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charlietheepicwriter7 · 7 months ago

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V The Mysterious Wayne Family

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 2

“Why can’t I sit in the front seat?” Danny demanded to know, crossing his arms from the back of Dick’s car.

Dick sighed, peering back at him with the rearview mirror. He’d been shaky as they escaped the apartment without getting attacked by the media. Did the idiot get sick? Was the media in this dimension such a big threat?

Truthfully, Danny didn’t know a lot about this dimension, despite having lived in it for around a year. That year was spent almost entirely homeless, spending only the last few weeks with Dick. Otherwise, he was sleeping where he could, spending his days in libraries and conning people out of cash as a child medium.

…Well, calling it “conning” was a bit of an overstatement. He did get people in contact with dead relatives and the like. He just… didn’t always quote them exactly, especially when it meant he could get enough money to eat for the day.

“It’s unsafe, Danny, you know that.”

Danny glared at him from his booster seat, which put him perfectly at eye level so he could lock eyes with Dick with the rear-view mirror. He hated this whole situation: the booster seat, his age, needing to rely on an adult, the stupid media, the stupid police, the stupid Dick… Okay, he kinda liked the booster seat. It was based off of some hero—Superbman—who was an alien? But looked like a human?

That may be one of the biggest differences between this dimension and his hom–the dimension he was born in. Danny had been one of the only heroes back there, along with Valerie and Dani, if you could even call them heroes. In this dimension? There were hundreds. There were space aliens to normal people in costumes to other humans with powers, and while not all of them were heroes, a lot of them were.

And Danny hated how easy they had it.

Every day back in Amity Park was a fight for acceptance, a battle to convince people that yes, he was a ghost with good intentions, only for that trust to be lost the moment he wasn’t fast enough to stop a ghost from hurting someone, or got thrown through a wall trying to protect people. It was constantly one step forward and one step back, and nothing Sam or Tucker or Jazz said ever truly made him okay with it.

Despite everything, he hoped Amity Park was doing alright without him. He couldn’t go back—wouldn’t go back, even if he had an open portal and his powers, not after what happened—but hopefully they were doing okay.

He hoped his rogues had listened and stayed away from the Fenton portal. For their own safety.

Like every time he thought of his pa–the Fentons, the scars across his chest flared up. They might have been long-healed, but the pain always lingered, a sharp lance that lingered in the thin skin of his wound. Fiddling around in his pocket, Danny found his juul and puffed. Exhaling, a bubble gum smoke filled the cabin as the CBD started to work its way into his blood.

Dick coughed. “You know you won’t be able to do that in the manor, right?”

Danny grumbled, rolling down the window a crack.

“I’m serious, Danny. I know you need it, but the rules are different at the manor. You’ll need to go outside to smoke.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll smoke outside. Wouldn’t want your gramps to get bent out of shape.”

He laughed. “I think Alfred would be alright, once we explain your medical issues. It’s Bruce we’ll have to worry about. He’s got this thing about drugs… once he learns what’s in your juul, he do whatever it takes to get you off it. He won’t even listen if we tell him about your chronic pain, he’ll just think you’re lying!” Dick threw his hand up in the air. “Honestly, it’s just lecture after lecture with him.”

“He can suck a cock then!”

Dick laughed, all traces of anger gone as his bright eyes glanced at him through the mirror. “Say that to his face, and you get ice cream for a week.”

“Done!”

The illusive Bruce Wayne. Danny had heard the name from the TV that morning, and apparently he was Dick’s dad. Not that Dick ever mentioned him in the months they knew each other. Not that this Bruce guy ever visited on the occasions Dick managed to convince him to stay the night, nor in the weeks after his foster placement was finalized. Danny didn’t even know Dick had a dad until this morning, so clearly something was going on here.

If he focused on this case—the mystery behind the estrangement of Dick and Bruce—then he’d finally be able to get his mind off Mrs. Bennett’s case. The Shade had approached him early that morning, flickering in the moonlight, barely visible and just formed. Her case was so easy too; her killer was her son-in-law, she’d been awake when he killed her and he’d definitely left behind evidence too, but there was no telling if the other detectives at Bludhaven PD would find it. Or would care enough to find it.

Corrupt bastards.

Speaking of which—”Are we actually going to be able to consult on cases while we’re in Gotham, or was that just something you said to make me feel better?”

“I believe I said case, as in the singular one with Mrs. Bennett. But yes, I’ve already arranged it with the Commissioner.”

“But she works for the Damir family! We can’t trust her.”

“We can’t trust her when it comes to cases related to the Damir family,” Dick corrected. “Other than that, she’s decent at her job.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“She’s better than the other officers in our department?” he tried again.

“Also not a compliment. I’ve met dead guys that are better cops.”

They bantered back and forth, but the closer they got to Gotham, the tenser Dick became. Dick wasn’t the type to get serious out of nowhere—the only times Danny could remember were when a case involved a gang or that one terrible time when some ugly-ass assassin with a stupid-ass name came to town—but whatever was waiting for them… must be bad. Right?

Gotham, Danny noticed as they drove through town, looked better than Bludhaven, like how rats look better than turds. Danny had heard the rumors about Gotham, mostly about all the dangerous villains, but there was clearly some money going into infrastructure. Beautiful gothic buildings dripping with gargoyles towered overhead, and there weren’t nearly as many boarded up shops and potholes.

It wouldn’t have been a bad place to set up shop if it weren’t for all the Shades around.

The ghost population of this dimension mostly comprised of Shades with the occasional Poltergeists and Wraiths. Ectoplasm wasn’t as accessible here; just traveling to this dimension had stripped Danny of almost all the ectoplasm in his body and he still hadn’t recovered, so his powers barely worked. But Shades were shadows of humans when they were alive, weak and incorporeal unless you were a ghost too, barely kept together with their obsession.

Bludhaven had a lot of Shades. That’s why Danny settled down there when he first arrived. He wanted to help people move on if he could, either by solving their murder or contacting their loved ones.

If Bludhaven had a lot of Shades, Gotham had a colossal number.

Shades clogged the walkways and the streets, dissipating when someone or something went through them and reforming in an instant. Some alleys were plugged with them and some alleys were empty. Danny watched with wide eyes. Ghosts were supposed to be rare. He’d thought ghosts were rare. But Gotham was plagued with violent crime… violent, unique, indescribable crime, worse in intensity from Bludhaven, but not quite there in frequency. There were women with their faces melted off, men ripped in half down the center, children blown to bits, creeping around the streets of Gotham.

Danny sunk down in his booster seat. “I want to go home,” he admitted quietly.

Dick sighed. “I know, kiddo. I want to go home too.”

He blinked away stubborn tears. Dick didn’t understand. This wasn’t Danny’s home, this dimension wasn’t Danny’s home, Dick wasn’t Danny’s home (as much as Danny appreciated Dick, he wanted his family, but they hated him, they attacked him, they—)

Dick continued talking. “But you know what? Everything’s going to be okay. Because my grandfather is going to love you. And Bruce— He’s a little rough around the edges and we might not get along right now, but he’s going to love you too.” Dick sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Danny. “Tim’s going to adore you; he’s told me that he’s always wanted a younger sibling and I can’t blame him; his house looks so lonely and his parents were always gone. He’s staying with Bruce now as a foster since his dad’s in a coma, but he’s been family long before that…”

He listened to Dick continue to ramble about his family. Bruce was rarely touched upon in his stories, but Alfred was spoken of with unmistakable love (Danny never knew his grandparents, Mom and Dad were disowned years before he was born, he could probably guess why), and he clearly adored Tim (He could understand that, Danny loved Jazz with his entire soul, but what would it have been like if he had a younger sibling? Would his relationship with Dani have turned into this if they could’ve spent time together?). Dick continued with stories about his best friend and ex-girlfriend, Barabra (Sam and Tuck, Tuck and Sam, his friends were dead and it's his fault—), and even a few including Tim’s ex-girlfriend too.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think.

Before long, the car slowed to a stop. Ahead of them was a grand manor, the kind shown in those regency tv shows that Jazz loved watching, with obsessively maintained gardens and beautiful, clean exterior. A stone staircase led up to larger-than-life wooden doors; Danny couldn’t identify what kind of wood, but it was probably something expensive and old. Mahogany? That sounded like an expensive wood.

Dick put the car in park before turning around in his seat to look at Danny. “Alright, buddy. Are you ready to meet our family?”

“Your family,” Danny corrected mulishly, unbuckling his seat belt.

“Our family,” Dick said again, smiling. “They’re good people, and they’re going to be here for you.”

“Sure.” Sliding out of his seat and out of the car, Danny stayed slightly behind Dick as they walked up the steps and to the front door. Before Dick could knock or find the doorbell, the doors opened to reveal an old stereotypical butler. He even had a British accent! “Master Grayson,” he addressed Dick coolly, but when he looked at Danny, his expression softened. “And Young Master Daniel. It is good to finally meet you, and welcome to Wayne Manor. I am the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.”

Danny ducked away. “Danny’s fine,” came his muttered response.

Alfred smiled. “Young Master Danny, then. Come along; Master Bruce is waiting for you both in the foyer.”

Dick grimaced. Did that mean something bad? What was a foyer, a fancy word for office? Was Dick going to get scolded?

They followed Alfred into the house (although, calling it a house felt like an understatement). It was even fancier inside, with marble floors and a glistening chandelier overhead. Danny felt significantly out of place in his jeans and ratty coat he’d pulled out of the trash.

There was a man pacing in the room (was this the foyer?). He was dressed in a fancy suit and built like a brick house, but looked similar enough to Dick in a weird funhouse-mirror way. The moment he saw them, his face smoothed into a banal smile and Danny immediately didn’t like him. “Dick! You’re home.” Striding up to them, the man immediately hugged Dick, who stiffly returned it. “Welcome back, chum. And who’s this?”

Dick’s smile was strained. “This is my foster son, Danny. Danny, this is Bruce; I was his ward until I turned 18.” Ouch. Not even a foster son, but a ward? That sounded like a significant step down from fostering. Danny glared at Bruce, who seemed taken aback by his hostility. Dick laughed nervously. “Sorry about him, he’s shy.” Now Danny glared at Dick.

Bruce’s smiled evened out as he crouched down, like that would hide his fucking massive body. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny,” he said. “I’m very happy you're here. Hopefully it’ll be a lot more peaceful now that you’re staying with us.”

Danny scowled. “Suck a cock, douchebag.”

Bruce’s smile dropped as Dick smothered a laugh. “Watch your mouth,” Dick scolded without any heat behind it. Danny smirked.

“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce said, straightening up. “I’m sure Danny’s just shaken up from the sudden change. I’m feel the same, since you didn’t tell any of your friends or family that you were taking in a child.”

“Oh, so you can adopt a child without telling anyone, but when I do it—”

Alfred stepped in. “If you both could contain yourselves a minute longer, I can get the Young Masters settled in. I’ve already arranged a room for you in the family ward, Young Master Danny, if you’d like to rest? It is still rather early in the morning.”

“It might be better to give him a tour of the manor before anything else,” Dick said, eyeing Danny warrily.

“I’m not going to get lost.”

“Mhmm.” Dick didn’t believe him.

“I’m not!”

“Just like how you didn’t get lost at the precinct? Or at the morgue? Or at—”

“I never got lost on the streets!” Danny thought that was rather impressive. Besides, it’s not his fault the morgue was just empty hallways that all looked the same!

“The streets are labeled. Besides, you’ll never know where the in-house theater is without a tour.” Dick winked, like that was a big selling point.

Bruce interrupted them. “Why don't you give him a tour after we talk, Dick? It’s been a long time since we last spoke and I was hoping to ask you about your… recent life change.”

Dick pinched the bridge of nose. “Of course you want to start the interrogation right away,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright, but I don’t want Danny to hear this. Alfie, could you– Tim!” Following Dick’s glance, Danny found a teenager in his fancy pajamas standing on the stairs leading to the second floor. The teen, who looked enough like Dick to be his brother and Bruce’s son, rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Tim can take you on the tour! Come on, Danny.”

Dick ushered Danny up the stairs to Tim. “Will you be okay without me?” Danny asked, not wanting to leave Dick alone with Bruce.

He got a bright smile in return. Danny didn’t trust it. “Of course I will, kiddo. Don’t worry about me, just focus on having fun with Timmy.”

Tim looked blearily between them. “What is going on?”

“You’re taking Danny on a tour so he doesn’t hear me and Bruce fight,” Dick told him plainly. “Danny, this is my brother and Bruce’s foster son, Tim. Tim, this is my foster son, Danny. You two have fun!”

Ignoring Tim’s protests that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, Dick pushed them up the stairs and into the immediate hallway, closing the door behind him. They stared at each other for a moment before Danny pressed his ear against the crack in the door. “When did Dick get a kid?” Tim asked.

“Like, three weeks ago, keep up.” Tim tried to say something again, but Danny shushed him. After a moment, Tim joined him in eavesdropping by the door.

Dick spoke. “I’ll start. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you both I was fostering a kid. I was planning to inform you after the two month mark and Danny had settled in a bit more, but obviously that plan is out the window.”

“I accept your apology, Master Dick,” Alfred said, and there was a sigh of relief. “However, I would still like to know how this happened in the first place.”

“I’m more interested in knowing how you managed to foster him without us being interviewed as character references.”

“...I may have used my boss’ influence to make sure that only my co-workers were interviewed?” Dick admitted.

“Master Richard.”

“I’m sorry, Alfie, but he’s a flight risk! Do you know how many times I managed to get him to come home with me only for him to disappear in the middle of the night!? Fourteen times! Danny’s admitted that he ran away from his previous home, he still hasn’t told me his real last name, and he’s paranoid enough to give Bruce a run for his money! I’ve just barely managed to gain his trust. I didn’t need Bruce being Bruce to ruin it for us—”

“If you had asked me to stay away, I would have—”

“No you wouldn’t, Bruce! You’d pick and prod and try to uncover his every little secret because you don’t trust me to figure it out myself! If Danny had suspected that someone was looking into his past, he would have bolted, B. And I would have lost him forever.”

Danny nodded. He would have. Not that Bruce would have found anything about his past–the perks of getting stuck in an alternate dimension–but some rich asshole poking his nose in his business? Danny would have snuck onto the next bus out of the city.

“You can barely take care of yourself, Dick!” Bruce insisted. “If it was such a dire situation, then you could have contacted me and I would have–”

“–Lost him immediately because he has a strange hatred for billionaires?” Dick scoffed. “He wouldn’t let you get within six feet of him if you tried to take custody.”

“I–”

“He bites too.”

“Dick–”

“Hard.”

“Richard–”

“And it’s pretty bold of you to say I can’t take care of myself. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Because the word hypocrite is written across your forehead in crayon.”

“But I’m not the one who struggles to make rent each month.” Danny flinched. He’d known that Dick didn’t get paid that much, but was it really that bad? Didn’t Dick get a pay increase when he was made detective? Or was Danny taking so much money that it negated the pay increase— “Nevertheless, I’m not trying to take custody away from you, Dick. I’m just… trying to figure out how we got to this point.”

“We got to this point by not trusting each other,” Dick said tiredly. “And I still don’t trust you, not after what you did.”

Dick, I–”

“No, Bruce. This is my life. Besides you were only a few years older than me when my parents died and you decided to raise me on your own. It’s hypocritical for you to complain that I’m doing the same. Look, I’ve known Danny for over a year–”

“You mean you’ve hid this from me for over a year?”

“Bruce–”

“I knew I should have been suspicious when you got that foster license. You’ve been planning this for months–”

“Bruce!” Dick snapped, and Danny had never heard Dick that mad before, not even the first time they met. “Obviously I’ve been planning this for months! I’ve been planning this since the first week I met Danny! The only reason I got that damn license was for him!” He felt… warm. Danny knew that foster licenses were hard to get, but Dick had really wanted him since the week they met. Danny had been so… feral back then, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting him, not even Jazz. Dick continued, voice barely audible through the door. “He’s a good kid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

A sigh. “I just… don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, that’s all.”

“Are you saying you regret adopting me?” The angry voice was back. “Adopting Jason?”

“That’s not what I meant—!”

Tim pulled him away from the door. “We shouldn’t be listening to this. Come on, let’s start that tour you need.”

Danny tried to pull away, but Tim was deceptively strong for his thin frame. Despite his struggles, he was halfway down the hall before he knew it. “Let me go, cocksleeve!”

“You don’t need to hear that,” Tim said. “Trust me, things always get… heated between them, when Jason is brought up. That’s not something you need to witness.”

Jason, huh? That must be the linchpin in this entire investigation. Dick had never mentioned a Jason before, but he was clearly important if the entire family got bent out of shape for him. Did Dick cut contact with Bruce because of this Jason? Did Jason force Dick to do it? Dick would never abandon his family like that, Danny knew this had to be true because of his determination in trying to take Danny home, but if he was forced to stay away… Maybe Jason is an associate of Bruce that Dick hates?

Danny finally managed to jerk his arm away. His entire hand ached. “You don’t have to drag me!”

Shock crossed Tim’s face, like he’d finally realized what he was doing, before it fell. “I’m sorry, Danny. I shouldn’t have pulled you. It’s just… Jason isn’t something you should hear about, at your age. I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring him up, especially around Bruce. Okay?”

Studying the boy, Danny agreed. Sounds like Jason’s some sort of criminal contact, so it was best to behave carefully. Danny kicked at the ground, scraping dirt off onto the carpet that ran in the center of the hall. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” He asked. “I don’t need a tour, I’m not a baby.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I just spent the night in the library, working on a case? If you want to lend a hand with that?”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “I thought you just woke up?”

“...Just because I was in the library doesn’t mean I was awake the entire time.”

Ah, a fellow insomniac. His eyes narrowed further. “I only like interesting cases. What kind are we talking about? Fraud? Robbery? Some dinky school kid project?”

“Multiple homicides. If that’s interesting enough for you?”

“...Carry on.”

A/N: Anyway, I’m using @/jedipirateking’s age chart for the ages of Batman characters. Since we’re right before Under the Red Hood, that makes Dick 24. Danny is roughly a year younger than Damian, but was originally 17 before he was deaged.

Dick: Yes, this is my feral street child. Danny: *foaming at the mouth, swearing*

Tim, internally: Oh! Dick must have already informed Danny about our identities! They work on cases together too, maybe we can work on one to bond? Danny, internally: Wow, rich people have weird ass hobbies

Danny: *so close, yet so far from figuring out the Jason thing* Red Hood: Did someone just walk over my fucking grave again?

Yes, some things are being kept vague on purpose. That’s for a better reveal in the future.

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #constantine jr au #c: danny fenton #c: nightwing #c: tim drake #c: alfred pennyworth #c: bruce wayne #c: jason todd #fictag dgvg

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bones4thecats · 5 months ago

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Having Children With Their Fem! S/O

Characters: Aku, Father, Vilgax and Lord Garmadon Inspired By: Random Thoughts A/N: I know that a couple of these characters either don't like kids or just feel basically nothing for them, but this is just something I had to write! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Operation Zero and the Lego Ninjago Series and mentions of abandonment and divorce ⚠️

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»—————————————-　 Aku 　—————————————-««

👹 Aku prided himself on being a heartless being made of consistent darkness. But, when it came to you, his longtime wife who was created by a similar amount of energy, he was fairly fair

👹 He has always been focused on furthering his rule of the pathetic mortals in which he despised to the point where it led to him having seven girls with a woman called the High Priestess, though it was with his magic, he did not do anything disgusting in his opinion with her

👹 Despite knowing he felt nothing towards the woman and only viewed the girls as his personal soldiers, you couldn't help but feel inferior to the Priestess, she has done something that you possibly never could with Aku. Though, you did treat the girls as your own, since their mother seemingly could care less

👹 The one thing that made Aku think of having children with you was seeing you pick up a small group of baby aliens from a clan that wished to be relocated to Earth and begin to tickle them with one of your long claw-shaped fingers

👹 As the aliens left after hearing their conditions of living on his and your planet, Aku looked to you and motioned for you both to return to your personal chambers, which you did willingly and without fear

"My yang, I noticed how you looked at those young Vadaquians with a... warm and wholesome stare. That is completely unlike the lovingly evil woman I married and pledged loyalty too. So, if I may question, what is your issue?"

👹 You sighed and lowered your shoulders before shifting into a tortoise and hiding yourself inside of your shell before announcing it was dumb and he could just not bother himself with your issues

"Y/N, you're my wife of hundreds of years. I decided myself if I wanted to handle your thoughts and worries when I laid that shadow-bonding ring around your finger. Now, what is it your worried about?"

"It's just... you know the girls. I just... I want something like that."

"And that can be arranged with swift ease."

"Wait- really? You'd do that for me?"

"I would do anything for the woman who allows me to feel something other than hatred."

»--•--«

👹 And that he did. Just 9 months after the events of Samurai Jack's return and renewing the top-hunted foe to be the time-traveled man, you welcomed a young boy, whom Aku named Oni

👹 You smiled and lightly ran your hands against the baby's long trio set of horns that matched his fathers as his large pure-white eyes opened with tiny specks of white fire erupting from them. When it came to appearance, he took after his father, though your color scheme popped more than the Shogun of Sorrow's

"Ah, there is my little boy and woman!"

"And there is my stubborn husband."

"Hey now! Don't get me wrong, I wanted to be here for the special event, but I needed to get that Samurai fool out of my way again. He almost found the portal back to his time, and if he does..."

"Oni doesn't live..."

"Correct. This is all for him, and us, and I suppose his sisters and their mother."

👹 Chuckling as your baby began to shift his way to his father, the demonic being allow him to sit on his horns, giggling as he acted like the man he has observed for the past few weeks over the small portal that showed him and Jack's fight, but mainly him

"He will be the perfect next generational heir, don't you think?"

"Yes. I do, Aku."

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»———————-　Benedict 'Father' Wigglestein　———————-««

🔥 It was no secret that your husband was far from a child-guy. He constantly provided evidence that he hated kids beyond any kind of recognition. He even hated the children that you two were forced to adopt

🔥 When Benedict married you, he laid it out plain as day that he never planned on having children, and you wholeheartedly accepted that

🔥 But, ever since the Delightful Children from Down the Lane joined your family and therefore home, you began to crave having an actual family. One not bounded by a Delightfulization-Chamber, but by blood and the love you two shared for one another

🔥 And while it was easy to think this all without saying it out-loud, even beginning to wonder about how he would reply was enough to make you want to curl up into a ball and stay there forever

🔥 Thankfully the sound of a five-way synchronized knock allowed you to be free of your thoughts. And you merely sat up from your desk and called to the children to come on inside

"Good afternoon, Mother. Father wishes your presence in his office."

🔥 You smiled at the kids and gave them each a pat on their heads before allowing them to walk to their rooms and get ready for bed. Once each of their doors closed you grabbed your husband's notebook, suspecting that was what he needed

🔥 He has a bad habit of leaving stuff in your room. Honestly he needs a better sleep schedule (not me scolding him when I barely sleep😐)

🔥 While the door to his office opened, you took a deep breath and readied yourself, hoping that his day wasn't filled with a ton of disappointments. You may be his wife, but his anger was something not even you could escape

🔥 You noticed that there was a lack of anything on fire, so, you took the chance to make some small chit-chat while your husband worked away on some papers and beckoned with his hand for you to hand him his notes

"My dear, I've been wondering how your day's been."

"It's been decent, better than normal thankfully."

"Well... there is one thing I've been meaning to speak to you about, if you don't mind-"

"If the children have done something, I swear to-"

"No! No, no! The children have done perfectly well since the last incident. It's just... oh nevermind, it's nothing that important."

🔥 Benedict went from staring intently at his paperwork to looking at your seemingly guilt-ridden face and his yellow eyes narrowed, which was prominent from the darkness of his suit

"Y/N, everything you say is important to me. Well, as long as it has nothing to do with random cravings, because those have been getting worse and worse over the past few days."

"Yeah, about that..."

"I mean, you're acting like how Monty would call and describe his wife when she was pregnant with his boy."

🔥 Oh this was pointless. Reaching into the pocket of your black hoodie that Ben gifted you for your birthday just days prior, you pulled out a small box and laid it down in front of him

"What's this for?"

"Just- open it, please."

"Is this a... pregnancy test? Oh sweet sasperilla, you're pregnant?! But I- we..."

"I understand that you aren't fond of children, so we don't have to have them if you don't want to."

"Do... you want the child?"

"I would prefer to give them a shot at life than to not."

"Then... okay. We can have the child... if you want too. This shouldn't only be my choice, it should also be yours. I may hate children to a degree but, I cannot hate you and your choices."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Now, if it's a boy, can we name it Benedict Wigglestein III?"

"No."

»--•--«

🔥 The sound of the collected family in the hospital's main room rung freely as the members of the Uno Family and the Wigglestein Family all wondered how you were doing in the delivery room. Ever since your screams stopped, Monty couldn't help but fear you were hurt to the point of possible surgery

🔥 All of a sudden, his brother walked out of the doors with a mixture of both traumatized and happiness written on his face, though it was mainly in his eyes

"Ben? How's Y/N and the baby?"

"I... I have twins..."

"Wait- twins?! Aw! A boy and a girl?"

🔥 Monty smiled at his wife before ushering his brother back into your room and patting his shoulder in assurance. And he couldn't help but chuckle as his brother walked into the room where you and your children no doubt were

🔥 He couldn't be anymore proud of him

••●•��●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»—————————————-　Vilgax　—————————————-««

🐙 While living for many years as a Warlord was something that many only viewed your husband as being, it was his closest allies and people that saw who he was outside of his work; a loyal and caring husband

🐙 As a member of the Chimera Sui Generis species, training for battle was a big part of your childhood. And when you first met your future spouse by training to be top-servers of your planet, he was smitten

🐙 Overtime you witnessed the destruction and new colonization of planets. And since you serves as his right-hand, Vilgax and you would see many types of families, the most common being fathers, mothers and their children

🐙 And seeing the male and female members of the army grow and expand with their families adding more members, you couldn't help but wonder; would this ever happen for you and Vilgax?

🐙 Normally he was busy with his work, so getting a decent time to speak one-on-one with your husband was hard. Nonetheless trying to talk about something so important to both you and your lives together

🐙 You were beginning to lose faith in actually talking to him, but when one of Vilgax's best men came inside of the control room you turned around and recognized him to be the one who always guarded the emergency medic and doctor's zone of the ship

"What is it you need, Soldier Axiomar?"

"Doctor Xiliv has requested her for a quick check-up, since she has been complaining of some stomach issues as of late."

"Alright. Would you like me to accompany you, Y/N?"

"I think I'll be alright... really."

🐙 Giving you a kiss on the forehead, Vilgax focused back on the coordinates of their way to Earth. You just nodded to Axiomar as he lead you to the medical room where Xiliv was waiting

🐙 Deep inside as you sat on the frequently cleaned chair, you knew what the Doctor and Medic were going to say

"Your highness, it appears that you- well."

"I know."

"Do you want us to tell Lord Vilgax or not?"

"He'll find out either way, but I'll tell him, it just makes it easier for me."

"Understood."

🐙 As the large alien walked through the halls to his and your shared quarters, he wondered why you had been acting far more nervous and weary throughout the rest of the day. Maybe you had some kind of illness?

🐙 The sound of the doors opening and closing behind your form made you spin around quick. And Vilgax merely chuckled, from calm and composed to having their guard-up in no time. You really were a soldier by heart

"Y/N. What is it you needed to speak about? It better not be something I cannot fix. Because that would be near impossible. I would destroy the galaxy for you."

"It's no illness. Unless you consider a child an illness."

"Pardon, a what?"

»--•--«

🐙 Despite his initial hesitation in being a father and raising a young Chimera Sui Generis, but after gaining advice from some of his closest allies, some would say friends, he gained the extra bravery to face the next step in life with you

🐙 He stood beside your bed as you chuckled at the sight of your baby girl. Long tentacles in the shape of elongated human hair, a small, pink wrap being around her as her tiny red eyes blinked while giggles rang through the room

"She's beautiful."

"Just like you, love."

"What should we name her?" Doctor Xiliv asked.

"How about Shaviv? It means ray of life."

"It's perfect."

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»——————————-　 Lord Garmadon 　——————————-««

🌋 This guy has never seen himself as an ideal parent. I mean, he literally was bitten by a serpent that made him an evil tyrant in the end and he didn't take a part in his son growing up due to his unfortunate incident

🌋 And while he praises himself on not being the man he once was before, there was always a lingering bit in his heart that stayed away from being corrupted. A piece of the old Garmadon in there. Hidden away

🌋 Over time he switched from evil to good, and that was how he met you

🌋 You were the sister of Ray, the previous Master of Fire before Kai took up the mantle. Growing up with Ray meant you were also trained in the art of being a ninja, though it was with the element of light that you controlled and not fire

🌋 Over the time of them being missing, you raised your niece, Nya, and nephew, Kai, and helped Garmadon's brother, Wu, train them and their friends. And as the serpent-bitten male grew into darker habits, you remained a beckon that he couldn't help but admire

🌋 Once he redeemed himself and helped fight against many enemies alongside you and the kids, he began to get close to both you and your old friend/next-door neighbor, Vinny Folson. And let's just say that the closeness evolved beyond simple friendship

🌋 While Misako was reluctant to accept Garmadon had another lover, she noticed just how caring you were and she began to bond with you with her ex-husband and son. In fact, she was the one to ask if you two were planning on taking the next step from just marriage to having children, much to you and his fluster

🌋 After the incident of the question with Misako. Garmadon told Vinny that you two would be out for a few days and that if he needed something, he could call. And as you two began to travel to a remote and well-taken-care-of cabin just outside of Ninjago, he began to let out a small amount of chit-chat

"Hey, Y/N... I have a question."

"What is it?"

"With what Misako said yesterday... at dinner. I was wondering if- you know."

"If I wanted kids?"

"Yeah... and I understand if you wouldn't! I'm not the best guy to have children with, just ask my ex-wife."

"Garmadon!"

🌋 Spinning his head to look at you, Garmadon watched you with observant eyes as you smiled gently and held his hand with one of yours and his face with the other. And he smiled as you nodded, small tears pricking his eyes as you laid your forehead upon one another's

»--•--«

🌋 The sound of cries erupting from a woman's hands made the people sitting in the waiting room look up in surprise and slight glee. Seven of the large group looked at the nurse and she took them all back, warning them that you would probably need some space

"Is that..."

"It is. Everyone, meet Nisshoku."

"Aw! I have a nephew now! Let's go!"

"Shut it, Ray."

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five-rivers · 1 year ago

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If you're still doing prompts, may I suggest Danny learning about the legends following his time travel (what the Romans thought was up; the Buddhists, that one kid, etc

Physics and engineering major or not, Danny still needed credits in the humanities. Comparative Mythology and Folklore was the obvious choice for that. All through high school, Sam and Jazz had been on his case about knowing so little mythology, on account of his ghostly enemies and allies sometimes being mythological figures.

(Also the constellation thing, but they didn't bring that part up all that much, funnily enough.)

At the time, Danny had figured (see what he did there?) that there wasn't much point to it. Pandora wasn't all that similar to her mythic version, Medusa didn't turn people to stone, and winged horses were, by and large, not friendly.

Recent events had made him reconsider that stance.

Anyway! The class was a "two birds, one stone" sort of deal. He got both credits and practical knowledge. Theoretically.

So far, they'd covered creation myths and etiological stories, gods and goddesses, the monolith and the hero's journey, and now, in the tiny slice of time before they had to start studying for the final, they were looking at weird minor similarities without clear causes.

"Now," said the professor, "this next one is probably my favorite, because it's so specific and so widespread. Of course, the most obvious reason for this is that it's a story that traveled, much like how the pre-Indo-European gods traveled. However, the times and locations involved make that very unlikely, at least in my opinion. The other end of the spectrum is, of course, aliens, which are even more unlikely."

There was a soft smattering of laughter throughout the large classroom. Danny started to get a bad feeling about this.

"The other strange thing about this particular similarity is that it comes out of seemingly nowhere, with regards to the larger culture. There have even been several instances of it in this century - although, given modern information infrastructure, those instances may not be entirely organic. But Imperial Rome, China, Colonial America, just to name a few… That's weirder. Any guesses about what I'm talking about?"

No one raised their hand, and after a couple of minutes, the professor used their remote control to go to the next slide of their presentation. Danny sank down in his seat as he stared up at a collage of himself in a dozen different art styles.

"All around the world, there are stories about a young man or boy with white hair and dark clothing coming from 'distant lands' to either fight off 'monsters' or to retrieve unspecified objects. As you can see, despite some of these pieces being from cultures that never had any contact with one another, the resemblance of the figures is striking. The– Yes, you have a question?"

"Will this be on the final?" asked a student a few rows down from Danny.

The professor sighed. "As a general rule, if I'm teaching you about it, I'll be testing you about it. Moving on–"

Danny forced himself to start taking notes. He couldn't believe he was going to be tested on himself. Especially when he was pretty sure he hadn't even been to all of those places yet.

Clockwork must be laughing his head off.

#danny phantom #answer #ask #prompt #prompt fill #prompt fic

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mari-lair · 4 months ago

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Will greed island au gon ever at least meet mito? i feel like during his search for ging after he leaves the island with killua he would make the same conclusions that kite did and track down his dad's hometown. what do you think his feelings would be? would it improve his horrible sense of self worth?

Side note: how would the zoldyck family arc go in this scenario? I have a feeling that Illumi would show up to mess things up. but this gon is much stronger so he could just basically break into the manor and tell the zoldycks to f off in person.

(about the GI Gon AU: Here)

I didn't even think about this, BUT YES! Gon would go to Whale Island hunting for clues after passing the hunter exam and eventually find Mito. When he learns Mito is Ging's cousin he'll gets excited, cause Gon knows none of his blood family, no matter how distant, an aunt is still a big deal.

His first meeting with Mito will be a bit rough/pretty awkward cause I feel like Ging would let her know he has a kid through a letter or a call or something (is Ging he'll find a way to update her without facing her) but only a decade or so before she have a chance to met Gon. No further messages, no elaboration, by the point Mito sees Gon face to face the concept Ging have a kid will feel alien.

I can see him a bit more self-worth in her presence since 1 - Mito is no NPC she looks after him while he is visiting cause she wants/ she make sure to say when she isn't happy, which makes when she is happy he is around that much more impactful 2 - She will be very angry that Ging abandoned him in some game and while he will defend greed island forever, he is flattered, people rarely get this angry for him. 3 -He bonds with her about Ging leaving, cause the game masters were a bit exasperated at most Ging departure, but Mito was deeply affected by his departure like Gon was. But he still isn't as confident(?) as canon gon.

As for the Zoldyck rescue arc...

I'll be honest, I don't know how that would go, there are too many changes from canon for me to try to domino effect: Illumi already passed the exam, he can't take it again like Killua will, Gon also wouldn't be knocked out with his nen skills, so that scenario ain't happening.

I know Killua coming home needs to happen though, maybe Killua is taking too long in the game (cause he stopped focusing on killing his target after around a week or less and prioritized having fun with Gon and being a rebel) and so the Zoldycks send Illumi to find a way in the game and check on him but idk how that would go. I don't think Gon can beat Illumi. He can beat him in nen arm wrestling and maybe some strength tests, he is a monster in raw power, but is hard to say in a fight with no rules. I can picture Killua, who has the needle, using Acompany cards to run away with gon and freaking out about rebelling against Illumi but I can't picture how the actual confrontation would end.

(I just know Gon won't die inside the game, he has every game master keeping an eye on him if he reaches the point of being in genuine danger. They can be neglectful and all, but they would never let Gon die.)

So for now "how will killua go home?" situation is in progress/may drastically vary in the future

If despite all the changes the situation still end with Gon banging on their mountain gate , Gon would indeed be powerful enough to open the gates and walk to the butler's house without issue but he still has the same "Why must I do all of this to visit a friend?" mentality, and he wouldn't want to cause trouble to the butlers and workers who clearly value killua. So fewer injuries, more questions about the mansion's "rules and 'work designs' choices" (which are usually not answered. cause zoldycks) but overall a very similar outcome.

#i want to do a mini comic with mito now #greed island gon au

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idolatrybarbie · 1 year ago

Text

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door.

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.”

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize.

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: lover be sweet

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mtgc858 · 10 months ago

Text

Wekiddy Headcanons cause yes

Also my take on the characters personality and such.

Part 1

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

Going in order from the wiki lol

Boom 9

Boom 9 is the quiet one of the group and often doesn't talk, he does but only to ones he likes lol.

He isn't human(obviously) but a lot don't know WHAT he is especially trying to figure out by his eyes, KC Glow does however but wants to keep it a secret to troll the others.(everyone's dying to know what he is).

He besties is KC Glow.

Kevin

Kevin is a quiet tired type but still has his bright loud moments.

Kevin is Swingy and KC Glows brother (Swingy by blood and KC Glow by Adoption).

He has social anxiety hard core, Especially when he first joined the band, He actually only joined cause of his brothers but after the first show, he felt confident with his brothers by his side.

Still has anxiety but not as bad as before thankfully

Likes that he doesn't have to sing or rap on camera lol.

Double K

He is chill and probably the most mature one of the group despite not being the oldest.

He is soft spoken and sometimes doesn't say much besides "Yep" or "No" (Big Mac ref lol).

He loves being a great help to the rest of the group even if he doesn't say much.

Blue GT

Blue GT is the type of guy to party all night and in the morning he just sleeps until he can do it all over again(he hasn't but will if given the chance lmao).

He's rich but doesn't flex about it that much, he only likes to party mostly then anything else.

Despite loving to go to a rave club he would be let down if people started smoking and would leave cause he can't stand the smell(sensitive to certain smells).

MJ 182

He is the chaotic one lol, definitely has bitten a few people before and will do it again.

Has told others that he isn't human before which isn't much of a surprise cause of his sharp fangs and eyes.

Legit shows off what he is with pride on his shirt(Alien lol).

He's a alien 100% (I blame @zankydraws lmao).

Loves cats so much lol.

Boom Fuzz

Definitely the tired angry gremlin that will eat your shirt sleeves when angry which is always.

Will play by his own rules with beatboxing and will make his own beat that doesn't really follow the rest of the band but somehow works anyway.

Has gotten in trouble for spray painting in famous places lol

Hates everyone....well besides KC Glow, no one knows how he got into the band to begin with or even became friends with them to begin with lol

ASAP Bee

Cool chill man that won't secretly kill you in your sleep if you insult him or his friends.....Or in general.

Had bees in his small bag lol or well bee theme stuff.

Oddly smells like honey,Blue GT loves the smell lol which would explain why they are friends lol.

Likes rolling his tongue randomly when he touches to troll others from rolling his R's.

M.O.G

The kind sweet gentle creature that loves making others happy.

Loves pie,apple,lime,cheese,berry, Pumpkin, etc.

Just a sillay emoji.

Arashi

I actually don't know much for him lol but um I guess he's the mascot of the group with a personality I guess lmao

Big Duke

The most chill one of the group complete and rare to anger or upset.

Had a calm deep voice but can change the pitch to a lighter one sometimes.

Is friends with everyone even if some (*cough cough* "Boom Fuzz" *cough*) don't like him.

He likes braiding his and others hair

Okay finally finished with part one lol so yippie

#Incredibox headcanons #incredibox #incredibox hc #incredibox v9 #my headcanons

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kustas · 4 months ago

Note

Do you have reccs for "ugly" art (manga, comics, movie, etc.)? Thanks for the Tekkon recs btw I really liked it

That really depends on your own personal media landscape and what your definition of "ugly" is! As a random example, I've seen many people call ONE's art ugly because of the wobbly linework when I think it's lovely. Ugly could also mean something a bit shocking/crass in its themes. Etc, etc... I'm going to go with the definition of "something that's a bit jarring to look at or go through" here :)

Disclaimer: a lot of these tackle sensitive topics, sometimes for fun and not always tastefully. If there's themes you really can't handle in media, do your research before looking into them.

Manga

I keep recommending yes because it rules but Dorohedoro and its scratchy messy art and gore galore. talking about the manga exclusively here the anime is too polished for my taste

God's Child (Kami no Kodomo): tbh this one is for the art only I hated the writing. very gruesome & unique looking short story

I hesitate to recommend this one because it's edgy as hell but I shan't lie I had a lot of fun with Hellsing. it's "bad" in the same areas as something like berserk but unlike that one it does not take itself seriously

if you liked Tekkon i strongly suggest trying out more stuff by its author (saying this with immense biais). the most ugly/messy thing i've read of his, which isn't a lot because i find his work very delicate, is No. 5 which i would less describe as "good" than "very compelling to me". i also recommend this wonderful essay tearing it down

Comics (non JP)

FLEEP: a short story about a man who wakes up in a phone cabin seemingly encased in concrete. one of the comics i always recommend for its length and storytelling. (link leads to the artist's website where you can read it for free!)

The Astonishing Exploits Of Lucien Brindavoine: a young artist gets drafted in the first world war and goes through a series of almost supernatural adventures. beyond the adventure book aspect, a harsh criticism of nationalism/patriotism that's still awfully relevant

Animation

Ruben Brandt: Collector: a psychiatrist suffers from strange art related nightmares ruining his life. his clients, a bunch of high profile criminals, decide to help him fight off his demons by organizing one long vacation where they steal every painting involved. extremely unique visually, a fun heist movie with thriller elements.

Junk Head: goofy post apocalyptic movie about a man on a quest to save, who keeps losing sight his goal because cartoony violence episodes have his head tumble into new lows, literally. this is, perhaps, one of my favorite animated films ever, it's earnest and fun and lovingly crafted. very unique of a watch

The Apostle: freshly escaped from prison, a thief is on a mission to find treasure hidden by his old cellmate, and finds himself stuck in an ancient village who's strange looking elderly inhabitants are way too insistent on his stay. classic spooky folktale with its millennial curses and foreboding warnings, it's also a nice peek into the culture of Galicia and old world medieval weirdass catholicism. you can buy a DVD on their website

MKFZ: dumb as hell high adrenaline animated B movie with excellent animation. there's a plot about alien living undercover in fantasy california but you don't watch this kind of film for the plot. fair warning this is adapted from a french comic so of course, it's crass and racist

Blow to the Head - Lightning bolt: awesome music video (YT link)(warning for flashing/strobing lights if you're sensitive to that!)

Canon Fodder: from the Memories omnibus film. little slice of the life of a fantasy war obsessed industrial nation

with its new movie on the horizon, it's a great time to get into Mononoke, despite traditionally pretty visuals its got a unique style and gets pretty offputting

Live action cinema

7:35 in the morning: short film about the fear in improvised musical numbers where you don't expect any. it's on youtube in bad quality

The Draughtsman's Contract: an artist is hired by a Lady to draw several vistas of her house, in exchange for money, good drawing condition, and the Lady. follows a good hour of cunts in powdery wigs being awful to each other for their own gain. if you're into dark humor it's a good test, otherwise it has a really satisfying murder mystery to follow too.

Three Kings: during the gulf war, a group of US soldiers decide to steal Hussein's gold for themselves under the mighty standard of kuwait's loot repatriation. extremely caustic take on good ol murican international politics. i was shocked at how far it goes and it's express, low budget treatment which i did not expect from a hollywood film. the movie tires itself fast and becomes less good in its second half but the it's opening acts are interesting

Delicatessen: a sliver of humanity survives in an old timey stone building in the middle of nothingness on top of a functional butcher's shop. gossip follows the arrival of a new roommate. how does one even maintain a butchery in a no man's land? weird film with a unique(ly goofy) take on the post apocalyptic genre

Other

For traditional artists, I like the works of Beksinski (<3), Schiele, Giger. For modern artists Oleg Vdovenko (heavy gore warning for that one), Jeff Simpson

I'm less a fan of the MV and live performances they got infamous for than their music proper but I really like the band Cardiacs, who's judged by many of my friends to be extremely hard to get into lol.

#ask

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variousqueerthings · 1 year ago

Note

Which companions would you personally say are True Alien fuckers and which ones forget the doctor isn't human?

Okay, so taking out audio plays and the like, and with a caveat that I haven't seen everything (yet) and so some companions I am stipulating based on clips and descriptions and the like + my memory is. trying.

Disclaimer that this is about whose attraction to the Doctor encapsulates the doctor's inherent Alien-ness, such as gender fluidity, total change of appearance (on occasion), near immortality, alien physiology, and other variety of alien oddness.

this is about humans only.

See scores at the bottom. Forgive the mess, I'm operating on memory here.

(EDIT: keeping the original martha thoughts, but I was Wrong, she's an alienfucker, Martha I'm sorry I slandered you)

First Doctor companions: well to begin with, none of them. they're all presented to the incredibly no-sex-allowed show, including the most elderly the Doctor has ever appeared, in the true crotchety old-man sense (although... see the Twelfth Doctor). On top of that the dynamic was mostly paternal and companions tended to leave to do their own thing. Most Alien Fucker however I would give to Steven Taylor (who has an unfair advantage, being from the future, which is also a trend we see over again). Anyone who either travelled only with the First Doctor (Ian, Barbara, Vicki, Dodo) or witnessed the regeneration into Second (Polly, Ben) for various reasons simply would not. To be fair, the Doctor here radiates a "do not sexualise" aura. still. I think the real test was right here, and they all failed to make the grade

Second Doctor companions: notably the appearance of the Brigadier! I think he takes the crown of Most Alien Fucker of Second, although I would say, while Zoe is a bit young to be actively an Alien Fucker, she for sure is shaping up to be one in the future. Jamie and Victoria I personally think are a solid No generally

Third Doctor companions: Truthfully I'd give this one to the Brigadier as well. But wait, you say, what about Sarah-Jane Smith! Ah, but here I create a ripple perhaps by claiming that she wasn't an Alien Fucker, so much as a person who regularly engaged with the Doctor on a human level, despite the Doctor not being human. it's interesting, because she's someone so actively doing alien investigations, but I never think she was seduced in the wink wink nudge nudge sense to the alien-ness of it all. I think her betrayal with the Doctor is very related to the Doctor's non-humanness taking her by surprise (she and Rose have a fair bit in common). Jo is also not an Alien Fucker. Jo wanted a family I believe, in the human traditional conventional sense. Liz could go either way, but if an Alien Fucker, then that alien is not the Doctor. in some ways I think Liz is a bit ace overall, but in spirit youknow.

Fourth Doctor companions: note here we get some mildly non-human companions, but still humanish, which makes it hard. I've decided "born on earth" as a stipulation, no matter what time that is. However that takes out Leela, Adric, and Nyssa, and none of the more born-on-earth humans are Alien Fuckers. notably the Fourth Doctor is considered one of the more obviously eccentric Doctors, so does that have anything to do with it? who knows, I'm making up the rules as I go along

Fifth Doctor companions: similarly Vislor does not meet the stipulations, otherwise I would have awarded him the gold star. RIP to how Peri was treated generally, but she may have an undercurrent of Alien Fucking, because (ironically) she's not so into the Doctor really, but comes to understand (Sixth Doctor) more over time + she hooked up with a warrior king offscreen as part of her leaving so. She's not a timelord Alien Fucker though, I'd say

Sixth Doctor companions: Includes Peri, but we already talked about her, so: Mel. Is she an Alien Fucker? Wee-eell, yes-and-no. Yes, she witnesses a regeneration and is kinda chill about it, no because I wouldn't say she was into the Doctor in either regeneration. So could this be the Doctor specifically? Would it have been different if it had been Eight or Ten? I haven't watched far enough yet to know what her deal with Glitz is, but clearly there's some Alien Fucking genes there

Seventh Doctor companions: which leaves us in the classic series with Ace!!!! Who is absolutely a lesbian, and not at all giving off the vibes of someone mooning after the Doctor specifically. However would this lesbianism include some gender bending fluidity? I cannot say yet, I've not reached that far. My gut says that Ace is firmly into humans, but we shall see!

Eighth Doctor companion: Not an Alien Fucker. Grace was into Paul McGann and the beautiful early-eighth doctor hair, and that is more than fair, however, shallow in terms of Alien Fucking

Ninth/Tenth Doctor companions: okay, I'm gonna have the possibly unpopular opinion that Rose is not an Alien Fucker. there are many different aliens in her story, and she remains firmly into "good looking blokes," while continuously being re-reminded that the Doctor is very much not a human guy and is surprised by this each time. also I like the tragedy that in some ways, Rose may be more into the TenToo clone than the Doctor because she knows that TenToo is stable (in terms of mortality, in terms of never changing appearance, in terms of never having to put anything before Rose). She might be persuaded to be into a bit of gender-fluidity though, we never do find that out

also in short order: neither Adam nor Mickey are Alien Fuckers. Jack, obviously, is an Alien Fucker, but he's also cheating according to my stipulations, that 51st century Boe-born rapscallion!

Martha, likewise, not an Alien Fucker. Her attraction to the Doctor is initially based on awe and the fact that he Needs her, and then when she realises she can do better and deserves better, she rightfully steps the fuck out of his direct orbit (although am not a fan of her ending up with Mickey -- very pair the spares. she deserves that other doctor guy). I think Martha should have been allowed to snog Thirteen though, personally

Donna: not an Alien Fucker and quite chill about that. she's admiring though (not of the Doctor lol), but she knows what she likes.

Eleventh Doctor companions: The Ponds aren't Alien Fuckers, sorry Amy and Rory. River, sure, but I have some mixed opinions on just how human she counts as, considering the mess that is her backstory.

Twelfth Doctor companions: I know Clara met Eleven first, but she's solidly a Twelve companion as far as I'm concerned, and you know. She's got actual Alien Fucker energy. I'd need to rewatch these seasons to form more of an opinion beyond this, because I cannot remember much, but this opinion is solid and unchangeable.

Bill is... hmmmm.... canonically a lesbian of course, and as far as I can remember (again, we're approaching a rewatch, but haven't got this far) solidly hitting on earth girls, but then there's that ending... Does she know that timelords can regenerate? does it matter when she's become, well... Matter. Actually the more I think about it, the more I'd say yes she is an Alien Fucker, but also she's in a somekindof relationship with Heather-Matter, which was also the point at which she became a bonafide Alien Fucker, while also transcending the bounds of humanity, so in and of herself has become the Non-human... it's complicated

I cannot speak to Thirteen, because I've only seen the first season (so far) but from what I've seen of that, they're not Alien Fuckers. sorry guys. let me know if I'm wrong though

SO IN TERMS OF ACTUAL ALIEN FUCKERS INCLUDING AND/OR SPECIFICALLY THE DOCTOR: 2 (Brigadier, Clara)

ALIEN FUCKER POTENTIAL: 2 (Steven, Zoe)

IT'S COMPLICATED BECAUSE OF WHAT IS HUMANITY: 1 (River Song) (arguably Adric, Jack, Nyssa, Tegan, Leela, Vislor, Bill... a few others)

THEY'D FUCK OTHER ALIENS BUT NOT THE DOCTOR/A TIMELORD: 5 (Polly, Zoe, Liz, Peri, Mel, Bill)

REGULARLY FORGETS THE DOCTOR ISN'T HUMAN: 17 (Ben, Yaz, Graham, Ryan, Rose, Martha, Sarah-Jane, Jo, Amy, Rory, Grace, Ian, Barbara, Vicki, Dodo, Victoria, Jamie)

DOESN'T UUUSUALLY FORGET THE DOCTOR ISN'T HUMAN BUT STILL WOULDN'T FUCK THEM: 4 (Liz, Ace, Mickey, Donna)

UNIMPORTANT TO THIS DISCUSSION: 1 (Adam)

HON MENTION: 1 (Jackie Tyler asking if "there's anything else he's got two of")

FORGOT TO INCLUDE: the UNIT people and a handful of single-episode companions oh well

All in All: it's tough to be a timelord huh.

#doctor who #dw #the doctor #timelords #i mean i say this like my doctor hc isn't still along the realms of aroace lol #but it'd be NICE if someone were into them on a non-human level youknow #for ease i will only be tagging the modern companions (and not all of them either) but ive gone through all incarnations from 1-onwards #rose tyler #martha jones #donna noble #amy pond #rory williams #clara oswald #bill potts #yaz khan #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #river song

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baradyke · 2 years ago

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like yes bisexual women in the past have been referred to or self-identified as lesbians. hell i don't even give a shit if a bisexual woman in a wlw relationship says that she's currently in a lesbian relationship. I DON'T CARE. but what DOES matter is that terminology is changing all the time and we have come up with new words for things that we didn't before and they have become universal. this is a good thing!

labels are created to use as a means to describe your identity in a way that wasn't already encompassed by previously existing ones. the lesbian identity was never about excluding bisexuals from our spaces and we have happily coexisted and thrived alongside bisexual women, given there is overlap in our identities. the word sapphic exists for a reason.

but to force multiple identities to identify as the same when their experiences are not, is gross and incredibly counterproductive. you're forcing lesbians, the ONLY sexuality that does not include attraction to men, to include those who do. living in the world that we do, are forced to live by the rules of patriarchy, alienated as a whole simply by virtue of not being attracted to men - some not wanting to associate with them at all - and wanting our own space for it. this is not being exclusionary, because we are still acknowledging that even if our experiences are different, we are no less or more queer for it. every group within the lgbt community deserves to keep the labels that describe their experiences separate (and no, don't use this as an excuse to separate things like bi and pan, or trans and nb, when they encompass the same experiences)

SO BASICALLY,

correct: bi women, especially those with a preference for women, and lesbians have a lot of overlapping experiences and either can identify as sapphic, but it is important to distinguish these labels given their individual experiences and history

incorrect: bi women can simultaneously identify as lesbians if they personally decide that they "feel" lesbian enough despite still being attracted to men. it's fine, my lesbian friend said it was ok!

#bi lesbian discourse #mspec lesbian discourse #anti mspec lesbian #anti mspec gay #not proofreading that #txt #q slur

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is-your-blorbo-neurodivergent · 4 months ago

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does he have audhd, anxiety, and a mental illness?

submit your own characters here to be featured!

reasons under the cut - just a long infodump (no problem with that!)

reason: Autism:

- Strangely meticulous about rules while not understanding/valuing others

- Is literally an alien living among humans trying very badly to fit in and understand their customs -- very autistic feeling, even if he's evil about it.

- Sensory issues, specifically tactile and taste oriented ones. (Many autistic people feel for him in episodes where he struggles eating earth food and suffers physically for it)

- Low empathy

- Difficulty controlling his emotions

- Fixates easily (Usually on his mission or fighting Dib)

- Strange speech patterns, even for an alien. Other members of his species and other aliens we meet in the show do not talk like Zim, showing this is very much a him-thing, not an alien thing.

- Evil laughter? More like vocal stimming

ADHD:

- Frequently shown to dissociate/lose focus when he's in a situation he doesn't like or faced with knowledge he doesn't care about

- Very easily distracted

- Can hyperfocus on a task he values

- Makes meticulous ambitious plans with convoluted steps no neurotypical would bother with

- Bad at following structures and what's expected of him

- Shit memory but also brilliant and can recall hyperspecific things needed for his plans

- Mood swings

- Overlooks stuff that's obvious for most people

- Creative! :3

- Bad at structure and conforming to what he needs to be in most jobs

- Can be very energetic

- Every person with adhd I've met has loved the purple as a colour idk

MISC THINGS OF NOTE:

I do not feel I have the understanding to properly diagnose exactly, so please feel free to point me in the right direction of a diagnosis for... whatever these symptoms are. But I have to wonder about his dissociative moments, paranoia, self-obsession and his mood swings. There is a point in the show where the Tallest hang up on Zim and the dude literally just stands there COMPLETELY STILL for over an hour until he "wakes up" and the Computer tells him how long he'd been there. Zim wasn't aware at all how much time had passed or that they had hung up. Isn't that a bit concerning? It's the most extreme example, but it's not the only time he does it! Frequent dissociation is still SOMETHING, right? I don't which dissociation disorder this could point to specifically but still.

He constantly deludes himself into believing things that blatantly and explicitly aren't true and remembers things wrong to protect his own ego (tough to say whether this is done intentionally or subconsciously as a defensive move or something). He'll even misremember minor things as soon as they happen if he doesn't like them. Zim frequently holds his identity super high and uses his name like a great mantra to the point it's a bit concerning. Not sure what this is about. Might just be quirky but...

Many episodes take steps to showcase that Zim is practically ruled by fear and paranoia. Even in the first episode, he's so scared of potentially getting caught, he nearly triggers his self-destruct button so the humans do not capture him. Jhonen, Zim's creator, has said in interviews and the show bible that despite his zaniness and ego, Zim is actually a deeply miserable anxious character underneath, and that even when he wins, he goes right back to being miserable -- while fans typically (and very understandably) take what Jhonen says with a grain of salt, he's never wavered on this and it does make sense with the way the show works. It's possible this could be heavily masked depression/anxiety or maybe part of something else.

He also has a number of symptoms that line up suspiciously well with ptsd

( Being easily startled or frightened? Check.

Always being on guard for danger? Check. Self-destructive/reckless behavior? Check.

Trouble concentrating? Check.

Irritability, angry outbursts or aggressive behavior? Check.

Negative thoughts about oneself or the world? Check. He hates basically everything external to himself, except his robots, snacks, and leaders.

Exaggerated feelings of blame directed toward oneself or others?100% he blames external factors. But check.

Ongoing negative emotions, such as fear, anger, guilt, or shame? Check.

Difficulty feeling positive emotions, such as happiness or satisfaction? Check.

It's tough to say what these symptoms could all be in response to, but imo, I think being raised from birth to be a soldier for a genocidal space empire might be a bit more traumatic on its own than Zim and even other irkens are able to be aware of. We see Zim as a small child in a flashback and he's shown to be super loving/affectionate, which is a complete 180 to how he is in the show years later, before he's immediately sent off to "report for duty" (("duty" likely being military training)). This is 100% just headcanon and speculation tho so I don't feel right checking that box.)

ahh i wrote too much. anyway he's mentally ill your honor. idk what is going on up there exactly but it's NOT exclusively autism/adhd i know that much.

#anon for real had an autism moment with this one /lh #is your blorbo neurodivergent #neurodivergent #polls #autism #adhd #audhd #anxiety #mental illness #invader zim #zim

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natalievoncatte · 1 year ago

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"In the end, you can only count on blood."

Lena stood there in Lex's stronghold, staring him down as best she could, and it was still pathetic. He wanted to tell her, to see her face crumble as he explained to her in exquisite detail how weak and pathetic she was. Good God, the woman had given herself a glow-up before confronting him. Who goes to their supervillain brother's secret base, intent on challenging him, in heels? With that shade of makeup? She was still playing the sexpot, unthinkingly using her "advantages" the way that their father had trained her to, when he'd first used her to distract a rival at the negotiating table. At the time, Lex had been disgusted, and confronted the old man privately, earning himself a few bruises.

Over a decade later, he wondered how he hadn't seen it sooner. So desperate for belonging, for approval. Beneath the power suits and fuck me pumps, she was just a little girl crying for her teddy bear, endlessly searching for someone to pat her widdle head and tell her it was okay, and she'd latched onto the Kryptonian of all people. He understood her proclivities, even if he didn't share them, or much interest in the act generally, and on an aesthetic level he knew why Lena was drawn to Kara Danvers, but how could she be so dense?

No, he had to play this properly. He'd written this little drama piece by piece, laying out the steps for her to follow, just as he'd manipulated her so many times at the chess table. All he had to do was pick up the remote on the table beside him and show her the truth, watch her crumble, and when she was reduced to rubble on the floor, rebuild her properly. She'd be his apprentice yet, be worthy. For all her faults, his half-sister was the closest thing he'd ever to know an equal, a worthy partner.

So worthy was she, in fact, that she smoothly swept back her jacket, and in a practiced motion, drew the revolver she carried in a basket-weave, FBI-cant holster on her strong side. Lex recognized it; he gave it to her. A Smith and Wesson J-Frame Ladysmith with custom ebony wood grips. The very one that Lex had gifted Lena on her twenty-first birthday, having already taught her to shoot on the grounds of the family estate.

"This is no time for theatrics, dear sister," said Lex.

Lena responded by shooting him twice, missing his heart. The pain was towering, enormous, and he was on the ground before he realized he'd fallen. Nothing had ever hurt this much.

In his usual detached way, he assessed. Gurgling when he breathed and copper on his breath: she'd hit a lung. When he pulled his hand back from one of the wounds, the blood was a rich, earthy red. Gutshot, then, too. Sadistic, if it was intentional. From the way her hand was shaking it probably wasn't.

"The world will never be safe with you in it," Lena choked out, still holding the gun in front of her as if it might shield her from what she'd done.

"Pathetic," Lex choked out. "Just as I thought." The gurgling came harder now.

He was going to die; that was inevitable. But he'd still get his licks in. They probably thought the Harun-El, or Red Daughter, or the Lexosuit were his master-stroke, but no, it was more intimate. More subtle. He willed himself to draw breath, commanded by force of will that blood keep carrying oxygen to his brain. Despite the agony ripping through him at every breath, he carried on. This made it worth it.

Oh, yes, she'd killed Lex Luthor, but he'd destroy her.

"What will you be without me? You have no one, and nothing."

She seemed confused. How had Lex ever thought that this bovine, dull creature could be worthy of ruling the world beside him? She had some low cunning and a technician's aptitude for laboratory work, but she was no peer of his.

"Go back and cry to your friends," he croaked. "All of them have been mocking you. Alex and Jimmy, your boyfriend, and that little alien runt, and her most of all. The truth was right in front of your face."

He managed to reach the remote and activate the monitors, relief flooding through him, cooling the heat of his dying. Lex slumped back, watching Lena watch her world unravel.

"They've been lying to you all this time, her most of all. Kara Danvers." He pronounced the name carefully, adding the proper Kryptonian inflection to Kara's name.

This. This was the thrust that ended the duel, the cutting stroke, the killing blow. He watched her eyes widen.

"Even your own mother has been lying to you. It's been right there the whole time."

Lena looked at him, the gun drooping in her hand. She looked at the monitor, back to him. Her expression hardened, twisting into a scowl. Perfect. She might even still be able to save him. He knew she was worthless now, of course, but she would be easily to manipulate and once she followed his instructions and healed his wounds, the guilt would take over and-

She was still looking at him. He met her gaze.

"Kara Danvers is Supergirl," Lex croaked out.

Lena's voice was heavy with sadness.

"I know."

Fuck.

Lena pulled the trigger. Lex saw a flash but heard no sound, felt no pain. It was simply over.

It was, but he wasn't.

Somehow, he did not hear, but sensed Lena leaving, not by the clack of her heels on concrete or the explosive rush of pressure as she stole his damned portal watch, but by some other means he didn't understand.

This was odd.

Lex hadn't counted on there being an afterlife. Nor had he considered that it would be so pedestrian and mundane, and that he'd end up staring down at his own body from above. The tunnel of light was probably next; going into said light was most likely, at least for Lex Luthor, an amazingly terrible idea.

This was truly strange. He supposed he should have been in shock and awed at the entire situation, but all he could really feel was a kind of confusion. Looking at his body was like walking the halls of the first boarding school he'd attended, trying to reconcile the memories of a child with the physicality and perspective of an adult who felt too large for those spaces.

In other words, had he really been that short? Had no one had the fortitude to tell him how silly that beard looked?

Lex waited, and started to wonder. Now if this was the afterlife, staring at his own corpse, that would be oddly fitting, in an ironic Greek hell sort of way. He could appreciate the poetry.

Out of of the corner of his eye -or the fringes of his bodyless, formless perception- Lex spotted movement and turned towards it instinctively. A wisp of thick vapor was snaking under the door, curling through the gap. Tendrils of the mist slithered along the floor, spreading and flowing until it surrounded the corpse, which Lex was now more comfortable thinking of as the body rather than my body.

Said mist was filling the room, rising higher and higher. Lex felt a peculiar tug, a nonphysical pull, a kind of involuntary lunge back towards his fallen body. As the mist grew heavier, it reduced the looped footage of Kara using her powers at L-Corp to a glowing blur behind the swirling fog.

Had Lena set the bunker on fire before she left? Perhaps she'd meant to giving him a Viking funeral. He rather liked that.

What he did not like was the jarring sensation of gurgling, pain swelling in his lungs in a molten wave that climbed up his throat, burning its way into a ragged, wet cough that filled his nostrils with metallic stink as surely as if he'd shoved pennies up his nose. He took another breath, or tried to.

Pain rocketed through his body. It felt as if invisible fingers were crudely ripping his wounds closed, knitting the flesh not only carelessly but with deliberate, sadistic glee. Lex cried out and tasted blood on his tongue.

There was a cold floor, hard beneath him. He blinked a few times, the world coming into blurry existence before his now-functional eyes. When he took another breath, the pain had abated, but the memory of it was a non-physical ache, a drag on his lungs nevertheless. As his eyes focused, he realized he was staring up at a new ceiling, in unknown surroundings. The arched stone above his head made him think castle. Maybe he'd been somehow carried off to a bunker in Kaznia, and was about to be interrogated.

Lex sat up.

He was in a castle, indeed. There was a thick carpet under his backside, doing little to protect him from the bitter cold of a hard stone floor. Elaborate tapestries hung on the walls, and in front of them stood heavy, solid bookcases that showed deep age in the wood and craftsmanship, the shelves packed with a vast number of volumes, all of them finely bound. Lex took a few tentative steps and looked over the spines. Most were unmarked. One had a cover of a strange, pale leather that felt loathsome to the touch.

Scanning the room, Lex decided he need to figure out where he was, who brought him here, and attempt to deduce why. It was important, even vital, to project a constant air of control, even if he had no idea what the hell was going on. He'd feel out his captor and find the best posture to start influencing them and guiding them down paths he had already calculated, towards the inevitable goal of escape, and if possible, control. Master of circumstances was Lex's central drive. He didn't play his pieces, he played his opponent; the game itself was merely an exercise in satisfying his intellectual vanity by minimizing the number of moves between opening and checkmate.

So, he assessed.

Wealth. Power. Aristocracy. Those were his first thoughts. The person who owned this place had vast resources and considered themselves vastly important, and to some degree they were right. On the wall opposite the bookcases, Lex found an assortment of arms and armor, full suits of plate on arming racks and heavy longswords and axes, all lovingly cared for.

The room was dominated by a painting. Lex paused to study it; the faded oils depicted, as through a dark glass, a striking young woman of great beauty, dressed in rich regalia. The artist had given her a lively visage, with curious, expressive eyes that were somehow full of mute appeal. She seemed familiar, though the aging of the painting made it difficult for Lex to say how.

Lex heard a scuff of leather and realized he wasn't alone.

At the far end of the room stood a tall man in rich, elaborate, and very antiquated robes and a heavy cloak. Very pale, he had an aristocratic look about him, with jet black hair worn long, swept back from a pronounced windows peak. In one hand, he delicately held a fine golden goblet, and in the other, he regarded some kind of elaborately decorated card; Lex at first thought of the tarot, but it wasn't part of the major or minor arcana, and he didn't recognize the design at all.

He turned and met Lex's gaze.

Lex flinched back and immediately loathed himself for it. He hadn't reacted like this to anyone in years, not since the first time the Kryptonian had paid him a visit. He held the stranger's gaze firmly, though it felt like nails pulled across his skin.

There was an expectant pause. Lex remained still, schooling his features.

"You are Alexander Luthor," the stranger said, gently placing his cup on the broad desk in front of him, settling in a rare open space amongst books and papers.

"My friends call me Lex."

He looked up, considering Lex briefly.

"I have brought you here, and raised you from death at great expense, for a singular purpose, Master Luthor."

Lex spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"What purpose is that?"

"You will tell me everything you know about this woman."

He held something out, clearly expecting Lex to cross the room and accept it. Lex briefly weighed which option was best- to appear obedient and begin his manipulations that way, or force the other man to move from his position of presumed authority and reframe the conversation between them as an exchange between equals.

The moment stretched too long. The stranger's expression darkened slightly. Lex crossed the gap and accepted what turned out to be an eight by ten photograph. He looked at the familiar face.

"Her name is Kara Danvers," said Lex. The photo was her headshot from the CatCo Media website.

God, had no one ever put a picture of Supergirl in Google and done a reverse image search? It was so obvious. She was even more careless than Kent!

"This I know," the man said, taking the picture back. He studied it, lovingly dragging one finger down the edge.

"You seem rather taken with her," said Lex.

The stranger looked up, and carefully slipped the photograph between the pages of one of his books.

"She is important to my plans. I must bring her here, safely and securely, to my home."

Lex couldn't help it, he really couldn't. He barked out a laugh.

"Do you have any idea what you're dealing with? Kara Danvers is Supergirl."

The stranger's eyes flashed with fury, and for a moment, there was something absolutely bestial in his face, his features flowing and changing, twisting into something monstrous and carnivorous.

"It is you who have no idea what you are dealing with, little man," he said.

This wasn't going well.

"I'd be glad to help you, if you help me. I'm sure we can work out a-"

The man moved as fast as a damned Super. He blurred around the desk, suddenly just there, and whipped his hand across Lex's throat. At first, he thought he'd been slapped, but the pain was too sharp, too vital. A hot gush followed it, and Lex realized he was about to die. Again. His throat had been cut.

His knees hit the stone floor and he clutched at his neck, desperate to staunch the flow, but it sluiced between his fingers and spattered on the floor.

The stranger murmured a word, and the air itself seemed to twist around him, bent and mangled by the sound he made as a faint light twisted around his fingers as he bent and curled them in impossible configurations.

The pain of the wound closing was worse than its making; that had been quick, the edge sharp. This felt like someone was grasping Lex's parted flesh with greasy fingers and reshaping it like so much clay.

The stranger looked at the blood splattered on his fingers and hand.

"It is unfortunate that the offal that pollutes your veins is too poor a vintage, Luthor. I would not soil my tongue with it, but perhaps there are others that might be sated by lesser stock."

A hand closed around his neck, and Lex was hauled up, his toes kicking six inches above the floor.

"I could crush you like an insect, remake you, and crush you again," he said, with a strange, mirthless joy in his voice. "You think yourself your world's smartest man. Next to me, you are nothing. Your world is nothing. I have ruled this land for a thousand years. I am beyond your comprehension."

He let go, and Lex fell, rolling with the impact, lucky not to pop something in his knee. He fell onto his side, gasping and struggling to breathe, unsure he still could.

"You will do as you are commanded. You will tell me everything you know of this woman, and hold nothing back. Her origins, her ways, her home, her family, everything you know, and if I am satisfied that you have been suitably forthcoming, I shall reward you by allowing you to live and serve me."

"Who are you?" Lex choked out.

The stranger stared down at him, smiling for the first time, a cold smile without a hint of anything human in it.

"I am the Ancient. I am the Land. I am Strahd."

#supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp fanfic #supercorp #curse of strahd #crossover au #muahahahahahahahahahaha #welcome to ravenloft miss danvers

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iydiamartinx · 5 months ago

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FLAMES OF STARLIGHT

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝘅 | 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

Pairing: Poly!Azriel x OC x Lucien

❝ 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.

𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺. ❞

— 𝐜. 𝐬. 𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐬

NOTHING REALLY CHANGED after Feyre's departure. Val ended up rejoining Hilda after another week of staying in her family's manor. If she thought she was different before she even first left their home, her time with the mercenary had only alienated her from the high society more.

Those people lived in gilded cages of beauty, rules, and expectations. Val had broken out of that cage when they lost everything. She suffered during her time in poverty, but she gained something that she would never give up, her freedom. To survive, she became a wolf, wild and free, and she wasn't about to willingly lock herself in a cage to appease some birds.

Only a week with her family and she had already been expected to find a man. It didn't matter if she wasn't ready to marry, what mattered was that she was of age, and it was what was required of her. Even her father, despite knowing exactly why she refused, was inclined to agree, so before that could happen, she once again left.

It wasn't hard to track down Hilda now that she knew the mercenary's routes, and while the older woman would never admit it, she'd grown fond of the fierce younger girl. Valda had kept to her word, and never once did she complain. No matter how hard Hilda pushed her, she always got back up, and that earned her the mercenary's respect.

Val had learned many things during time with her gruff travel partner, one of which was Hilda's fondness for taverns and ale.

Once upon a time, Val would've had the time of her life in a place like this. She would've been atop the tables singing and dancing to drinking songs, but that was another life. She wasn't that person anymore.

Instead, she sat quietly next to Hilda, nursing a single mug of ale as she watched as the drunken patrons stumbled in and out of the establishment, laughing jovially with others. At the same time, courtiers prowled around the room, looking to make some coin off of the drunken men.

"Lighten up, girl!" Hilda laughed. Her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol she drank and all the laughing she'd done as she talked with a few other mercenaries she knew.

Val merely just smiled, taking another sip of her ale before standing up. "I'll be right back."

Hilda waved her off distractedly, barely noticing as Val silently slipped away.

She began making her way back to the inn she and Hilda had been staying in for the night when she heard a smack and high-pitched nicker of pain.

Val paused.

She could feel her heart speeding up as she debated whether or not she should follow the noise, but when she heard another pained whine, her decision was already made and what she found had her seeing red.

A burly, unkempt man was whipping probably the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. Even in the dim lighting, she could see the blood reflected on the dark horse's flank. What this man was doing was barbaric.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she was storming over. Burning hot fury rushed through her veins, which was soon iced over with something much colder and darker. "Hey!" She barked.

"What ye want, girl?" The man slurred. His glazed eyes trailed over her form appreciatively.

Val fought back the bile that rose in her throat as she curled her lip in disgust, "Leave that poor horse alone."

He let out a barking laugh, taking a stumbling step closer to Val. "Do ye know who I am, girly? I was a knight for the queen, and this beast made me lose everything!"

"The keyword being 'was.' You were a knight, and now you're nothing but a drunken fool," Val scoffed.

"Why you lit—"

Val stepped back before he could slap her, yet it also gave her an idea. Albeit a very foolish and idiotic idea that could potentially end up with her dead, but it was an idea nonetheless.

"I'll fight you for the horse," She blurted out, "If I win, I keep the horse. If I lose—"

"—Then I get your pretty body for the night," He grinned, revealing a row of yellowed rotting teeth.

More disgust rolled through her, and as disgusted as she was, she nodded. "Deal," She breathed. She wasn't just fighting for the horse now. She was fighting for herself.

Moving surprisingly fast for a drunken man, he caught Val off guard as he landed a heavy punch right to her stomach. The air left her lungs, and she wheezed for a breath, barely dodging the second punch he sent her way.

The man let out a low chuckle, sadistic amusement shining in his eyes. He was getting off on the pain he caused. As he lunged at her again, Val once again clumsily dodged back. She knew she couldn't avoid him forever. She had to figure out a way to end it.

Val surprised him when she ducked under his incoming punch before throwing out her own counter one. Pain burst through her knuckles as she connected with his cheekbone. She left him a bright red spot that would undoubtedly bruise by morning, but the hit barely phased him. Even drunk, it was clear that this man was an experienced fighter.

A dark chuckle escaped his lips. Her defiance didn't even deter him; in fact, it encouraged him to prowl closer.

Val tried to throw another punch, but to her horror, he caught her fist. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he squeezed. Her bones ground against each other painfully, and she was so focused on that, she didn't see as his other hand swung out and backhanded her.

The force of the hit was so strong it sent Val sprawling to the ground, spitting out a glob of blood and saliva.

"Ask me nicely, and I might just be gentle," He smirked as he reached down to pull her up by her hair. Much to her disgust she could see a bulge beginning to form through his stained trousers.

Val glared up at him defiantly, and she hissed, "Fuck you!"

He just chuckled, "I was hoping ye would say that. I like 'em feisty, and I'm gonna look forward to breaking ye."

He shoved Val's face back in the mud. She groaned as her head hit the ground hard. Panic began to deepen as she heard the rustling of clothes. She couldn't see what was going on, but suddenly there was a loud neigh, and the man let out a scream as he stumbled back.

"You stupid beast!" He snarled.

Copper and dirt were all she could taste. Pain radiated through her body, but she gritted her teeth as she forced herself to stand up and fight. A pained nicker came from the horse as the man's attention was focused on it instead of her.

Val knew she wouldn't—couldn't beat him in a fair fight. One of Hilda's very first lessons came back to her, 'Fuck honor. It doesn't exist. Honor is what will get you killed. When you fight, you fight to survive, which means doing whatever it takes.'

Val couldn't give a rat's ass about playing fair because Hilda was right. Playing fair would be what would give her a fate worse than death. She scanned her surroundings, looking for anything that might give her an advantage and a slight glint in the light caught her light.

Slyly, Val inched her way over and grasped the bottle of rum that was thrown carelessly to the ground. She guessed it belonged to the man, but she honestly didn't care enough to dwell on that fact.

He was so distracted by hurling abuse and obscenities at the stallion that he didn't notice Val sneaking up behind him. As hard as she could, she swung the bottle, and it connected with the side of his head, shattering.

His whole body stilled for a second before he dropped to the ground, out cold.

"I win," She spat, wiping away the blood from her mouth before staggering to the frightened and angered horse.

The second she got too close, he let out a warning knicker, stamping his feet. Val instantly stopped. She eyed him warily but fearlessly. She kept her movements slow as she once again began stepping forward.

"I won't hurt you," She cooed.

Her hand reached out, and at first, the horse flinched. Throwing his head away with a slight chuff. Val stopped and gently shushed him, and she only moved when he calmed. Slowly but surely, he began to settle and eventually let Val lightly stroke his neck.

"No one will ever hurt you again, but we need to leave before the man wakes up."

Intelligence shone in the stallion's eyes, and while he eyed her with distrust, he seemed to understand what she was saying because when she reached out to grab the rope, he surprisingly let her lead him away.

The inn she and Hilda were staying in for the night had a stable for the horses of their guests, so that was where Val took him. She tried to check on his wounds, but he snapped his teeth at her, and Val sighed before putting him into the stable beside her current mare. She would need Hilda's help to treat his wounds, and while she didn't like it, she would have to wait until tomorrow when Hilda would be sober.

There was already food and water set up for the horses, so she didn't have to worry about that; he could eat and drink as he pleased. Val, on the other hand, trudged back to her room, knowing she would feel even worse in the morning.

She was right.

When she shuffled down to meet Hilda for breakfast the next day, the Mercenary took one look at her and raised an eyebrow when she took in Val's bruised-up state.

"What in the hell happened to you?"

Val just let out a groan as she took a seat and reached for a stale bread roll. She took a bite before launching into what had happened.

"So you're telling me you fought a man, nearly to the death...for a horse?!" Hilda blinked, incredulity filling her gaze.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Val nodded, wincing at the action when a sharp pain shot through her head.

"Just how drunk were you, girl?"

Hilda, after breakfast, had thankfully agreed to help the stallion Val had rescued, but he certainly didn't make it easy.

He was aggressive and distrustful. He allowed Val to come close and pet him, but the second Hilda or either of them got close to his wounded flank, he would try and bite them.

After nearly an hour of trying, the two of them managed to get a bridle around his head and secure him enough that he couldn't bite or rear up and kick them.

It was only then that Hilda was able to begin tending to his wounds. The second she saw them, Hilda's face had darkened with anger.

She placed a hand on Val's shoulder, "You did good, girl. If I ever see that piece of shite, I'll kill him myself." She slightly squeezed Val's shoulder, causing her to wince. "You still have a long way to go. You have the spirit, but now we've got to work on building some more muscle to toughen you up."

Hilda let go of Val and grabbed a clean washcloth to wipe away the blood while Val moved to the stallion's front to stroke his neck, murmuring reassuring words to him every time he shifted uncomfortably.

"You going to keep him?" Hilda questioned after eyeing Val for a few moments.

She shrugged, "I'm not sure. He doesn't deserve to be caged."

Oddly, Val related to the horse a bit. She felt an instant kinship with him.

"No, he doesn't. He's been through enough," Hilda agreed. "But if you let him go, there's no guarantee that he'll survive. He's spirited, but he's not wild."

Val looked back to the horse and found that his dark eyes were already watching her.

Hilda could see the decision already made up on Val's face. "He'll need a name."

She tilted her head. "What should I call you?" She mused, "Alastor?"

Almost as if he understood her, he let out a displeased huff.

"No...okay, how about Nycteus?" If it was possible, it looked like his dark eyes glared at her. So, he didn't like that either.

Val sighed as doubts began to creep in. Maybe, she shouldn't keep him. Who's to say he would even warm up to her enough that he would let him ride her? He had been abused, and he was traumatized, yet there was no denying the fact that meeting him almost felt like destiny.

Val paused. Destiny...

"Destan," She said. He leaned into her touch, and Val went back to stroking him. "His name is Destan."

8 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓….

After the lasttime she was here, Feyre wasn't sure if she would ever be back. Yet, now here she was, once again sitting across from her sisters in her family's manor. The very same one Tamlin had gifted them. Tamlin.

Many things had changed since then, one of them being that she no longer knew what to think about the High Lord of the Spring, her once betrothed. Another was that the last time she had seen her sisters, she'd been a fragile mortal. Now, she was much more. She felt as if her unsuspecting sisters had just let a predator into her home. Powerful and untamed, that was what she was.

Feyre studied her two sisters. Elain looked lovely as ever, and then there was Nesta. She looked older, not in her face, which was as cold and stunning as before, but in her eyes. She held the same look Val had when Feyre had seen her last.

Thinking of Val, Feyre's eyes did a quick scan of the room, but she already knew the one sister she desired most to speak with wasn't here.

"Where is Val?" Feyre questioned, breaking the tense silence that had encompassed the room.

At the moment, it felt like the only safe thing to say, yet clearly, it was the wrong thing, as Nesta's lips thinned and her face hardened in displeasure. There was also a flash of anger that went through her cold blue eyes, so quick Feyre almost believed she had just imagined it.

Elain, while she didn't look as upset as Nesta did. She looked extremely uncomfortable, wringing her hands together and altogether avoiding eye contact. Just what had happened between her sisters? And why wasn't Val around?

"She's out," That was all Nesta said, and she left no more room to question that topic any further.

Feyre swallowed uncomfortably. The hope of addressing what she wanted to talk about to Val all but dissipated. The chances of convincing Nesta into helping were slim, and while there was slight hope for Elain into maybe being swayed to her side, the chances were greater that she'd side with Nesta. She usually did.

"And father?"

"In Neva," Nesta answered, naming one of the largest cities on the continent. "Trading with some merchants from the other half of the world. And attending a summit about the threat above the wall. A threat I wonder if you've come back to warn us about."

Elain lifted her teacup. "Whatever the reason, Feyre, we are happy to see you. Alive. We thought you were—"

Before Elain could go on, Feyre pulled her hood back. There was no easy way to say it, and she just wanted to get the first step over with.

All that was heard was Elain's teacup rattling in its saucer as she saw the undeniable fae-ish features that Feyre now possessed.

The room fell into a tense, eerie silence. Nesta and Elain could only stare at Feyre in barely concealed horror, or was that fear? Feyre couldn't tell.

"I was dead," She explained hoarsely. "I was dead, and then I was reborn—remade."

Elain's hands shook violently as she set her teacup down on the table. Amber liquid splashed over the side, pooling in the saucer. At her movement, Nesta shifted, angling herself—ever so slightly, so she was between Elain and Feyre.

Feyre's eyes looked into Nesta's pleadingly, "I need you to listen."

And they did, reluctantly.

Feyre told them everything, from the trials she faced Under The Mountain. Amarantha. Her death and transformed rebirth. She told them all she could bear before finally explaining what she needed from them and the house. She gave them only a general idea of what was to be done, afraid that if she gave them anymore, the slight chance of convincing them to help would completely be lost.

After Feyre was finished talking, the three of them fell into another silence. Both Nesta and Elain could only look at Feyre with wide, stunned eyes.

Finally, it was Elain who spoke, "You—you want other High Fae to come...here. And the Queens of the Realm."

Feyre slowly nodded.

"Find somewhere else," Was all Nesta said. Her tone curt and dismissive.

Feyre sighed, preparing for the oncoming argument. She tried to plead, to beg Nesta to see her side of things, but her elder sister remained firm. If Val were here, she could've convinced Nesta, but alas, she wasn't, and the best she had gotten was swaying Elain enough that she managed to persuade Nesta to at least consider it by meeting up with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel.

Nesta wasn't happy, but she grudgingly agreed to meet with them. Elain gave Feyre a small hesitant smile before getting up to send the servants away.

Feyre sighed in relief; hope wasn't lost. She still had a chance to convince her sisters to help. If only Val were here.

Hours later, between Elain's charm and some bribing, the servants had left the house. The sisters moved to the dining room, the most spacious area in the home.

Rhys's brows lifted as he entered, scanning the silent house. "You'd think they'd been told plague had befallen the house."

Feyre let the other two in before shutting the door against the bitter cold. "My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles."

Cassian let out a low whistle as he turned in place, taking in the grand entry hall.

"Your father must be a fine merchant," Cassian said. "I've seen castles with less wealth."

She swallowed thickly. Tamlin had been the one to gift her family this house and wealth.

Feyre saw Rhys studying her, a silent question written across his face. "My father is away on business—and attending a meeting in Neva about the threat of Prythian," She explained.

"Prythian?" Cassian questioned, twisting to face Feyre and Rhys. "Not Hybern?"

"It's possible my sisters were mistaken—your lands are foreign to them. They merely said 'above the wall.' I assumed they thought it was Prythian." Feyre shrugged.

Azriel walked forward, his steps as silent as a panther. "If humans are aware of the threat, rallying against it, then that might give us an advantage when contacting the queens."

"I thought you had three sisters. Where is the third?" Rhys questioned, having noticed from the shadows of where he, Cassian, and Azriel had been hiding that there were only three Archeron sisters, including Feyre.

Feyre's eyebrows furrowed, and she shook her head. Frustration and worry evident on her face. "I don't know, Nesta won't say, and Elain refuses to even look at me when I mention her."

Sensing the distress, Rhys offered Feyre a subtle yet understanding nod as he monitored for her to lead the way, "I'm sure she's alright. Come, let's make this introduction."

The introductions went as well as expected. Yet, everything after that only seemed to go downhill.

Nesta listened to Feyre explaining what they needed. This time in even more detail, but even after all of that, Nesta remained firm in her decision. She had already lost two sisters. She wasn't going to lose Elain as well.

"No, find somewhere else," She glared. The presence of the other Fae males made her even more hostile and on edge.

Indecision warred across Elain's face as she looked between her two sisters, "Nesta, perhaps—"

"They shouldn't be here!" Nesta snarled. Her hands twitched as if she was going to bang them on the table, but she just curled them into fists. "You've already put us in danger by showing up and all of you need to leave! You are not welcome!"

Feyre flinched at the anger in Nesta's eyes and had to resist curling into herself at Nesta's words, each of them hitting their marks like an arrow. Nesta wouldn't be budged, not even by Elain's words.

"Ignore her..." A new voice drawled out.

Nesta went utterly still, her whole expression shuttering. If Feyre had been standing, her knees would've buckled from the sheer relief she felt surge through her as she heard that familiar voice.

Feyre's head whipped towards the entrance so fast that she felt a brief pinch in her neck, but she ignored it as her eyes landed on the figure leaning against the door jamb, one foot crossed over the other.

"...You and your friends are always welcome, my darling sister."

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