's true fate; that he was killed by Two-Face. Going out of his way he almost kills Two-Face, but decides not to. Canonized Comics include N/A (I tried so hard, but I could not find the comics referenced in Death in the Family. Oh well!)

Batman Year 14: Jason and Bruce fight off a cult led by the mad Dean Blackfire. Bruce gets brainwashed, reminds himself why he fights, and then destroys the totem that controlled the cult. Barbara Gordon also retires from Batgirl this year. Canonized comics include Batman: The Cult

Batman Year 15: Barbara Gordon is shot by the Joker, and becomes paralyzed for life. In addition Jason finds out that his mother is still alive, and goes off to find her. This ends with him being beaten to death with a crowbar by the Joker. Bruce goes into a fit of grief, putting himself into more and more danger, until 6 months later, 13-Year-Old Tim Drake takes up the mantle. Canonized Comics include Batman: The Killing Joke, Batman: Death in the Family and Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying (Sometimes these stories are sold together, sometimes separately).

Batman Year 16: Oh boy. Here's the first hearty year. Firstly, Tim goes to train with Shiva for a couple of months. While this happens, Superman dies. Tim returns home. Bruce meets Azrael, and they fight before Azreal joins Batman’s crusade. As Bruce and Tim start to figure out their relationship, Bane comes into the city, breaks every criminal out of Arkham, and breaks Bruce's Back. Bruce leaves to go on a trip to rediscover himself, and Azrael becomes the next Batman, kicking Robin out of the Batcave and becoming more and more ruthless. Tim goes off and meets Spoiler, his girlfriend, and defeats the Cluemaster. Bruce begins to Travel all around the world, learning how to cure his back. Canonized Comics include Robin: Reborn, Batman: Sword of Azrael, Batman: Knightfall, Robin: Solo and Batman: Knightquest

Batman Year 17: He returns after doing so, defeating Azrael and establishing himself as Top Dog once more. He takes a quick break, letting Dick Grayson take a quick stint as Batman, before returning to the role of Nightwing and moving to Bludhaven. Also important to note, though no comics here reference it, the Birds of Prey begin here. Soon after this, however, a virus spreads throughout Gotham, causing the entire city to go on Lockdown. They defeat the one who caused the virus, and another crossover ends. During this year (Not Sure exactly when), Batman’s failsafe gets released, and Batman is voted out of the Justice League. Canonized Comics include Batman: KnightsEnd, Batman: Prodigal, Robin Turning Point, Batman: Contagion and JLA: Tower of Babel

I’ll be making a few more Batman Timelines after this, adding on Years 18 and 19 (No Man’s Land and War Games), Years 20 and 21 (Damian, Jason, and Bruce’s Death), Years 22 and 23 (Return of Bruce Wayne and New 52), and Year 24 (Rebirth). But each of these are hearty as I try and narrow down the top 15 comics to include for each.

#batman #robin #nightwing #teen titans #dc comics #Batman Timeline #A few of these I haven't read but I want to #also putting comics in context is so cool #like I liked under the red hood #but when I understand that it is right after War games and Steph dieing and Bruce sending Tim and Cass away #it hits a lot harder

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