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hanalwayssolo · 1 year

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i’ve allowed these random hfw headcanon things to gnaw and nibble away at my hyperfixating brain like a bunch of starving squirrels and god (by the forge! by the sun! by the ten!) i might as well write it down before i go insane during this long holiday weekend:

erend, in his thorough research of the ancient ones’ history with music, begins to use phrases like, “this beat is sick,” “this bop slaps!” or “this is a banger!” to describe the songs he thought are good. which are mostly heavy metal. in his defense, the only reason why the genre appealed to him was because it’s “the oseram blood” in him. (“it’s metal??? get it??? by the forge my people would love this!!”)

varl, to keep erend from blasting his questionable music taste in the base, often hijacks his focus with classical music he discovered along with zo and alva. mostly, varl plays vivaldi’s winter. erend was pissed at first but after being forced to listen to it on repeat, it’s actually… not that bad. in fact, his words were: “the beat drop in the middle? a solid 10/10.”

kotallo asking aloy about seashells has been a thing, but honestly, this was not at all a random question, nor did it come from nowhere. truth is, when he was a kid, he often traveled with his parents to the long coast, where he would watch the sea’s ebbs and flows, would listen as the water foams and makes a rustling sound as it meets the shore. he found it so mesmerising, somewhat resenting that he was not born in tide’s reach. now, after watching all the data that aloy has gathered in her travels and having learned that this strange object called a seashell carried the sound of the ocean in its body, he remembers a time when he told his mother how he wanted to “keep the music of the crashing waves in his pocket” so he can continue listening to it even from the bulwark. she only smiled at him and gave him a hug so warm his mother could have been the sun itself. anyway. this seashell seems like lovely thing to have, not just to have the ocean at his fingertips, but perhaps something to remember his mother by.

alva learns this thing called scrabble from the archives, a game played by the old ones to enhance their knowledge of the glyphs. (their word for it was vocabulary. or something to that effect.) she explains the mechanics to the rest of the gang, says that it’s similar to machine strike given how it’s played on a wooden board, but instead of machine pieces, it’s glyphs on a wooden tile. this discussion with the gang happens to coax beta out of the basement.

beta, of course, knows a thing or two about scrabble through the apollo training interface. she’s been so keen to try it out except she didn’t have anyone to play it with when she was still with the zeniths. here in the base, she offers to help in making the board, which more or less astounds everybody considering how… well… she’s been keeping mostly to herself, an isolation / kind of introversion worse than kotallo’s. this makes erend and varl immediately volunteer in carving the board. even kotallo promises he would find the best pigment to paint the glyphs on the tiles. zo and alva exchange a look that’s like, “did we just witness a nora, an oseram, and a tenakth agree on… collaborating?? for a board game??”

zo discovers the recipe for this thing called coffee and chocolate frosting, which she has heard kotallo mentioned during one of his machine strike sessions with erend. (“an oseram forging an unlikely friendship with a tenakth marshal? can you believe??” erend exclaims proudly one night, sharing his piss-poor ale with kotallo.) she lets erend, varl, and of course, kotallo, taste-test for her. the results yielded positive, if not close to catastrophic results. positive because they all seemed to thoroughly enjoy the coffee and the chocolate, but by catastrophic results, she supposes that maybe she added too much sugar and cacao beans? because somehow, the guys kind of… went berserk. they were so awake and alive and burning with a rush of energy that the trio decided to go out to train and hunt that by the time they came back, varl left a trail of dead burrowers outside the base. erend managed to collect a dozen of apex bristleback hearts. and kotallo… returned with a carcass of a stormbird and a massive boulder from the bulwark. zo will have a lot to explain to aloy about this.

aside from varl, the other person who enjoys talking to beta is actually alva. alva is very much fascinated with how beta knows a lot of things!! they spend evenings reading through the archives and talking to gaia, with beta often correcting alva’s quen version of things. of course, alva understands how beta might somehow come off as blunt and rude; after finding out how beta has been treated by the zeniths, alva would raise hell over these immortal jackasses if she could.

zo religiously tends to her garden outside the base by the cliffside facing plainsong, but every now and then, she’d notice how the plants are freshly watered just before she can get to the task herself, or how there’s often an unfamiliar addition to her pot of flowers. she doesn’t mind this at all; frankly, she appreciates it. she assumes varl might be behind this as he’s the only one who lends her a hand to keep their little lush space alive and to bring in more plants for the base—until gaia points out a fun fact in their passing conversation that the new flowers blooming in her garden are only native to tenakth soil. specifically, it only grows in the sheerside mountains. well. with that in mind, it doesn’t take long for zo to put two and two together. besides, it really doesn’t take a genius to figure out the identity of this secret gardener.

so yeah, sure. sure. kotallo takes care of the cliffside garden in secret. i mean, why wouldn’t he? it’s on the way to the sunwing site where he often trains, and erend usually forgets to water the plants, anyway. and about the flowers... he wanted to bring something that reminds him of home and to honour the friends he lost. truth is, this was all gaia’s idea. ever since he told gaia about how he lost his arm and what happened in the embassy, she mentioned that one of the many things the old ones did to cope with the kind of thing he’s been through is to make a garden. (and by ‘that kind of thing’, the words that gaia used specifically were trauma and grief. he knows she means well but this didn’t make sense to him—he’s pretty sure he’s neither traumatised nor grieving. of course not. he’s fine. he’s absolutely, totally fine.)

(of course he’s NOT fine but by the fucking ten why would he dare to admit that out loud? and what is he if not in denial? yes, he felt this when he lost his parents—but how come this is different? how come this feels a lot heavier than when he was a kid? does grief change its form the older you get? what if he’s struggling to process these big and complex feelings because he grew up being taught how to fight and not to sit with grief? to only bury the dead and to keep moving forward? besides, who has time to grieve and to wallow on losses when his tribe is at the brink of another civil war? this has always been the tenakth way: to keep a stiff upper lip, to never let sentiment get in the way of duty. to mourn is as unnatural as a dreadwing being docile. so how, pray tell, could he ever let himself have a say when he’s hasn’t been taught to do so?)

so instead, kotallo learns how to plant flowers to make room for grief. he makes space for another when they lose varl in gemini. he realises later on that he might have been unkind to erend, how easily he let go of the words “we can’t sit around wallowing in our losses” as if varl was a thing and not a friend, because truthfully, he was coming from a place of fear for his tribe, which, in turn, diminished the way erend was dealing with this loss, who’s taking this harder than the rest of them. of course varl and erend go a long way back. this time, kotallo is the outsider to their friendship. and kotallo of all people should know what that kind of pain feels like. he lost an arm, yes, but to lose your friends, to be the only one to survive… isn’t the grief from all of that a kind of maiming, too?

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defiant-ex-soldiers · 8 months

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Headcanon: Music Taste

((Usually, when I do Headcanons like this, I think songs that remind me of the muse rather than what they would actually listen to, but Mateo actually has the same taste in music (Alternative) as me this time, so this is the kind of music he listens to (Without the influence of his friends getting him into other genres. Poe likes songs about Revolution though so he probably influenced some of them.)

Mateo, like me, likes songs that can make him feel like he can do anything.

In My Bones- City Wolf

Feel the fire and see the smoke Like a hurricane when the thunder rolls I thought by now that you ought to know I've got a renegade soul That you can't control And I'm on a roll So don't try to hold me no Don't you know There's a lot of fight in my bones

((As soon as I heard this song, I knew it was practically Mateo's theme song. City Wolf in general fits a lot of Mateo's rebellious themes. Even if he doesn't fit the "Ex-SOLDIERs" part of this blog, he's still Defiant.))

Uproar- City Wolf

Feel the wave come over us Like rising from the dust Phoenix out of the ash Here we come at last We're an ember from a fire Like the echo of a choir Cause flames they never die no Like a lightning crash We're the rage of the storm We're the ebb and the flow We're wind when it blows Can you hear the uproar? So let's settle the score You can't stop the takeover We're ready for war This is an uproar

((Speaking of City Wolf being perfect for him, I just love this song for him. It's pretty much what spawned the Civil War AU in my head (which I have yet to really talk about on here) where Mateo and a lot of the other Infantrymen try to overthrow ShinRa. I have a few Hero Forge Refs for that verse if anyone ever wants to see them (I had one with just Mateo that I added Oliver to as well.) ))

All Eyes On You- Smash Into Pieces

The whole world's watching every move Take your shot, don't act a fool All you've got and all you'll ever need Is one bullet in the chamber Breathe easy, take your aim, boy Ain't nobody gonna save you So what you gonna do? All eyes on you Now the whole world's watching every move Still your heart so much to prove Fight for all the things that you believe in Now the whole world's watching every move Take your shot, don't act a fool All you've got and all you'll ever need Is one bullet in the chamber

((This is the first song I ever related to Mateo! I think it says a lot about him and his job as an Infantryman.))

Marching On- City Wolf

Left right left and step by step We're moving 'till the dawn, yeah We'll keep marching on We're gonna keep on We're gonna keep on We'll keep marching on Take steps and keep moving forward Gotta push and blow the doors open The future's ours we see it we know it You can't stop the revolution is growing yeah Ahead never back The movement's here We're staking our claim The picture's clear This is our anthem This is our song March on

((Another general Infantry song, but with a hint of revolution, which still fits Mateo. Also, City Wolf.))

Way Down We Go- KALEO

You let your feet run wild Time has come as we all, oh, go down Yeah but for the fall, ooh, my Do you dare to look him right in the eyes? Yeah Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall And they will run you down, down 'til you go Yeah, so you can't crawl no more

((This one is just a classic when it comes to songs about Revolution. Simple as that.))

Run Like A Rebel- The Score

There's a million faces Told to get in line Spend their lives in cages Until the day they die But I'm not a number I can't be defined Yeah, I feel the hunger I think that it's time That I run like a rebel Run like a rebel, run like a rebel, run like the rebel Shake off the devil, shake off the devil Run like a rebel, run like a rebel

(("I'm not a number, I can't be defined" Really screams Mateo to me, as well as that first verse up there.))

Good To Be Alive- The Score

It's a long, dark road, tryna make it on your own And there's snakes everywhere you go No more living in the past 'cause that was last season my vision's looking crystal clear (Oh) no fear, no fear (Oh) bless my soul, I'm standing here Made it out from the bottom and I came out the other side Damn, it feels good to be alive whoa (Whoa) it feels good to be alive (Whoa) whoa (Whoa) it feels good to be alive

((Just, a good song for post Meteorfall Mateo, I think.))

We Shall Overcome- All Good Things

We shall overcome We shall not be silent We will rise as one You can not deny us Won't be broken by the fever We'll get stronger, not get weaker Now not dead, not done We shall, we shall overcome Don't lay back down The fight is on We must be strong And fly our flags Of victory into the sky Above the smoke and the fires We will rise, oh

((Just another really good group Infantryman song about how tightly knit Mateo and his Infantry friends are because nobody else is going to really care about them, so they'll care about each other.))

Revolution- Royal Deluxe

Get loud, let's start a revolution Stand up all together now Get loud, one voice, one truth, one sound Nobody gonna turn us down Can't stay quiet no more Let's break down the walls with a roar Get loud, let's start a revolution Stand up all together now Get loud Let's make a scene, make history, here we go Up on your feet, rise up and scream, let 'em all know We're gonna let 'em all know We ain't gonna run, we ain't gonna hide Try to take us down, still we're gonna rise, every time, oh We got the, we got the power We got the, we got the power

((Another Civil War AU song. I tend to associate a lot of songs with themes of Revolution with Mateo XD ))

Revolution- The Score

Wide awake, the fever burns Sweat it out, wait my turn Can you hear the drumming? There's a revolution coming All this doubt is creepin' in Inside out, I shed my skin Can you hear the drumming? There's a revolution coming I been waitin' all my life To live, when I've only been dreaming Get love when I've only been stealing Can't let time keep passing me by Run down what I've always been chasing Black out every fear I've been facing

((Another revolution song, how predictable XD This one was actually what got me started on the whole band long long before Mateo even existed. It really fits him.))

#(headcanon)#(Mateo)

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goodshipsmulder · 1 year

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The Tide

Post episode fic for Home Again. Mulder's silence at the end scene bugged me so I made a headcanon out of it, as always ;) My first ever fanfic by the way, I shall try and tag correctly. ****

‘Of course we didn’t treat William like trash. Anything but. We did everything we could to protect him.’ I want to say this to her out loud but as with almost everything I’ve wanted to say to her today, the words get stuck in my throat, so all I can do is squeeze her shoulder as she leans into me and hope she knows.

I didn’t go to the funeral, and one week on I still feel like trash myself for not being there for her despite that being at Scully’s request. When we’d discussed it, she was worried I’d get into a fight with Bill again and I had to grudgingly admit, based off of the last time he and I tried to attend the same Scully family get together, that this was for the best. So we’d agreed I’d pick her up after the wake and the two of us would go down to the coast, to a favorite spot of her parents’, and sprinkle some of Margaret’s ashes into the sea there. Bill doesn’t like the sentiment of spreading ashes, claiming the spirit is more important than the body or something, and Charlie as usual couldn’t stick around.

She feels soft and light as she leans into me, and I can’t help but enjoy how tactile she’s been since her mom’s last days in the hospital. Trying not to enjoy her touch *too* much, I keep my gaze on the shoreline in the middle distance.

Ever since we started back on the X Files, I’ve felt this gradual shift as if we’re getting back to how things used to be between us. It hasn’t been a linear, progressive change – things never have been that way for us. No, more like the tide of the sea, slowly edging inwards, the waves crashing forward then drawing back across the sand, imperceptibly moving in. A look here, a touch there, then we back off into the realms of cordiality and professionalism. Back and forth, ebb and flow. Sometimes I feel that she’s close to coming home to me for good, other times I feel like we’re back to square one like when she was first assigned to work with me and we were still learning to trust each other. I hope it doesn’t take another 7 years for her to let me in again…but I can wait.

The breeze lifts a lock of her hair and it brushes against my cheek. Although I still hate fire, I have always loved how her hair looks like a burning beacon of light. Here in the dwindling light and starkness of the beach, it seems to glow even more in contrast. If our relationship is the tide of the sea, Scully herself is a lighthouse. She’s been there to guide me to safer waters so many times and I know she needs the same from me today.

I’m silently reflecting on the metaphor and whether I can extend it any further without it becoming cloying - considering whether she views me as a riptide, pulling her out into danger, or more as a weighty anchor, dragging her downward with me whenever my depression hit - when suddenly she says my name.

“I think I’m ready now,” she says, pulling away from me and picking up the urn containing her mother’s ashes. I rise, trying not to wince at the stiffness in my knees, and help her to stand. Her smart black heels aren’t really suited to the sand, so I have an excuse to offer her my arm to help steady her, and she takes it without hesitation. We make our way down the beach toward the old wooden jetty, up onto the creaking weathered boards and slowly out towards the edge where the water is surprisingly deep and laps gently against the beams beneath.

She’s clutching the urn to her chest and I can see she’s starting to tremble as she struggles with the clasp, so I lay my hand over hers and murmur “We can do this another time if you want…”

“No, no I want to do this today…I need to. It’s what she wanted.”

That’s her ‘I need to work now’ tone so I take my hand away and let her continue. She tips a small pool of ash onto the palm of her hand and tremulously holds it out over the water. I know she’s already given enough speeches at the funeral and the wake, and her voice is already breaking so I’m not surprised when she keeps it brief:

“Mom, here you go, back to Ahab like you wanted. Wherever you are now, there will always be a part of you in the sea, just like dad. And there will always be a part of you with me, too. Love you.”

She turns her hand and lets the ashes sprinkle down into the water, the sea foam gently swirling around them until they sink down away from view.

I’m still gazing at the water when I realise she’s holding out the urn to me. “I’d like you to do this too, Mulder,”

I nod and accept the small heap of ashes she pours into my palm. I hold my hand out over the water and pause. I kinda knew she’d want me to say a few words and I’d been unsure what to say, but I decided to freestyle it, true Mulder fashion.

“Margaret…I know after my mother died you always said I could call you Mom and I never did. I always wanted you to know that it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, just that you always felt like so much more to me than that word had ever meant to me…you showed me so much love and acceptance. Thank you. And thank you for raising Dana into the wonderful, feisty, beautiful person she is today…” I can feel Scully reaching out to touch my arm and I start to falter again. Never one for too much schmaltz, I try for a bit of levity, “and thanks for all that delicious food you made for me, especially your Irish Stew, and for making sure I ate a vegetable now and then. I’ll try and keep that up.” I smile to myself and tip the ashes into the water, somewhat less gracefully than Scully had.

We stand there quietly for a while, then Scully says in barely more than a whisper “When did mom cook for you?”

Shit. I forgot she didn’t know.

“Oh…yeah that was after…after you moved out. She came over one day out of the blue, said you hadn’t mentioned seeing me in a while and she was getting worried about me. She noticed I was looking a little rough and I think she clocked the takeout containers in the kitchen. She came over again the next day with a big bag full of Tupperware homemade frozen dinners and a freshly baked lasagne. And then she came back a week later with more, to make sure I’d eaten.”

Scully lets out a tiny broken chuckle “That is so typically Mom,”

“Yeah, it happened a couple of times, actually. Just whilst you were…” I cut myself off, chiding myself for mentioning the breakup. “She was a very giving person, your mom.”

She reaches out and cups my cheek with her hand, her bottom lip quivering.

“I’m sorry I abandoned you like that, Fox. I should have checked in on you more,”

“It’s OK,” I shrug off the repeated use of my first name. “I was a difficult person to be around back then,”

“So was I…”

I scoff at the notion quietly, shaking my head. She pulls me in for a hug and I breathe her in, her perfume mingling with the faint smell of whiskey on her breath from the bottle she’d shared with her brothers that morning.

The breeze starts to pick up and I feel her shiver.

“It’s getting late. Want me to drive you back to your apartment now?”

She starts to say yes then changes her mind. “Actually…let’s go back to the house together. If we stop by the market on the way I can grab a few things…maybe make you some of Mom’s stew? I’m pretty sure I remember the recipe,”

I’ve gotten better at meal planning lately, and she’ll probably be pleasantly surprised by the current contents of my fridge, but I can’t remember the last time we sat down for a home cooked meal together and can’t help but feel a flush of excitement at the thought of her coming home, if only for a few hours.

“Sounds good,” I say, turning to look back to the shore.

“I think the tide’s coming in…”

I turn back to her and smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah…I think it is.”

#x files #the x files #home again #s10e04 #mulder x scully #fox mulder #dana scully #x files revival #margaret scully #mild angst #after the funeral #fanfic #x files fanfic #death mention tw

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deansmom · 3 years

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Writing Dean in season 7 is so hard because there’s so much happening in that little head of his, but most of it is just like. Bleak thoughts and panicked screaming because he feels so out of control that not unaliving himself is truly the most absurd decision he can make and like, honestly, I get it? But trying to translate that feeling into writing is just. Difficult.

#and how it comes in waves but at the same time it always feels like something is holding your head underwater #it ebbs and flows but jokes on you because even when you get a break you still can’t breathe #writing is hard and I’d like to try and write chapters as I watch the seasons but ugghhhhhhhh #watching s7 is emotionally exhausting for me watching this show is exhausting #blehk my head hurts and I’m tired and I’m trying to write this chapter and it’s fighting my s #me every step of the way 😤 but that’s mostly because like the feather headcanon is very old from back when #there were all these fics about Dean finding feathers in the bunker in the Impala etc but Cas’s wings aren’t ... wings #like I can see it in my head and it works but how do you translate this to writing #personal

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spacehologramcollection · 3 years

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The Bad Batch and Tequila/been Drunk:

I do this for every fandom I get into. I’m pretty sure I have a Clone Wars one. So have a Bad Batch one, because I am a hot mess.

TW drinking, alcohol and drunken shenanigans. Also a fair bit of swearing, because would it be me, if I didn’t swear?

Under the cut because of length and mentions of booze. It’s so warm over here, and I’ve drank like a bottle of wine. I’ve some smut incoming too, so watch this space!

· Echo: Tequila makes him a really giggly drunk. He’s normally fairly serious, but like, all of that ebbs away. He will just start laughing. Laid back on his bunk, waving his arms in the air, laughing, and watching them wiggle. Him and Fives once drank a whole bottle, that Fives had found. It’s the time they got drunk and combined all of Rex’s bath bombs into one. He’s not going to do that ever again… If he’s drunk in the barracks, he will just sit on his bunk, smiling and enjoying the vibes. Echo is a vibey drunk. The drunk friend you know is just relaxed and chilled and goes with the flow. His sense of humour also comes out a little bit. Him and Tech deffo have a strong brotherly relationship. He does end up echoing everything Tech says. Just like the SpongeBob meme. Living up to his namesake. It’s all in good jest… he thinks.

· Wrecker: ANOTHER! *Slams the shot glass onto the floor, before drinking the whole bottle. * This man’s confidence is ten-fold on Tequila. He’s offering to give everyone piggybacks, showing off for the civvies, he’s like pretty oblivious to the flirting, and is just so happy he can show off that he can bench press a table. Wrecker is a soft drunk. He’s giving everyone hugs, accidentally crushing a few spines in the process, and slurring ‘I love you man’ to everyone. Will come home and pass out on Crosshair’s bed, because it’s the closest. Crosshair is a seething mess. If he’s drunk in the barracks, prepare for Lula incoming. If Tech starts to mention the words ‘Hangover in the morning’ or Crosshair is moaning. He will start speaking through Lula. ‘Aw C’mon Crosshair, lighten up a little!’ Before beating the ever-loving shit out of his brother with Lula. Drunk Wrecker is the best. Will deffo carry you home drunk.

· Tech: He doesn’t drink often but can actually avoid a hangover. How? Using a scientific method, he’s devised… and isn’t wiling to share, because everyone else will figure it out eventually… right? The times he does drink are very minimal. He’s not that into been drunk though. He’d rather be in control, hangover free, and concentrating on something useful. But he’s partial to a drink now and again. However, Tequila messes this man up. Tequila is the work of the Sith, and it doesn’t adhere to his tried and proven method. He once got a bit too drunk on Tequila and sat on his bunk laughing at his own jokes. Was a bit gutted no one else was laughing at them, he’s wasted here, but was told the next morning that he never actually told anyone what he was laughing at. Because of what he’s dubbed ‘The Tequila disaster’ he doesn’t indulge and is far more wary about drinking. He doesn’t want to look like an idiot.

· Crosshair: Speaking of idiots. Idk, I guess Crosshair eats the glass or is that vine where it’s like ‘Oh Vodka I like your style! It’s Vinegar.’ This sums him up. Tequila just makes him a little less grumpy, nothing noticeable. I don’t know why, but I headcanon that he can’t get drunk and has a high alcohol tolerance. He can’t deal with other people when their drunk. Echo looks a bit too smug; Hunter is trying to hug him; Tech is laughing at himself and Wrecker is throwing shit at him. Will sit there and brood/mope. Once when drunk, Wrecker told him to lighten up, so he threw a torch at him that was nearby. When he smells ethanol, he leaves. He’ll legit spent most of him at the training range or cleaning his rifle somewhere to avoid the mess. When he returns, the room will smell of seven different alcohols, and no doubt, someone will be sleeping in his bed. Will grit his teeth and leave. He is partial to a whisky now and again; he just likes the taste. I guess he also drinks glue too? I don’t know what I’ve missed but like okay!

· Hunter: He doesn’t do shots. He has seen the destruction they cause and will not do them… He’s had a chilling experience with Tequila and he doesn’t speaking about it. He once passed out from drinking Tequila, and one of the clones drew a dick on his head. Why? Because it’s hilarious, and most other clones think the bad batch are a set of dickheads. But that’s not true… okay maybe one of them is a bit of a dick. This his low-key why he started wearing bandanas because it would not come off. When Hunter gets a bit tipsy, the dad jokes come out and his mother-hen senses activate. He’s trying to make sure everyone is hydrated. ‘Have you had a slice of bread? Bread soaks up the alcohol and like’ Everyone just groans. He’s just trying to look out for everyone. Tells horrible punny jokes, that make everyone groan. Talks about his beer a bit too much. Asks everyone if they want to try this delicious IPA that he thinks has subtle notes of cedarwood and peaches. But it just tastes like shit. Hunter’s a pretty serious person, but after four beers, he’s pretty much ready to duet ‘We didn’t start the fire’ with someone… probably Wrecker. Wrecker and him are the KINGS of karaoke. Echo doesn’t know the lyrics. Tech just ignores them and mumbles. Crosshair is nowhere to be seen.

#tbb #the bad batch #echo #arc trooper echo #crosshair #wrecker #tech #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb echo #tbb hunter #hunter #star wars #tbb headcanons

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deewithani · 3 years

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Perils of Spring - Chapter 2

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!reader

Word count: Approx. 2.4k

Warnings: Sex pollen, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), gagging, face fucking, swallowing, light dom/sub elements, fingering, p in v intercourse, multiple m! & f! orgasms, and it's cliche, but Rex says one of his iconic lines in a completely inappropriate context. It's just dirty and filthy. I'm so sorry for the rest of the 501st that was in earshot of this.

A/N: I’m going outside of my own headcanon for Rex here. I absolutely 100% believe that, at most, Rex would only get undressed enough as necessary, since he’s in earshot of tons of people. I think he’s careful with people’s perception of him. He just can’t help himself at this point. Rex is a fighter, y'all, and he doesn't give up control very easily. Pure smut, as always, and I had issues with my tenses in this chapter. I've read through and changed, but if I missed something I'm sorry. No real beta done. Crossposted on Ao3.

Prologue | Chapter 1

------------------------- Your mind wandered to a dream you had when you first met the Captain.

You had woken with a start in the small hours of the night, sheets tangled around your limbs. You still felt the fingers of one hand digging into your hips, the other in your hair baring your throat to him. He held you still as he fucked up into your warm heat, mouthing at your jaw 'So beautiful. So sweet. My good girl.' -------------------------

‘Good girl’

If the seeing condition you had found Rex in hadn’t completely fried your mind, hearing him say ‘Good girl’ pushed your remaining brain cell over the edge. You sat back and watched as he slowly stood and removed his armor, letting it drop carelessly on the dusty ground. His blacks are next, joining the pile at his feet.

"One of us is wearing too much, cyar'ika. We should fix that." he murmurs as he moves toward you, his hard cock bouncing against his taut stomach.

You turn your head shyly from the sight him, afraid of embarassing yourself. You had never been in a situation where you had seen your other lovers so close, to see the sweat falling in rivlets down their Adonis' belt, the small strip of hair running down from their navels, the dark desire in their eyes piercing through your soul. All of your other encounters, all of your other lovers, had been found in the dark, under the cover of a bed, or in a quiet corner where you each rushed to claim your pleasure.

But here before now you stood a king, where all the others had been peasants. Rex reaches down, grasping your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, before moving your face to look at him again. You see desire dancing in his warm brown eyes, but there is something else there too, something you couldn't quite place.

He lowers his hand from your chin and reaches for your hand, pulling you off the cot and into his arms. It seems like he's holding you for an eternity when you feel his cock twitch between you both. "Let me see you, please." he begged, sounding more like he had when you first entered his tent.

"Rex? It's not over, is it?" What control he had gained after his previous releases had seemingly melted away, leaving him a whimpering mess, holding on to you as if he would fall into a great abyss without your grounding presence. Quietly Rex steps back from you and moves his hands to the hem of your shirt, quickly divesting you of the offending garment. Nimble and experienced fingers of one hand unclasp your bra, while the other busies with the buttons and snaps of your pants. Suddenly he gives you an order, a moment of clarity in the haze, "Take them off. Now."

You waste no time, first removing your already unclasped bra, then moving on to your boots and the rest of your clothing, your panties wet with your arousal. He looks down to you then, bared before him, and in his eyes you see the tenuous hold on his control failing. "No, it isn't. Now, on your knees."

It's embarrassing how quickly you drop at the order, you think for a moment, but your thoughts are quickly dragged back to the man in front of you.

He's so close you could could stick out your tongue and taste the bead of precum that is so close from falling from the tip of his stiff cock, a temptation you can't keep yourself from enjoying. You gently grab the base of his cock and lick at the slit, looking up at him through your lashes as he winds his fingers through your hair, holding you so you won't move.

"Please, use me Captain. Let me help you."

And he did.

His cock slipped past your lips slowly, and you could feel the tremors in his thighs as he held himself back as best as he could. You tried to work your mouth and jaw to accommodate his thickness, but it was difficult. Rex seemingly understands wordlessly, and he took his time in the beginning, but the respite didn't last and he quickly reaches the back of your throat, with inches to spare.

"K-kriff, s-so good, cyar'ika. Can you take more?"

You try to nod, but with his grip in your hair holding you steady all you can answer is a muffled "mmfff" that you hope he understands means a 'yes'. You brace yourself on his thighs as he pushes forward, swallowing as your nose meets the curly hair at the base of his cock.

"So sweet. So good for your captain."

He pulls back out for a moment, never leaving your mouth, then thrusts slowly again, and this time taking him down your throat is much easier. He continues lazily fucking your mouth and throat, but you can feel the tension in his thighs and his grip at your scalp getting tighter. He's trying hard to hold back.

Above you, you hear him speak once more, a quick warning of what's to come. "Tap my thigh if this is too much."

And then he begins thrusting in earnest.

His first quick thrust catches you by surprise, and you gag softly, your spit dripping down your chin and on to your chest. He pulls back just enough to so he can continue thrusting in your mouth while you can catch your breath, and you hear him whimper above you.

"Ff-fuck, such pretty sounds. Just for me."

Your respite quickly ends, and Rex continues using your mouth and throat to chase the release that is burning a hole through his body. Your whole body is buzzing and tears have clouded your vision, running down your cheeks, his hands in your hair, your clit desperate for attention as you stay still for him so he can take his pleasure. It is so hard, too hard to stay still. Finally you reach down, feeling the slick between your legs, and you move one hand tentatively, circling your clit with your middle finger.

From above you hear his broken moans and grunts, your name a prayer on his lips, and you feel his grip tighten as he brings your mouth down to the base of his cock yet again. You are nearing your own release with just a few small circles of your finger when his thrusts become more shallow and erratic, and the only warning you get that he is close himself is feeling him stiffen above you before he finally cums. His warm spend spills down your throat as he holds you in place, and you feel his cock twitch, but it does not soften.

You swallow as much as you can, but some slips past your lips, joining the mess of spit and tears on your face. Using two fingers Rex gathers the mess on your face, and you open your mouth greedily to accept his offering.

Looking at you thoughtfully, helps you up off the ground. "Such a beautiful mess. I saw you, pretty girl. I saw you touch yourself, but you didn't have enough time to finish, did you? Let me help you now. Let me taste you, I want to feel you cum on my tongue."

This time Rex was the one to drop to his knees before you, running his warm hands over your thights and pressing his face into your wet cunt.

"Smells so sweet. So perfect. I have you, cyar'ika. Trust me."

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, baring your wet lips to him. You were dripping, a fact Rex didn't fail to notice. "So wet, all this for me?" He didn't wait for an answer, his tongue making a broad swipe between your lips, before making his way to your sensitive clit, flicking quickly and causing the leg you're standing on to shake.

"Can you be a good girl for me and stay still?" "Y-yes, sir." "Don't worry, I'll make you feel good, pretty girl."

He was back on your cunt like a starved man, licking and sucking at your lips and clit as if your warm slick was the elixer of life itself. With how wet you are he easily inserts a finger, gently moving in and out of your warm core while lavishing attention on your swollen clit. He keeps up a steady pace, adding a second finger and nipping gently at your nub. A high pitched whine slips from your lips, and a spark of electricity from your clit threatens to bring you to your knees, but Rex is there instantly, pulling himself further underneath your legs and holding you with a strong hand on your lower back.

Soon enough he finds the spongy spot inside your walls, and he curls his fingers so he hit it with every thrust of his digits. "K-kriff, Rex, s-so close! Right t-there! I'm-I-I!"

You clamp down on his fingers hard, your hands searching for purchase, pulling his head closer to your cunt as your climax rolls through you in fierce waves. If Rex hadn't been so diligent in keeping you upright you would have fallen to the earth, the strength in your legs failing as pleasure flowed through your body.

When the rolling ebb of your orgasm finally ends you open your eyes you see Rex still kneeling, your slick covering his mouth and mouth and chin. His cock was still hard, precum dripping slowly from the tip and falling to the dusty ground.

"You were so perfect for me, falling apart for me. I want to see it again. I want to feel you cum on my cock."

Standing, he leads you to lay on the cot, and you sit back on your elbows, giving him a full view of your body, baring yourself to him truly for the first time. "So beautiful, just for me." he whispers, lowering down to his elbows. "Such beautiful tits. Such a sweet pussy." He doesn't leave you untouched for long, bowing his head to one of your nipples, taking the bud between his lips and swirling his tongue around the tip. Your other nipple wasn't ignored, his calloused fingers pinching and lightly pulling on the bud. The contrast in attention was maddening, and you felt your arousal drip from your core on to the blanket beneath you.

"Rex, n-need you in me. Fuck me, please!" Hearing your whine he moves away from your breasts and up your body, kissing and nibbling at your throat. "You sound so sweet when you beg, cyar'ika." He enters you in one swift thrust, then stills. You hear his ragged breathing and feel him shake above you, but still he does not move. "F-fuck, sweet girl! S-so fucking tight!" He begins thrusting slowly, willing himself to calm down and enjoy the feeling of your warm walls constricting around his cock. He keeps a steady pace while you writhe beneath him, and you cross your legs around his waist and pull his torso closer to you in desperation.

"Please, Rex. P-please take me like you want..."

He slows his pace even further, almost pulling out of you entirely, before pushing back into your dripping pussy at an excruciatingly slow pace. Leaning his forehead against your own, he brings his hand to yours, moving them above your head and twining his fingers with your own.

"I-I won't be able to hold back. Are you sure?.." "Kriff, yes, more sure than you know."

Rex set a maddening pace, pounding into your core with abandon, the wet sounds of skin slapping skin deafening in your ears. You think you've called out his name, but you're no longer sure, thinking only of the man between your legs and pressure building there, threatening to overtake you.

He releases one of your hands, only for it to move to the bundle of nerves at your core. Rex is gentle, barely ghosting his thumb over your sensitive nub. You jerk at the sensation, and a silent moan escapes your lips. Somewhere in your mind you hear Rex chuckle, and you close your eyes and turn your head in embarrassment.

"Look at me, cyar'ika. I want to see your face when you cum on my cock." Turning your head and opening your eyes, you see him looking down on you, eyes darkened by his desire, but still the eyes of the strong, kind Captain you knew.

It only took a few more thrusts and gentle caresses to your clit before you fell again, into a place where nothing exists except you and Rex and the divine pleasure he was giving you. You were surrounded in warmth and you could feel the electricity move out from your core to your fingers and toes, wave after wave, seemingly unending. Rex was still thrusting above you, but he was nearing his finish as well, his thrusts becoming shallow and losing their rhythm. All at once he lowers himself and buries his head in your shoulder, moaning and speaking broken words that you don't understand, grinding against you hard. You feel his cock pulse and fill you with his warm seed, and then he stills, his breathing ragged, whispering words of praise against your skin.

After his final release he rolls on his side and pulls you into the side of his chest, holding you gently. You hear his wild heartbeat begin to slow down and his breathing calm, the first time since the situation began. His body, drenched in sweat, is finally starting to feel slightly cooler as well. His cock is begins to soften at last, and it seems like the danger to his body is receding.

“Rex, how are you feeling?”

"Good, cyar’ika. Good. Better. Thank you”, he murmurs, holding you tighter and placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Stay with me?”

Of course you would. You couldn’t say no before, how could you now? You pull yourself even closer, wrapping your arm under his and around his body, rubbing his back in slow circles. You feel his breathing start to slow and you know that he has fallen asleep, completely exhausted from the events of the day. He is a good man that deserves the galaxy, and you wish you could give it to him, but that’s not in your power. You close your own eyes to rest, glad you were able to help your sweet Captain. -------------------------

Taglist: @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @return-of-the-simp Rex taglist: @16boyfriends-and-me @justanothersadperson93

If you’d like to be added, just let me know.

#captain rex x reader #18+#whew boy this took a bit #rex just can't help but take care of you too #cause that's who he is

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Note

can i get uhUhHHhhH more jason momoa smut headcanons

You got it Anon.

Warning: Language, SMUTTT

Words: 1.8k

~~~~~~~~

You’re in Hawaii with Jason enjoying some much needed time away from LA, the land of dreams and fakeness. When you’re in Hawaii with him things make sense. They’re normal, routine and so humbling.

Yeah, people recognize him and he’s such a sweetheart that he always stops for autographs and photos but on the island of chill, everyone lives by going with the flow and taking it easy. This means that he’s never hounded for long. Secretly he still loves it.

Jason’s idea for the day was the beach. The man loved the beach. He didn’t do normal things people did like relaxed. No Jason was always active. He was surfing, boogie boarding, even snorkeling. You name it and he’s probably done it.

You didn’t mind. If you weren’t out there with him snorkeling or swimming you were watching his incredible athleticism in action. The man was built to be shirtless and in the water. Hell, even the water loved his body. Your mouth always watered as you watched the droplets slide down his body and drip from the ends of his long hair that he always left loose. He knew he was a Hawaiian God and that you loved to watch him and he used it as a weapon. Today was no different.

You were sitting on the blanket watching him dominate every wave that came in. You loved seeing him like this. There was nothing like his smile when he was doing something he truly loved. He zipped over the water and cut it with ease and expertise. He looked like he was going to make it. You leaped to your feet and rushed to the shore then squat down to the sand and watched as he barely made it out the tunnel before it crashed.

Jason threw his hands up and looked for you at the spot he left you and when he saw you at the shore, he looked like the epitome of joy. you jumped up and down cheering him on. Your mother always said to be your man’s biggest cheerleader and the way everyone was looking at you said you’d accomplished it.

You watched him dive off the board into the water knowing he was going to be swimming in. You ran into the water ready for when he got to the shore. As he approached you went deeper until the water caught you a little above your waist. Once he got there you bounced into his arms.

“You looked so good out there baby,” you compliment. Jason’s chuckle was adorable.

“I looked good out here and you looked incredible over there. So damn distracting.”

“Oh yeah? How distracting because you sure rode that wave like I was nothing but a blip in the landscape.”

As if to dissuade you Jason kissed you stopping whatever words that were coming next. His tongue curled around yours before he sucked it. He tasted like sea salt, beer, and pineapples. It was your favorite taste thanks to him.

The way he kissed you said he was hungry. Pulling away from him you shake your head.

“Nope.”

“What?” His wide guilty smile was all the evidence you needed to his train of thought.

“Nope. You know what. There’s no way,” you reiterated.

Jason continues to chuckle. It was like he knew you were going to be whistling a different tune in a few minutes. You were such a weak woman when it came to him.

“Come on. You can’t let me walk out there with this.” Jason allows your body to slip a little lower so you could feel the weapon of uterus destruction he was barely concealing in those swim trunks.

You gasped. “Jason. Oh my god. How?”

“How? You’re kidding. All I have to do is look at you and this is the end result,” Jason confessed before he kissed your neck and trailed those kisses down to your shoulder only to bring his lips back up to suck your skin into his mouth. He knew what he was doing where he was doing it.

You got lost in his kisses in seconds. The way his wet beard tickled your face only enhanced how badly you wanted him. You could also feel him growing even bigger. Moaning you tore your lips away.

“Jason, we’re on the beach. There are people everywhere. Kids.”

“They’re not my kids. I’m trying to plant some.”

You couldn’t not laugh as you looked at him incredulously. You thought he couldn’t be serious but you had a sneaking feeling he was dead serious.

“Jason,” you whined again. He turned your body so your back was out greeting the ocean before you knew it he’d placed you on his surfboard and was standing between your spread legs. “We can’t do this here.”

“No one will know. Trust me.”

“I trust you with everything, but baby everyone will know.”

He wasn’t hearing any of your protests. His large hands slowly slid across your wet thighs until they made it to the ties of your bathing suit bottom. He didn’t untie them he simply toyed with the dangling strings.

“I can read your mind Jason,” you informed. Jason smiled then yanked you off the board and to him. His lips were pressed to your a second later and again he kissed you dizzy.

You don’t even realize when he turned you so you were looking at the ocean horizon. For as far as the eye could see it was all blue water and blue sky. “Watch that horizon, Ko’u aloha,” Jason whispered. You loved it when he spoke Hawaiian to you. You’d gotten better at understanding some of it. Every time he called you my love it made your belly do backflips.

Jason’s hands caressed your stomach before his hand dipped into your bikini bottom. Your head dropped back to rest on his chest giving him full access to your neck which he took full advantage of. He licked and sucked a hypnotizing pattern that distracted you from what he was about to do but when you felt his fingers swirl around your clit you sank back onto him. Jason’s arms were there to hold you.

You couldn’t stop any of your moans. He knew just what to do to make your body ebb on the edge of complete hysteria. After a few swirls, he dipped two digits into your channel making you take a deep breath, emitting an audible hiss.

Jason slowly dipped and retreated his fingers stating a slow pace then he added a third finger which had a grunt strangled in your throat.

“Jesus Y/N, you’re so tight. I need you.”

“Right--here?”

“Right here,” he repeated.

“Right--right--now?”

“Now!” It was gruff and filled with urgency. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing against his hard length that was poking into your back. When you tipped your head back even more Jason dipped his down to meet your lips for an upside-down kiss.

Not noticing the water height raise you focused on his lips and the sinful things his fingers were doing to you under the water. When he tore his lips from yours he gently pushed your back down so you were resting over the surfboard that was in front of you. The water had your body like a buoy, Jason’s hand gripped your hip keeping your lower half submerged so the beach patrons would be none the wiser.

In seconds he’d pulled your bikini to the side and slammed his hips forward sending his solid, thick love into you. A wave of water washed over your back from the force of his thrust. To prevent yourself from shrieking out you clamped your hand over your mouth. It barely contained it. Jason continued his thrusts never missing a beat. Every connection had you whimpering and panting his name.

Soon his hand replaced yours while the other remained squeezing your hop keeping you from floating to the surface. The sheer strength he possessed in his body only turned you on even more. Jason thrust forward filling you completely then rotated his hips. His hand contained your muffled curse.

“Just watch that horizon. Watch it as I make your body feel good baby.”

Jason’s thrusts sped and not even his hand could stop a moan from escaping. You couldn’t be bothered to look around everything he was doing felt so good--too good.

Jason’s hand moved from your mouth to over your chest right above your breasts. He lifted you and pulled your back against his chest and changed the angle to which he plunged into you.

“Be quiet for me, Ko’u aloha.”

The man had to be crazy, you thought. There was no way and he knew it. With every connection, you whimpered and with every whimper, he heard he rotated his hips so you felt every single inch of him.

“Fuck me, Ko’u aloha,” you breathlessly murmured.

Just as you loved hearing it, he loved it even more. The force of his movements increased and that delicious pressure that signified your oncoming release buzzed through you. His pants brushed against your ear making you clench him tighter.

Jason grunted and tightened his grip right before he fucked you as if you weren’t in the middle of the ocean with the beach filled.

“Jason.”

“I fucking love you so much!” His voice was impossibly deep and just like that, you were coming. The tightness of your drenched cavern had him grunting and staggering his thrusts until you felt his release.

It took a few moments for both of you to come down enough for either of you to move. You just stayed still staring at the horizon at the sun that was beginning to set. It was beautiful and made even more perfect by Jason behind you nestled tightly between your folds.

“Mmmm,” Jason began as he pulled from you and turned you in his arms so you were facing him. You wrapped your legs back around him as you scoped out around you to see if you’d been caught. Thankfully you didn’t have an audience.

“I can’t believe we just did that here,” you whispered.

“I’m sure countless have done the same.” His voice was lethargic. It was the voice of a sated man.

“Glad that you’re no longer hungry, Ko’u aloha,” you said before you kissed his shoulder and neck.

“I wasn’t until you said that. It’s time to go,” Jason abruptly announced as he turned you both and headed back to shore with you giggling. The man was insatiable.

Hawaii would forever hold a special place in your heart.

Glossary: According to Google Translate

Ko’u aloha: My Love.

~~~~~~~~

Hey Anon, I hope you liked this!

I’m so sorry it’s so late.

#ask lee #lee answers #jason momoa request

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nonbaznary · 3 years

Text

Carry On Countdown - Day 10: Crossover

(Not posting on AO3)

Keep reading on Tumblr below the cut!

Words: 2401

I’m a bit late with other prompts BUT for today, I edited a Cemetery Boys scene (no spoilers, really, it’s in the beginning and the plot/summary of the book basically gives this scene away), because I couldn’t help but see similarities about Snowbaz and Yadrian, both canon and headcanon. Anyways, I love my transmasc awkward heroes and their undead nobinary gay boyfriends who may seem scary but are total sweethearts. I also changed some elements of the original story so it sounded more like Carry On, so it’s kind of a Cemetery Boys remix, or something. Anyways LOL happy COC day 10!! Hope y’all like this <3 Also thank you Aiden Thomas your gays gave new meaning to my life

Cemetery Boys AU

Simon could feel energy swarming below him.

“Do you feel that, too?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah. It’s way stronger in here.” he said. Whatever spirit that led them here was close.

Simon took a step back, and his shoe slipped. He’d stepped on a piece of cloth.

Penny moved in. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s a scarf.” Simon muttered, pointing his lantern to it. The scarf was pale blue. He bent down and carefully picked it up. As soon as his fingers made contact with the fabric, a shiver ran through his body. Electricity flooded through his veins, and he took a sharp breath. Something pulsed under his feet, synchronized with his own heartbeat.

“I think- It’s a tether.” he said, a spike of adrenaline making him feel light-headed.

When a spirit attached itself to a tether, they had to stay near it. That was why haunted houses existed, but not many cities haunted by a single ghost – spirits couldn’t venture far from their tethers. And mages could only release them and help them pass peacefully to their eternal rest once they were free of their earthly bindings.

Simon had never actually held a spirit’s tether before. They were incredibly powerful. Some of the mages claimed that mishandling a spirit’s tether would get you cursed. But Simon had never heard of anyone actually getting possessed, and he had no intention of disrespecting this tether.

“But it’s not Ebb’s. She didn’t own any silk blue scarfs, that I’m sure of.” Penelope said, reaching out as if to touch it before thinking better.

“It could be Ebb’s.” Simon tried to reason, his hope of finding his friend fighting against logic. He squeezed the scarf in his hand. Warmth spread through his palm and up his arm. He turned to Penny with a smile. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Penelope gave him a skeptical look, and Simon shrugged.

“I have to try – What if Ebb’s spirit got tethered to this instead of her staff?” he said, twisting the scarf between his fingers.

“It could be attached to someone who’s gone malefic.” Penelope said, casting a pointed look around the dilapidated church.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got a sword now, innit?” Simon said. Penny raised her eyebrows, but then grinned.

“All right, Greatest Mage, work your magic.”

The rush of excitement made Simon feel giddy as he knelt.

He held his hand over his hip, calling for the Sword of Mages. "In justice. In courage. In defense of the weak. In the face of the mighty. Through magic and wisdom and good." The hilt materializes in his grip, and he swings the sword up to his shoulder. Maybe it was the feel of the blade in his hand or the magic he knew flowed through his veins, but Simon felt recklessly brave.

He stood up again and tried to take a deep breath, but he was too excited, practically buzzing. His palms were sweaty. He looked over to Penelope, who gave him an enthusiastic and encouraging nod.

Simon had seen his mentor, Davy, summon spirits before. It wasn’t exactly general knowledge for mages, but he knew what to do and how to do it. It was one of the few incantations that Simon believed he could get right, like with the Sword of Mages, because those weren’t like other spells. They didn’t come so easily to other mages as regular incantations did. Magic words are tricky, and Simon had never been good with words. You have to have a good vocabulary to do magic. You have to be able to think on your feet and be brave enough to speak up. And you have to actually understand what you’re saying, how the words translate into magic.

None of that came naturally to Simon. And his magic... He was powerful, he knew that, but his magic behaved differently than everyone else’s. His magic was immediate and literal. Sometimes, it acted when he didn’t even mean to make it do anything. It just… happened.

And that was exactly what he needed right now.

He felt the magic inside him, strong and infinite. He called it to the surface, his skin suddenly warmer, and held out his arm, the scarf looped around his hand. Simon cleared his throat, trying to breathe around the lump that had formed.

“I summon you, spirit!”

For a terrifying second, nothing happened. Then, an explosion of heat and golden light. Simon sprang back, choking on the smoke.

There was a person in front of him, doubled over their hand and knees, clutching their chest.

Simon could hardly believe his eyes. “It worked!”

The spirit’s face was screwed up tight in a grimace, their fingers knotted into the material of his shirt, a beautiful floral, white with blue and purple flowers and fat striped bumblebees.

“That’s not Ebb.” Penelope tried to whisper, but she’d never had a very good inside voice.

Simon groaned and dragged a hand over his face. On the bright side, he had actually summoned a real-life spirit

On the not-so-bright side, he had summoned the wrong one.

“Obviously.” Simon growled back, unable to look away from the spirit as they gasped for breath, the muscles in their neck straining. They had that translucent quality around the edges, like all spirits, Their eyes swung to Simon and Penny, with a handsome but very angry face, their grimace now more of a sneer.

“Well, at least it’s not a malefic spirit?” Penny offered.

The person staggered to their feet, upright but unsteady. “Who the hell are you?”, they snarled, dark grey eyes blazing, sharp as obsidian.

“Uhh” was Simon’s unhelpful reply, suddenly back to being capable of forming a coherent sentence.

“Where am I?” the person’s voice coming out of them in a tight roar, head tilting back as they took in their surroundings. “Am I in a church?” their attention swung back to Simon and Penelope with an accusing glare. “Who let me in a church?”

Familiarity prickled at the back of Simon’s mind, racing to place their sharp edges, posh look, and the irritated, cold tone in their voice.

“Uh- well- you see,” Simon stammered, not really sure how to explain their situation, but he wasn’t given the chance to finish. The person’s eyes snagged on the scarf still dangling from Simon’s hand.

“Hey!” Simon saw their anger swell, hunching their shoulders, and propelling them forward. The spirit stomped up to him, fire in their eyes. “That’s mine.”

They reached out to snatch the scarf, but their hand went right through it. They frowned and tried again, and when their hand slid through it a second time, they froze, blinked their eyes, and slowly waved it back and forth.

Their eyes went wide, and they stumbled back. “What the hell is this?” they demanded to know, looking between their hand and the scarf and Simon and Penelope.

“Wow, this is really awkward.” Simon said, scratching at the back of his neck. Penelope seemed less worried.

“Well, there’s no denying you’re an actual mage now.” she said, circling the spirit with keen interest. They scowled at her.

“Who are you, and what are you doing with my scarf?” they demanded, looking to Simon for answers.

“Well, uh, I used it to summon you.” he tried.

The spirit crossed their arms, arching a thick eyebrow.

“Yeah, we thought it might have belonged to Ebb.” What was the gentlest way to tell someone they were dead?

“Ebeneza. Our friend.” Penelope specified.

The spirit didn’t seem at all interested in who Ebb was. “It’s mine.” they insisted with a growl. “It belonged to my mother. It’s got our last name on it see?” their fingers curling in demand.

Simon turned the fabric over to find that a name had indeed been recorded in a tip. He blinked. “Oh.” The delicate cursive letters read PITCH. “Oh.”

The Pitch family was well known, and also magickal. They didn’t do any death-related magic, though, not like Davy or the Bunces – they were magickal authorities. Royalty, aristocrats, leaders. Researchers, linguists. They knew spells like no other magickal families. They were fire magicians, brilliant with fire. But they weren’t involved with action, not like the mages Simon and Penelope grew with. The Pitches didn’t know about death magick, not like them.

Simon knew the Pitch’s heir, Baz Pitch, or rather knew of them. They went to highschool together, and Baz had a bit of a... reputation. They used to be a top student, and when they were roaming the halls it was hard to not notice them. They had the sort of presence that demanded everyone’s attention without needing to ask. They were hard to miss.

Until they got expelled.

“Do you know how you got here?” Simon questioned them. Baz glared.

“No. All I remember is walking down the street with my friends. Then something- someone-” they frowned. “I just remember getting knocked over.” They unconsciously rubbed at the same point on their chest, near their heart. “Then the next thing I knew, I was in a church with you two.”

Three beats passed before Baz’s eyes went wide. “I died, didn’t I?” Simon and Penelope looked at each other. “Am I dead?”

Simon gave a small nod. Baz stumbled back a step, their body wavering in and out of existence for a moment. “Oh, Crowley. My aunt is going to kill me.” They pressed both hands against their face and groaned against their palms.

“Looks like someone already beat her to it.” Penelope pointed out.

“So I’m a spirit now.” Baz scowled, ignoring the girl. They didn’t sound angry or dismayed, just… annoyed. As if this were just an inconvenience. “And you’re also mages, I suppose. So you can send spirits to the afterlife, right?”

“Yes- Well, no-” Simon fumbled, trying to explain himself. “I should be able to- er, I guess- I haven’t done the releasing part yet-”

“Great. So I’m stuck with two shitty witches.”

Annoyance flared in Simon. “Look, this is my first time, okay?” Baz blinked slowly at him, unimpressed. “You- You’re attached to a tether, your scarf. So I just need to destroy the-”

“No, no way!” Baz shook their head. “That’s my mother’s scarf, you are not destroying it.” They tried to snatch it from Simon, but, again, they were left with a fistful of empty air. Penelope chuckled.

“No, just listen-” Simon gripped his blade, raising it.

Baz scoffed, which was not how Simon thought any sane person should react to getting a sword pointed at them.

“What are you going to do, stab me?” Baz’s laughter was flat and sharp. “Already dead, remember?”

“I’m not going to stab you!” No matter how tempting it is, Simon thought. Penelope cut in.

“He can use this to destroy the tie keeping you here.” Baz opened their mouth to argue, but Penny pressed on. “Not the scarf, just the tie anchoring you to the scarf. Then you can go to the afterlife and be at peace, okay?”

Baz smirked. “Yeah, no. He’s not doing that.”

Simon groaned. Of course the first spirit he summoned was a git that wouldn’t just be released willingly. No, he had to get stuck with the one who had an attitude problem.

“I’m doing this. Right now.” Simon said. “We still need to find Ebb, and, besides, if you stay here like this for too long, you’ll turn all dark and violent and start hurting people.”

Baz crossed their arms over their chest. “No.” Simon looked at Penelope for help, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

“You’re leaving me no choice.” Simon pushed his jaw forward to stand his ground. A thick eyebrow quirked. Simon called for his magic, squeezing the scarf in his hand. “Show me the bond!”

The Sword of Mages and the scarf glowed bright, filling the church with a warm blaze that made all three of them squint. A golden thread sparked to life in the air, starting from the blue fabric and ending at the center of Baz’s chest.

Simon inhaled a deep breath. “I set you free for the next life!” he sliced his sword through the air, aiming directly for the golden thread. Instead of severing it, the edge of the blade caught on the line. The Sword of Mages vibrated in his hand, and small sparks flew from where they met.

Baz relaxed, but Simon wasn’t giving up just yet. He tried slicing through it again, then tried sawing at it, but all it did was send more sparks flying and make his shoulder hurt.

Simon turned over to see an obnoxious smirk on Baz’s face.

“Wow. You really suck at this.” they said, looking pleased with themselves. Simon turned to Penelope.

His heart hammered in his ears, and his throat felt like it was closing up on him. The sudden aching in his chest (surely not helped by his tight binder) threatened to swallow him whole. Penny was immediately at his side, her voice calm and soothing as she gripped his arms.

“Don’t worry about this! This isn’t your fault, Si.” she jerked her head in Baz’s direction. “They’re probably too bull-headed to cross over.”

“Hey!”

Penelope ignored their protest. “Just like my great-aunt, remember?”

“Maybe.” Simon mumbled. He didn’t want to think about it. Shame burned hot on his cheeks.

“Look.” Baz called. “I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Simon and Penny turned to them.

“I’ve got unfinished business.” Baz said, brow furrowed. “And I need to check on my friends. They were with me when I died, I need to make sure they’re okay.” their face twisted between annoyance and something that could’ve been worry. “And maybe they know who got me. That could be connected-” They shook their head, interrupting themselves. “If you help me on a personal project, and let me find my friends and make sure they’re okay, I will willingly let you do what you need to do and send me to the afterlife.”

Simon looked at Penelope, who shrugged. “I don’t think we have much of a choice here.”

“Okay.” Simon took a step forward. “Wait. What’s this ‘personal project’ you’re talking about?”

Baz’s features got rigid. They stepped closer to Simon.

“My mother’s killer walks. You are going to help me find out who he is, and avenge her, and bring her peace.”

[my other works for the countdown]

#carry on countdown 2020 #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #aiden thomas #carry on #cemetery boys #snowbaz #yadrian #julian diaz #nonbinary headcanon #they/them pronouns for baz pitch #trans simon snow #transmasc simon snow #rewritten scene #cemetery boys AU #carry on countdown day 10 #crossover

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omgkalyppso · 3 years

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hapi for the ask game? :)

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for the ask!

favorite thing about them

She's so modern. ajsdhfgja She's laid back and funny, and in her supports are so relaxed about the future and societal rankings. She doesn't take herself (or many characters) too seriously. She could easily fit into a modern narrative, sighing to attract beasts and all. There's enough of the cast who have formalities She reminds me of someone I know irl and that makes me fond of her. sdjfghf

least favorite thing about them

She's not well developed. I often hear people complaining about her being cliche with her curse / summoning, and she needed more Supports.

favorite line

Hapi: Hey, I paid for them. I can eat them however I want. You sure you don't want a bite? If you don't have any I'm just gonna eat 'em all. You have to try them fresh out of the oven if you want the full effect. Pretty soon they'll get cold. Oh, I'll explain in noble-speak so you understand. Ehem. (In a classy tone) They have a crisp, oven-browned exterior, and a sophisticated, spongy sweetness lying within!

brOTP

I'm making this up right now, but Lysithea. She can be under the mistaken impression that Lysithea is cursed also because of how she speaks, and they can deal with that miscommunication as they eat cakes together.

OTP

I like all of Hapi's paired endings. Though I like Byleth's the least because the false resolution to her curse felt lazy. I've not consumed enough Hapi content to have a preference.

nOTP

I'm sure I could think of some characters to fit here, but I haven't seen any Hapi ships that have made me uncomfortable.

random headcanon

I've seen a lot of people who headcanon Duscur culture to have influences of Maya culture, but I like Maya culture for Hapi's village. I like how the stargazing aligns; and then feel that my own experience with Maya songs and stories suit her.

unpopular opinion

I liked her sighing to summon demonic beasts, but her new class should have reflected it. Why not give us a summoner? Even if the beast was hostile towards our own party. I think it could've been fun.

song i associate with them

Ebb + Flow by Kylaido

But in sweet time you'll learn to tame the beast Before too much it grows Or at least you'll learn to hide it Just before too much it shows I feel the ebbs and I feel the flows You've got to save your own soul Just ride the wave, just ride the wave and come home You've got to save your own soul

favorite picture of them

This one.

#hapi fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #long post

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coffeebeannate · 4 years

Photo

@nilefreemans I am so sorry that I have been sitting with this for like, days. I’ve been awash in thoughts about it.

So I decided to take this ask as ‘what kind of dragon they’d be’, and here’s my thoughts on that. Since dragons also exist in so many styles, types of verses, I went with a sort of basic ‘element type dragons’ for the sake of clarity.

I once again, stuck to just the Guard themselves, but I can do the other characters in another post, if so.

ANYWAY. Here be Immortal Old Guard Dragons, below!

Andy/ Andromache the Scythian

Earth Dragon

Why? Because to me, Andy is a very ‘earthy’ type of individual. She’s intense. She’s passionate, adaptable, strong-willed, courageous. She’s also grounded and holds fast to her beliefs. If you know of little in the world, you know that Andy will always be there. Andy is the leader. The very groundwork for which someone may build themselves. Much like the earth, she has simple pleasures and desires. Just as happy with good food as she might be with luxury.

Earth rotates. It can be deadly when spun out of it’s axis. (Earthquakes anyone?) it is a fickle thing. But even with cracks, with depressions, with unrest, it remains solid. Intact. It’s hard to send earth skyrocketing. It’s hard to displace earth. A core element, a being. I see her as quite nature loving.

And no this is not a chance to say she’s as old as the dirt itself. Shh.

Earth is mighty. Earth is your guiding line. Earth is what keeps us here. It’s beneath out feet at all times, almost. Someone like Andy, who has morals, anger, love, care. Is intense, a natural born leader. A comfort seems very much like an earth dragon to me.

Quynh

Metal Dragon

For what we know of Quynh, we know she is strong. That she clearly felt things very deeply. That she was adaptable. Quick, moldable. Strong. Metal can be defined with fire. Metal can be changed, melted down, and bent. But at the same time, some of the strongest metals can survive in any and all elements. Some metal, depending on it’s type, cannot be bent, or changed. There are types of metal that could withstand any type of disaster and remain in tact.

It can be sharp or soft. It is used in almost all materials. It has been with mankind for centuries and remains an important element. It’ll be interesting to see more of Quynh and add to possible headcanons.

Lykon

If we find out more about him, I’ll add him. I never like just not mentioning him, though. We’ll see sir!

Nicky/ Nicolò di Genova

Water Dragon

Water is such a curious element, isn’t it? It can be gentle, but also the most terrifying, and devastating naturally destructive element on the planet. It cleans us, it comforts us, it damages us.

Water is unpredictable, but continuous. Water is needed for survival. A cool, comforting stream, a soaking rainstorm. Water can do many things. Without water to hydrate both us and crop alike, we cannot survive. Water can be soft, but it’s consistent. We know water will always be there (mostly), we can rely on water.

Nicky is both your calm stream and scary ocean. Nicky has the same ebb and flow of consistent compassion, but also the intensity and ability to flare up should he feel threatened (or if his family is threatened). Water is also deceptive. People have mistaken calm waters and paid the price for it.

It can also be a tease. Oh you think it’s going to rain? Have precisely two tiny drops.

Joe/ Yusuf Al-Kaysani

Air Dragon

I’m not going to lie, Joe has been a bit tough to decide upon. But I’ve gone with air dragon. Air can be dangerous, (a bad wind storm can be, like water, surprisingly devastating) but it isn’t usually so. Air is normally fairly calm. I think of Joe’s nature as being very air like at times. He can carry a conversation in any direction. You’d feel comfortable following his path. He’s the comfort of a cool breeze in a deadly heat wave, or the security of showing you where danger might lurk.

He seems to go with the flow. He also clearly enjoys speaking, and is very good at it with a lovely voice. The air can have a voice at times, I find. Like a whistling hum or a slighter sound that’s barely noticeable, a gentle touch. Air is passionate too! It’s intense and it can gather up further intensity, depending on the scenario or if something is coming.

Air is also necessary for life. You can can count on air. Air is a comfort when you’ve had too little of it. Air will remind you you’re alive. It can be warm or cold, but it’s always there, always present.

Booker/ Sebastien LeLivre

Fire Dragon

Another tough one, but I went with fire. I picked fire mostly because fire is, well, unpredictable. And at it’s worst, one of the most deadly elements on this planet. Fire is going to make or break you. It’s fast. Intense. It can go for days on end or be quick and devastating. And sometimes you’ll never see it coming.

Obvious commentary is obvious.

That, and fire is never not intense. When it’s cooking food, or when it’s warming a home, it always runs hot and fierce. It’s always untouchable, it’s always aggressively there. Even if you don’t see it.

A character like Booker, always kind of stewing in the background, unseen but no less lost in his own head, feeling at all times, seems to be fitting of this description.

Fire is going to comfort or hurt. Fire can love you. Fire can hurt you. Fire can be sweet, a reminder of warmth when it’s cold outside. Or something that is going to wreck everything in sight.

Fire is fickle.

Nile/ Nile Freeman

Space Dragon

Not an element-but bear with me.

Space is always looking down upon us. Space is optimistic. It’s been here since the beginning, been with us and will always be so. Stars that existed in the beginning are still here now. There is promise with space, there is hope. It’s always seemingly fresh, yet old too. What exists in space? What doesn’t exist in space?

I see Nile as the future leader too. She thrives. She feels things intensely. She has her morals, her guiding beliefs. She’s the one that can look ahead, a new face but somehow, an old reminder too. Something that brings to mind the thought of ‘what next’?

You can look up at the sky at all times, and I see someone as Nile being the kind of individual who’s presence is always felt. A new hope, but an old comfort. Smart. Defining. Clever. Fickle. Devastating.

And it sparkles and shines and has a cleverness to it. Space is just fascinating.

And those are my headcanons!

#the old guard #dragon ideas #nilefreemans #nate answering asks #old guard as dragons #answered asks #this was fun ahaha SORRY I TOOK EONS ON IT

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kurenaiwataru · 4 years

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Victor Grantz Observations

I’ve been playing Victor Grantz the Postman for 4 days now, and I’ve decided to compile some observations and headcanons into a convenient post for my own benefit. If anyone else finds this interesting, that’s cool, but this will be mainly for my own personal use. Check the Read More for my humongous paragraphs filled with Victor Grantz observations and headcanons. They’ll probably show up in my fics at some point, whenever I get around to writing again. Until then, enjoy all of this nonsense.

1. Firstly, Victor is a lot quieter than the other survivors. Yes, he pants and moans and makes ghastly noises from time to time, but on the whole, he keeps his mouth shut. Quite literally. The voice recorded for him, in addition to being extremely soft and light, has mainly an array of muffled throat noises to pair with the fact that his mouth is sewn shut. Even when he gets sent off on the rocket chair, he doesn’t scream but lets out a muffled cry. It’s very cute and I do enjoy it.

2. Victor is a genuinely good boy. Despite how he seems to not enjoy people in face-to-face settings, he has a deep rooted belief in the morality and goodness of people, finding that humanity’s moral goodness is merely hidden beneath the veneer each person shows to the world. This is in contrast to how Aesop views people, where he would rather interact with a dead thing rather than a living person. In that way, Victor has a charm that reminds me of Kurenai Wataru from Kamen Rider Kiva. I mentioned this on Twitter, and I still hold to it now that I’ve had so much time with the character. Wataru was also one to think that humanity was depraved and unclean, yet he believed in the hidden goodness of mankind and fought for them as Kiva. That is also Victor’s charm, only with handwritten letters instead of vampire armor and a demonic horse motorcycle.

3. Victor’s empathy shines through via his in-game actions. One of his traits is that he is empathetic, and I feel it whenever I play as him. I’m sure it’s because I’m a weirdo, but whenever I send off a letter, I hope it arrives safely. When Wick barks to indicate the letter has been delivered, relief washes over me and I feel so much joy that it was received safely. I’ll often get thanked for the letters, which isn’t necessary but greatly appreciated. It makes me feel like I’m doing a good job, even when I’m not utilizing the benefits of the buff. And Wick the Post Dog is very cute and hardworking. I always feel bad when he can’t deliver a letter or I send him off and it’s too late.

4. Speaking of Wick, here are some observations about him. He’s a weird mix of the seer’s owl and the wildling’s boar. When you use owl sight, the observed character can’t see the owl until it’s needed, which is how Wick is sometimes. Wick isn’t seen unless he’s needed, making him invisible until you’ve decided on the letter you wish to send. Once you give Wick a letter, he will appear visibly on the field like the boar and you can crash into him if you’re not looking. I think hunters can hit Wick, too, but I’ve never seen it since I give Wick letters and don’t see him until I send another letter. The only other times I see him are if we happen to be running in the same direction or if I accidentally crash into him while we’re going opposite directions. He’s very small and hard to see if you’re wearing The Embrace, since it makes him black. I’ve been using Victor’s base skin since Friday after crashing into Wick several times during one match. He’s a lot easier to see when he’s a bright yellow dog. Darned good doggo, 13/10, would pet infinitely.

5. From here on out, it’s headcanons. While playing Victor for… 4 hours… yesterday, I started to wonder what exactly was inside the envelopes he sends out. I then envisioned him writing each letter by hand before his matches, making sure he has a surplus to send to people. Sometimes he gets so excited about how well he’s written a letter that he wishes to read it again, which is why he opens letters surreptitiously during matches, as though to remind himself of what good writing skills he has.

Anyway, after thinking about that, I decided to try my hand at writing such letters given the letter types he has available as prompts:

Urgent Letter

Farewell Letter

I am writing you this to inform you that I am leaving. The time we spent together was beautiful, but it had to end. To part ways is a normal experience, as people ebb and flow from our lives like the tide. Each new phase of the moon brings new people for us to experience and love, just as it takes people away, and I now must away with the tide.

Should we see each other again someday, I hope that you will remember the happiness we felt. There is no malice in this parting, for farewells are hope for a bright future apart. May time be gentle as the waves of change flow over you.

Victor

Tranquility Letter

I hope this letter finds you well, for now there is peace, though its tranquility I know is fleeting. Time will find us, and when it does, hardship will prevail again. The waltz of time dances around us, and we are in one upward beat of its musical rhythm. The next beat will fall upon us, and time will rage with its horrors again. Yet now we can ease ourselves into this momentary peace.

Do not think to darkness. Do not think to tragedy. If famine and war and violence befall us, we will be together in it. We will persevere and strive towards living, to find that beat of tranquility again.

Time dances on to its own beat, and we can join its dance if we are surefooted.

Be safe and at peace,

Victor

Bravery Letter

Rise up, my friend and ally, and throw yourself into the fray! You are strong and brave beyond compare; have confidence in yourself and we shall not lose. Fight on, brethren! Victory shall be in our grasp should we merely strive to obtain it. Reach out your hand and grasp victory! Hold it firm in your hand and never let go. We must survive to another day. Be like the sun, rising and setting in glory with each turning of the Earth. Do not think to failure. Do not think to the endless bitter outcomes. We can win the day.

Stay safe, my dear friend and ally.

Victor

Inspiring Letter

Have you ever looked to the sky and thought of its brilliance? On a summer day, bright and warm, we are treated to bountiful warmth and beauty. Each day sprawls before us in splendid colors, radiating their joy endlessly. Everything is verdant and rich, succulent in its glory each day. Even in rain and gloom, colors shine to warm even a dull day.

That is you. You are the summer. When you smile, birds sing of its radiance and send those songs to the wind. You are the brightest and the warmest. You are brilliant in intelligence and warm in kindness. You exude life and color to all who see you, even on days when you lack the confidence to shine. I have seen you shine, and you are stunning.

Shine for everyone. Be brilliant and bright. You are resilient and true willful. Use that willfulness to your advantage and become a beacon in the dark. The path you forge blazes only for you. Cleave the darkness before you and shine towards a brighter tomorrow.

Ever faithful under your light,

Victor

Hope Letter

Do you believe in anything? Do you believe in God? Do you believe in science? Do you believe in the morality of humanity at all? Belief is what drives us to be so resilient and adaptive. We drive ourselves toward betterment because we simply believe that we can be better. What an incredible drive we have!

Tantamount to this drive is a simple belief in hope. A hope is like a wish, but more tangible and real. A hope can be so simple. I hope that you will see me. I hope that you will smile for me. I hope that you will say my name. Such simple desires can keep us motivated for short intervals. On a day that drudges on, one can merely hope that it will be lunchtime soon. On a day when the air is cold and the sky is dark, one can hope that the clouds will part and bring the sun back to smile on us. Hope isn’t as lofty as wishing. I could wish for something unfathomable, such as a giant swimming pool filled of ice cream and chocolate pudding, but wishes rarely come true. With hope, there is a flicker of reality in them and with enough hard work that hope can be obtained.

I hope that you have belief in hope. I am sending you this in the hope that you receive it. I am sending you this in the hope that it will aid you in some way. I know not how, but if it is helpful to you in anyway, that is all I hope for.

I hope to see you again. I hope that we will share a knowing smile between us. I hope that you will say my name and that the word is filled with your gratitude that I helped you, even if my aid was so small.

Those are my sincerest hopes and I have put all of my belief into each one.

Stay safe, my friend, and return to me.

Victor

These are just quick samples that I whipped up, but I’d like to think that he is feverishly writing, knowing that his letters inspire hope in the hearts of those he sends them to. I feel like it’s a lovely sentiment that he endeavors to bring just a modicum of inspiration to his teammates, even if he fails in the match. Especially if he’s sending out the permanent buffs. That’s his last wish, essentially. He wants you to succeed where he has failed because he has faith that you can triumph.

Those screenshots are mine btw. If you want to see them all in tweet format, you can find them on my Twitter account. Feel free to RT if you think it’ll help someone.

6. Victor is quiet, meek, and a nervous wreck, but he has a heart of gold. Much like Aesop, he’s shy and not the most forthright with his emotions. He hides himself behind a mask of silence, as I enumerated in How Do You Explain Love? I wouldn’t say that he’s afraid of intimacy, but more that he worries that intimacy may shatter his worldview. I doubt that having his world be shattered in such a way would leave Victor in a poor situation. He already has belief in the goodness of humanity, as witnessed by his introductory video, yet he could be left shaken by the thought that not all people wear such reprehensible masks. To know that there are people who wear their honesty plain as the nose on their face would be a shock to him, but I think he would readily accept it. Despite how he hasn’t experienced much kindness in his life, he’s always open to giving kindness to anyone he meets.

7. And I believe that that kindness could be extended even to hunters. Though they pursue him daily for death, he likely understands that it’s merely their job and laments not being able to give them letters as he can for his allies. Perhaps if the hunters got warm, heartfelt letters like the survivors do, then they would not be so cruel and heartless. He knows that many of the hunters were human once, and he would likely want to appeal to the remainder of their humanity by offering them comfort in the form of a beautiful letter. A wonderfully crafted letter can bring even the strongest men to tears, and I’m certain that Victor would feel that the hunters are deserving of that kindness despite how terrifying and terrible they are.

…Okay, I think I’m done. Sorry this is so long. If you see me in game, I’ll try my best to be a good letter fairy, delivering hope and inspiration to all!

#identity v #victor grantz #idv postman

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wtnvwritings · 5 years

Text

Forgotten Lunches

AO3 Version

Relationship: Cecil/Siren!Reader/Carlos

Rating: General

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: You, Cecil and Carlos are in a happy, loving relationship together. This is just a view into one day of your lives, a day where both of your boyfriends have forgotten their lunch at home--so you decide to bring it to them.

Note: Totally used the headcanon by @welcometonvheadcanons on how Cecil signs his text messages--I think it's adorable!

Click here for more information about the siren race

It comes as no surprise when it’s revealed that both Carlos and Cecil have left their lunch at home. When you stepped into the kitchen, half-dressed and still groggy with sleep, fate seemed more than happy to answer the question of ‘what will I do today?’ with a very simple answer.

Deliver the lunches of your forgetful boyfriends, of course. You can’t call yourself surprised, considering that not one, but both of them got up late for their respective jobs, tossed on clothes and tried to hurry their morning routine to but a fraction of what they’d normally give themselves.

For Cecil, it was a quick dash to the bathroom, a throwing-on of clothes and a very quick peck to yours and Carlos’ cheeks before he dashed like a breeze of cold wind out the door.

For Carlos, he was at least a little more calm, even while hurried--he had looser hours to his job in the research facility, after all, so the two of you were able to enjoy a joke or two at the expense of both of your lover. Still, he got ready and left before you could remind him to grab his lunch, the food you’d made for both of them the night prior.

What were the odds for the alarms for both of them failing to go off?

Not entirely impossible, as the morning itself would have.

You eye up the two neatly-wrapped lunches, only briefly considering if you were lazy enough to simply text both of them to come home on their break. The thought came, settled in your thoughts for a few seconds, and then you gently pushed them away in favor of being a more-or-less good person.

Besides, you haven’t had a chance to walk around town without the need of research on your back--a couple days off work has been sorely needed.

You ready yourself slowly, glamour forgone in choice of feeling the space and universe around you in your truest form. It isn’t much different from being under the shade of human glamour of course, not physically, but there’s the mildest sensation of freedom that comes with not having to wear another layer of being.

And it’s nice to shapeshift at will, if only to reach an extra limb or two out around you to gather up your outfit for the day.

Since most of your clothes fit a human form, you keep such a shape--two arms, two legs and a single head utop your shoulders, a bit of hair atop that single head. It means at least that you get to pick out something to wear with ease.

You pluck your way through the closet, passing over some of Cecil’s clothes with a soft smile on your face; though he’s quite comfortable in his human form and in human-shaped clothes, he is certainly not afraid of tailoring some outfits to match other forms with other shapes. You’re hoping that Cecil will one day feel more comfortable in his unglamored body, but that’s a personal issue for every siren to deal with on their own time and willingness--a life lived among humans can influence one’s sense of beauty and self-confidence quite a bit.

Just as you’re about ready to leave the apartment, you remember something important, and quickly grab the soft, thin cloak sitting on one of the hooks near the door. You pull it over your shoulders, the hood over your head, grab the forgotten lunches in a bag and make your way out the door.

The sun is always bright and hot in Night Vale--on the days it decides to lift into the sky, that is. Some days don’t have a sun and that’s alright, not everyone can be so confident in the way they light up the lives of others.

Still, today is one such bright, hot, sun-filled day. Though it’s certainly nice to have a step-up of cape twirling around your body with every hot, desert breeze, it’s not exactly an accessory by choice. For whatever reason it is, trying to bare your unglamored skin to the sun of Night Vale for long periods of time leaves you feeling ill, struck with flu-like symptoms that last a day or so, depending on the level of exposure.

It’s gotten better over time, and you are almost curious if it’s something specific to Night Vale’s sun, as opposed to the sun of other towns. You have yet the chance to ask Cecil, though you also wonder if he would know anything himself; again, he doesn’t tend to tend to exist outside his glamour very often.

An interesting thought, nevertheless. Maybe Carlos would like to look into such a curiosity, if he has the time between all of his other experiments and questions...and other things that scientists do.

You catch a familiar face every now and again as you walk, cloak billowing behind you in vibrant color that looks so stark against the dark of your skin and form. You greet them always with a smile, even a soft chuckle when you explain why you’re out and about.

“My boyfriends left their lunches at home,” you’d say to each one who asks. “They were in such a hurry this morning!”

“It’s a good thing they have a partner like you, dear,” Old Woman Josie had said, surrounded on either side by her tall, heavenly friends, friends who were certainly not angels, but who definitely waved at you in a warm greeting. “Tell Carlos that I’ll be coming by the center later today--he’s been wanting to look at one of my old family relics.”

It doesn’t take too long to get to Carlos’ research center. Maybe ten, twenty minutes at most of a walk, though most of it is spent at intersections, waiting for the flashing lights of wilting lilies so you can safely cross from one side to another. It lets you get your thoughts in place at least, let them jumble about your mind until they have found a place to settle.

By the time you arrive at the center, the sun is high and hotter than before. You’re eager to get out of the sweltering air and into a slightly-less-sweltering building, if only so you can finally pull back the hood on the cloak and see a little bit better.

You catch the attention instantly of one of Carlos’ scientists on his team. She’s a young girl, a bit newer than the rest but with eyes that glitter like stars and a mind as sharp as a knife.

“Hey Sammy,” you say pleasantly, gently raising the bag in your hands in a gesture. “Carlos forgot his lunch at home. Where’s he at right now?”

Sammy smiles in turn and gently points to one direction of the room--because the entire research facility is really just one big room, built using the foundations of the old Night Vale High School gym, which had been itself built before school officials realized that a gym shouldn’t be located several miles away from the school itself.

There’s some dividers separating the spaces claimed by several members of the team, but it’s still one large room filled with bustling scientists going about their daily experiments and research.

“He’s over by the table,” Sammy finally says. “You know, the one that’s not real?”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“The one that looks real but, by all accounts, is not?”

She echoes the soft noise of humor, the little joke between you staying just that before you step through the makeshift laboratory to find one of your two likely-hungry boyfriends.

Of course you find him by the table, an ordinary-looking table of four legs and mild detailing around the edges. He stands next to it, one hand on his chin and the other propped on his hip. His hair looks a little frazzled, as if he’s recently run his fingers through it, but he otherwise doesn’t look half-starved.

“Hey,” You say, gently pulling his attention away from the non-existent piece of furniture. “You left something at home this morning.”

It takes a moment before Carlos finally turns to look at you, recognition slowly dawning over his features where there was focused annoyance. You see his eyes light up behind the safety goggles over them, and he takes a few steps close to you.

You lift his lunch from the bag, carefully wrapped in decorative cloth, and handed it to him.

“You were in quite a hurry,” you say, gently teasing. “I don’t know how you and Cecil slept past your alarms.”

Carlos chuckles sheepishly, setting the wrapped box onto a nearby desk.

“It might have something to do with how late we were up last night,” You can almost feel a gentle warmth over Carlos’ cheeks as he speaks, not entirely meeting your eyes for a few moments. “I should have gone to bed earlier, but you sound so pretty when you sing like that.”

“Carlos!”

The reprimand is hardly firm, hardly with any edge--it’s said with a half-hidden smile behind your hand and a little blossom of warmth in your chest. It brings forth a flicker of memory from the night before and, oh yes, the three of you were up far, far later than normal.

Carlos takes a moment to adjust himself, gently pull at the buttons of his un-buttoned lab coat.

“I assume Cecil forgot his too?”

You nod gently.

“I’m planning on delivering it to him,” You feel a mild annoyance at the back of your words, but nothing that you try to hide from Carlos. “I don’t look forward to going back into the sun, it’s really hot out today.”

“Oh I know,” Carlos agrees quickly. “The sun was really loud this morning too--I had such a hard time focusing on the results from my tests.”

He sighs, and a moment passes between the two of you. It’s a moment of gentle familiarity, a moment that doesn’t inherently need to be filled with sound or words--it’s just a moment to let the topic of conversation flow and ebb as it needs.

After another couple breaths, Carlos perks up, looking at you in mild curiosity.

“Why don’t you see if Cecil can just come here for his lunch? You won’t have to walk anywhere--I don’t want you getting sick from the exposure.”

The words make you feel warm inside. Carlos knows very little about sirens, he hasn’t had much time to ask the sort of questions and in the level of detail he likes, but it’s obvious he’s made the effort to remember what little details he’s able to pick up from observations and conversational snippets. It means a lot to you and, honestly, he presents a rather nice idea.

“I can text him, I bet he’s probably hungry by now anyway.”

You set down the other wrapped box beside Carlos’ before shuffling up beside him, phone in one hand and a smile on your face, the unspoken gesture to get a picture of the two of you to send to your mutual partner.

Carlos doesn’t respond at first, so you start to wrap your arm around his shoulders-

-but quickly retract it when you feel him flinch against your touch. It surprises you more than worries you, bright eyes blinking against the shadowy backdrop of your face and realization slowly dawning over your thoughts.

“Bad touch day?” Is all you need to say, to ask in careful and loving communication.

Carlos mulls over the question and eventually nods, as if he was reluctant to tell you. It’s not uncommon for him to try and push his boundaries on comfort, especially on the days he can’t even stand to be brushed against, but you’re slowly learning to pick up the queues to help him communicate those little things better with you (Cecil has long-since learned of Carlos’ many nonverbals).

You offer him a comforting smile and situate yourself to stand beside him, far enough not to press against his shoulder, but close enough that you’re able to get both of you in the frame (though it does help that you can extend your reach farther than most non-amorphous beings). You snap the picture and quickly send it off with a couple ot teasing messages.

[11:46 a.m.] You: I think a certain radio host left his lunch at home this morning 🤔

[11:47 a.m.] You: If you want it, you’ll have to come visit your two favorite people before we eat it up ourselves ;P

[11:47 a.m.] You: [Photo attached]

You and Carlos find an empty table (one that actually exists) and a couple chairs to settle yourself down. By the time that you do, you feel the vibration of your phone and glance over the message sent in response.

[11:49 a.m.] Cecil: I’ve been starving since I left the apartment, it appears one cannot live off coffee alone. Sincerely, Cecil.

[11:49 a.m.] Cecil: Also, you’re both looking beautiful and perfect. I like how you shifted your hair today. Sincerely, Cecil.

[11:49 a.m.] Cecil: Give Carlos a kiss for me, I’ll be there soon! Sincerely, Cecil.

You smile and relay the messages to Carlos, who’s face lights up with warmth in return. With a great care, you lean across the table and lay a gentle peck of lips over his cheek, then sit back into your chair, chin lightly pressed over your palms.

"Old Woman Josie told me she’ll be stopping by later today,” Your words relay the message the woman had told you earlier. “Something about old relics you wanted to look over?”

Carlos all but blooms in excitement, the emotion unfiltered and absolutely beautiful over his face. It’s almost contagious to see him like this, surrounded by the things he loves and so ready to start babbling off about them at any given moment. He’s waiting for words though, a verbal confirmation that you want to hear his excitement as much as he’s yearning to talk about it.

“So,” You finally say, a smile on your lips, focus entirely on your partner. “Tell me about them.”

And so the air of that section of the laboratory is filled with the soft, energetic sound of Carlos’ voice as he explains just that, the two of you sitting together as couples do, waiting peacefully for the third member of your relationship so all of you can enjoy lunch together.

You couldn’t ask for better mates than Carlos and Cecil.

#wtnv #welcome to night vale #cecil #cecilos #poly #poly cecilos #readershot #poly cecilos readershot #cecil readershot #carlos readershot #sfw #sfw readershot #siren!reader au #siren!reader #siren!reader au readershot #writing #oh god so many taGS

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volumes2lo-gan · 6 years

Note

Prompt? Creativity ebbs and flows, and sometimes Roman disappears altogether. He returns after an unusually long absence.

I really like this headcanon! I kind of ran with it, hope you enjoy! ✨

Rewritten

Fandom: Sanders SidesPairings: Moxiety, PrinxietalityWarnings: choking, (temporary) death mention, drowning mention, let me know if there’s anything else

Roman had been gone for a while. The other Sides were used to him disappearing for days at a time, but it had been a week since they’d last seen him and they were getting worried. Patton wandered into the living room and upon seeing Virgil sitting on the couch, made an effort to look less downtrodden. He knew just how worried Virgil was about Roman’s prolonged absence and decided it’d be better if he didn’t see just how concerned Patton was right now. He couldn’t manage a smile, but he tried nonetheless as he sat next to Virgil on the couch.

“Hey, kiddo, how’re ya holding up?” he asked, watching as Virgil shifted and curled closer into the armrest.

“I’m… I want…” he paused, picking absently at the fraying edges of the couch. “Why is it taking him so long? He’s usually back by now and–” his voice hitched and Patton’s heart clenched. He hated seeing Virgil so worried, but there was nothing he could do to bring Roman back any faster. It was up to Thomas, but his creative block this time around seemed to be his worst one yet and Roman’s disappearance was proof of that. The best Patton could do was distract, something Logan had done for himself the moment Roman faded from view. Virgil was a habitual worrier, so it often took a combined effort with Patton to bring his mind elsewhere. They’d already watched Black Cauldron twice this week, but Patton had soon realized Disney movies were inevitably bringing Virgil’s mind back to Roman, so he’d switched to comedy classics like I Love Lucy instead.

There was a long silence before Patton edged a little closer. “Would a reassuring half-hug be okay?” he asked with a small smile that couldn’t quite reach his eyes. Virgil nodded and leaned to the side, letting Patton’s arm rest around his torso comfortingly.

“It’ll be okay, Virge, I’m sure he’ll be back any day now.”

Roman was shrouded in darkness.

All he could see was inky blackness and sometimes the vague outline of his suit sleeves.

He could feel vines growing around his ankles, twisting and constricting, until he faded out once more and the weeds fell away, awaiting his tangibility so that they could start over.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here. He’d been feeling a little off for a week before he’d disappeared, so he’d been expecting it, but not to this extreme. He feels like it must’ve been a month, which, if he’s counted right in the past, means it’s only been a few days- a week at most.

His body became tangible again and he felt the vines return, this time quickly snaking up his legs and torso. They reached his throat in a matter of seconds. He’d hoped this wouldn’t happen. His pulse thundered in his ears as more vines crawled through the darkness.

This had happened only a few times before. Usually he would just fade back into existence in his realm, but sometimes he couldn’t just remanifest. Sometimes he had to start over. The vines tightened, pressing deep into his skin.

The last time he’d restarted, he’d drowned. Cold, suffocating darkness had enveloped him until the familiar white lights had danced around his vision. They’d dotted and expanded until all he could see was brilliant white and once it had faded, his room had come into view. That must’ve been what was happening now because as he choked on his last breath, white lights grew in front of his eyes. Soon enough the whole world became nothing more than a blank canvas. Roman’s feet pressed against the floor below him and he fell to his knees, gasping for air.

“O-okay, cough, f-focus,” he rasped to himself, bracing his hands on the floor as he imagined his realm. Lush green fields, looming trees, colorful rooftops. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the familiar world he’d created over time. He took a deep breath and stood up, wavering for only a moment before standing tall and proud of his creation. With a wave of his hand, he changed his outfit back to his newest one and smiled. He was glad to be back.

After he got his bearings, he took one more deep breath and sunk out to the common room.

Virgil and Patton were three hours into their I Love Lucy binge when Roman rose up in front of the TV. The moment he realized they were watching a show, he’d expected a complaint from Virgil, but instead he was tackled to the ground in a crushing bear hug. He fell backwards, taking Virgil with him and Patton was quick to toss a pillow under Roman’s head before it could hit the floor.

“I see that I was missed,” Roman laughed as he hugged Virgil back with equal force. Virgil pressed his forehead into Roman’s shoulder and mumbled something that sounded like “shut up.”

“You were gone for a week, Roman,” Patton said, tears shining in his eyes as he joined in the hug, “We were worried sick.”

“Aw, I know I’m great,” Roman chuckled weakly. Patton focused on his expression for a moment.

“How are you doing, Roman?” he asked, watching the prince’s eyebrows furrow slightly before he smiled.

“Me? I’m Prince Roman! It takes more than a little creative block to get me down.” Patton didn’t seem to buy it, but he could tell that Roman didn’t want to talk about it. He’d bring it up when he was ready. Until then, Patton was going to make sure his kiddos were looked after.

“How about a Disney movie to celebrate? Your pick.” Patton smiled.

“My pick? Wow, you really did miss me! We should see what Specs has to say about that,” Roman said, gesturing to the stairs.

“He’ll watch whatever you choose,” Patton said. “Despite what you might think, our favorite teacher really missed you. I’ll go tell him you’re back. You can pick the movie and then help Virgil get the snacks. Does that work, Virge?” Patton asked as he carefully detangled himself from the hug pile. Virgil nodded and sniffled before struggling to get up as well.

“I– I’m going to go fix my makeup, then I’ll make some popcorn,” he said quickly before dashing up the stairs. Patton smiled and gave Roman one more hug before following Virgil up the stairs.

Roman turned to the DVD bin and knelt down to flip through the collection. He caught his reflection in the darkened TV and remembered what it felt like to be in that endless darkness. He could still feel the vines around his throat, an unfortunate side effect of the block and a reminder that it could happen again. Roman shook his head and turned on the TV. He’s fine, he’s back and safe. They’re going to watch a movie and everything will be okay.

He pulled his collar closer and started flipping through the DVDs as Virgil’s careful footfalls started down the stairs.

Tagged:@existental-crises @jordisama @here-to-vent @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @thomas-must-get-to-sleep @depressed-alone @evanisonfire @lollingtothemax @all-the-fand0mz @justanotherpurplebutterfly @emphoenixcat @hetaliagurl5 @kittyboof8 @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @princeyssash @virgilient @dontmesswithmygentleself @lilbeanblr @burningpeachdelusionofchaos @lindesensate @kanejandkruge @just-fic-me-up @pinkeasteregg @ravenclawicecream @sander-sideblog @patton-of-love-for-my-friends @pastel-patton123

#logan writes #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #moxiety #moxietality #hurt/comfort #fics #my fic #tw choking #tw death mention #tw drowning #main character death (temporarily)#prompts #prompt fic #(I think I might write some more for this hc sometime)#(I've got some background ideas for some Patton/Roman interactions that could be fun to work on)

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timeisweird · 6 years

Text

Day Out

Summary: The Doctor, when walking through the off-brand version of London they're now forced to call home, bumps into an old (best) friend. Or someone who should be that friend, but that they know can't be.

(a gift for xander @genocidaltheta !! i Love all your ramblings on tentoo, they’re so good and i think you’ve done their character so well, and i hope this makes your day a bit better.

speaking of, there’s a few headcanons in here of theirs, such as tentoo’s form being dimensionally unstable, and them not having as good a connection to Time. So that’s what that’s about. also Cass, an original character of xander’s, is Rose’s girlfriend in Pete’s World and there’s nothing you can do about it.)

They ran away.

(No, that makes them sound like a child, like someone that has to be looked after and cared for.)

They snuck out.

(That’s even worse.)

The point is, the Doctor is wandering the streets of this London, with the zeppelin's filling the skies and blocking the sun on occasion, the off-color timelines, the overwhelming sense of not-quite and the absolute emptiness that fills their mind, and neither Rose nor Cass know about it.

They don’t know why they’re out here, really. Just an urge to keep on moving, they suppose, pushing them forward. (They won’t stop, can’t stop, if they do, then…) And the streets aren’t too crowded, for whatever reason, they haven’t bothered to keep track of the ebb and flow of foot traffic in this city. It’s easy enough to weave in and out the people that are walking the pavement with them, anyhow.

They might be phasing in and out of tangibility, dreaded, unwanted form still unstable as always. It would account for the look of confusion and latent horror that they get when they pass a man weighed down with shopping bags, not bothering to step out of the way. Their shoulder bumps into him, or it should, but it’s hard to keep themself so tightly physical as to be completely and utterly tangible. They’re pretty sure they phase through him, or something close to it.

Usually it’s a struggle to keep themself together at all, with the foreign-wrong timelines pulling at them, the terrible, terrible ache in their head (she’s gone, she’s gone, and it hurts so much), a body that can’t decide if it wants to exist or not, because it shouldn’t, human and Time Lord, it shouldn’t, but against all the odds they stay stitched together, even if in the most abstract sense.

But today’s been alright, (It seems like they’ve mastered the art of ignoring it, pushing past it, if only for a few hours. They try not to think about the inevitable moment that everything comes crashing down on their head), so they let it slide. Heh.

It’s a bit of a surprise when they actually do bump into someone, but they barely take a moment to stop, just breezing past. What’s the point of stopping to apologize when–

“Oi! Sunshine, where the hell do you think you’re going in such a hurry?”

They freeze.

No, no she can’t – it can’t be – she’s not here, she’s gone, she has to be, her mind couldn’t possibly – she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone–

And yet, when they turn around stiffly, they’re greeted by ginger hair that frames a scowling face.

Her name is on the tip of their tongue, but suddenly they can’t speak, they can’t breathe (and don’t they have to breathe, now?).

(Do they even deserve to be able to say her name?)

She takes a few steps towards them, and she’s saying something, but they can’t parse the words, they can’t parse anything but the timeline that curls around her, tinged with that same not-right, off-color flavor that permeates this universe so thoroughly, but still Donna, somehow, in some way. Not their Donna, but still… Donna.

She waves a hand in front of their face, and they jerk back – maybe they step back, maybe they’re just suddenly two feet away from her, away from this Donna from this universe that isn’t the Donna they know because the Donna they know, she’s not here, she’s gone, two-way metacrisis, there’s no way she could have survived for long like that and it’s their fault (the other Doctor’s fault, that is).

It feels like the carpet’s been pulled out from under them, and they’re grabbing for timelines to try and settle themselves, keep themselves on their feet, keep themselves together, but Time slips through their fingers like coarse rope that burns, they can’t grab on, everything’s just out of reach when it should be theirs, they’re the Doctor, Time should answer to them but it doesn’t, and they can’t stay here, with her, not this time, they’re so sorry but–

They run.

They manage to keep themselves together just enough so that they can push past her (and her touch burns, why does it burn, why can’t they think), and bolt.

The concrete beneath their feet as they dart through the crowds is solid, but it doesn’t feel like it.

Then they’re in an alleyway.

It barely registers, though, even when they lean back against the wall, trying for something to support them, and suddenly they’re letting themself slide down to meet the damp ground, out of breath, out of energy. Everything’s blurry, and they wipe at their eyes absently. Their hand comes back wet.

The person pushes her out of the way and run, like the cops are after them – but they’re not, Donna knows they’re not, because what sort of criminal wears holographic fabric shoes and sweaters that look like they were cut from a roll of carpet meant for a new bowling alley?

But she upset them terribly, so badly they were shaking, staring at her, not saying a word, and against everything telling her she should just let them be (they bumped into her), she runs after them.

They run fast, like they’ve trained for a marathon, and Donna finds herself quickly losing them. She shouts after them, tries to get their attention, but they’re either ignoring her, or they don’t even hear her (which she finds hard to believe).

At one point they stumble, and she thinks they might fall, but something about them stutters, and then they’re running like nothing happened at all – she must not have seen them right, must be the sun in her eyes.

She watches them duck into an alleyway, and now she’s wondering if this was such a good idea, chasing some stranger through the streets. Honestly, what would Veena think?

She stops running, gasping for air. Someone passes her by with a confused glance, almost a glare, but she can't say she has the breath to make a comment about it.

Still, she’s come this far, and Donna Noble is rarely one to give up without a hell of an effort first. So she walks up to the alleyway, and looks around the corner, expecting to find them, probably taking a rest like she did. (Seriously, how can anyone keep running like that?)

But what she finds instead is an empty alleyway. It’s not even a through alleyway – at the end is a brick wall, far too high for anyone to climb. And she didn't see them leave the same way they came.

They're just… gone.

#doctor who #dw fanfic #dw fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #metacrisis tenth doctor #tentoo #donna noble #pete's world #my writing

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