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ghostly-penumbra · 1 month

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Father and Sons

Ao3 FFN

Summary: Clockwork is Danny's loving, adoptive grandpa. Time is the Endless neglectful father. They are one and the same.

[Chapter One]

Chapter Two: Introduction

- - -

Danny glared at the pages of his book willing them to make sense through his mounting headache.

“C’mon, Fenton this isn’t rocket science!”

“Actually,” his book said, closing itself in his grasp and using its pages as a mouth, “I am.” It turned, showing Danny its cover with the title Rocket Science for Stressed College Ghosts by D. J. F.

“Oh, yeah, you are. Still, though,” he opened the book again, finding his childhood drawing of himself astride a rocket, “gotta keep my mind in the game.”

“Daniel Fenton.”

Danny looked up at the sound of his name and found a guy around his age who reminded him of himself in a weird, funhouse-mirror kinda way.

He was as pale as snow (no, really!) with wild white hair that defied gravity and green eyes as bright as the emerald gleaming on his chest, which was the only speck of colour in an otherwise solid white ensemble.

Before Danny could ask him if he needed anything, he realized something, “Oh, this is a Dream.” He stood up and found his sleeping body drooling all over his notebook, with several empty cups of coffee around him like a summoning circle. (One to which he wouldn’t mind being summoned to, if he was honest.)

“Would you walk with me, Daniel?” The guy asked.

With the ease of one who’s dreaming, Danny said, “I don’t really like leaving my body behind…”

“Your soul remains attached to it, it would just be your consciousness being away.”

Danny looked at his sleeping form for another half moment before nodding, “Yeah, okay.”

They left the library together, walking through the campus unperceived by those still up and about.

“I know you, right? You seem familiar.” Asked Danny at last.

“Yes, we have met before. Almost a hundred years ago for me, though I doubt it’s been so long for you. And it never actually happened, in the end.”

“You’re Clockwork’s son!” The halfa exclaimed as if it had made perfect sense. Since he was dreaming, it had. “Sorry, last time you… looked different.”

Dream of the Endless nodded, and his green eyes gave way to the visage of a starry night sky. “I was different.” He whispered, more to himself than Danny.

“I didn’t think I’d see ya again, if I’m being honest.” At the inquisitive sound Dream made, Danny elaborated, “I’ve met some of your siblings and, well, I know I’m not you guys’ favorite person, even if you don’t mess with me ‘n’ stuff…”

“Yes.” Dream nodded. “I imagine.”

After another moment of silence, the Endless spoke again.

“I came to you to ask for a favour.” Danny looked at him curiously, and Dream procured a bent, artsy-looking pocket watch from his white coat. “I’ve finally retrieved my father’s saeculum; it must be returned to him. I don’t wish to bother him again, so I believe it would be better to ask you to deliver it when next you visit him, if you are amenable.”

“Of course no problem.” Danny took the watch in his hands and turned it this way and that. “Huh, I think I’ve seen him working on this.” He said awkwardly to fill the silence.

Danny stared at Dream, his lips pursed and Dream stared back, impassive.

“I don’t mind helping you out with this, but… you could… go and visit him, that’d be cool. I think he would like that.” Danny finally said not meeting the other’s eye.

“My father has made it quite clear he doesn’t.” Dream said. “You were there, Daniel.”

“Yes! I- I know, but… if it’s a social visit, he’ll like it, I’m sure of that.” Dream looked at him hard, incredulous, and Danny sighed. “Look, I know Clockwork is not the best father he could be, and that’s on him not on you or your siblings, but… I care about him, yeah? And he’ll probably ground me for saying this, but he’s lonely! And I… just… think that if you came over just to say hi, he’d like that.”

They had stopped walking, and Danny still couldn’t look Dream in the eye, his gaze instead on his white shoes.

“I don’t need your help.” Dream said after a moment and Danny flinched, afraid he had overstepped and now Clockwork’s son would go to him himself and throw Danny’s words to his face and- “But I was curious;” the Endless continued over Danny’s internal panicking, making him halt and finally look up into starry eyes, “as I said, last time we met, I was different, other. Whatever my predecessor, the first Dream of the Endless thought of you is out of my reach, but looking at these memories… I’m curious as to what kind of person is the one my father favours so that he has adopted you as his grandson, doting on you as he doesn’t on his children.”

Danny felt himself being measured, his worth put on a scale against his grandpa’s seven children for their right to him.

He knew it wasn’t a competition because he had already won. That didn’t make him feel good.

“I see now that you love him, independently of whatever boon he granted you, but you don’t covet his attention, so he doesn’t deny it to you. You see him as other than his post so he presents himself to you that way.”

Danny didn’t know what to say, he probably didn’t understand everything that was being not said by his chosen grandpa’s son.

He couldn’t say ‘he’s not that bad, really’ without having to omit ‘to me’ and he didn’t want to lie so he just changed the topic. Or rather, he came back on topic.

“I’ll give him the sæculum next time I see him, and you won’t owe me anything, I’ll do it gladly,” he looked again at the surrealistic piece of art, wondering what was its purpose, before looking back at Dream, “but please, just think about it that’s all I ask.” He finished with a small, helpless shrug.

“I will consider it, but I can’t promise you anything.” Dream said, and Danny almost sighed in relief, but held it back. “But regardless of that…” The Endless began again, and Danny straightened, as he felt he was the one in the other’s debt, “my father has taken you in as his grandson and that makes us family.”

Danny blinked, startled, and waited for Dream to elaborate on that, but when he didn’t Danny assumed he must’ve missed some social cue and hurried to answer, “I mean, that’s- optional, y’know? With it being a symbolic adoption and all, not even legal though very real for us. You don’t have to. I wouldn’t want ya to feel some, obligation if you don’t want to be-”

“I want to.”

Danny stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the person-shaped concept facing him, speechless.

“I want to be your family, Danny. If you are amenable to it.”

“I- that’s- ah, I, I don’t- yeah! Yes.” Danny said, mind still lagging. “That, I’d like that.”

#Danny Phantom #The Sandman #Danny Fenton #Dream of the Endless #Daniel Hall #Clockwork #Father Time #ghostly-scrypts

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bluerosefox · 8 months

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Assassin Heir? Crime Fighting Furry? NOPE NO THANK YOU!

"Danyal, its time to end this game and return with me."

Danny should had known Clockwork had something in mind when he sent him on this mission. He knew he should had been suspicious of the time keeper when he noticed the little 'this is going to be fun' smile on his face when he sent Danny off into the portal.

"Get back here you demon spawn 2.0!"

But how was he supposed to know that he'd wake up in this world version of himself in a pit full of corrupted (AND NASTY) ectoplasim at the tender age of five or that when he swam up to the surface he'd be meeting face to face with what was apparently a cult.

"-O just spotted him a block away! I'll try to cut itty bitty bridie off!"

An Assassins Cult his, new to him, loving yet a little insane mother was in charge of (though during the few months he stayed in the compound he heard rumors and gossip from maids and others alike that if his grandfather returned from the dead he'll take over once again, no doubt punish Talia for creating another heir after the failure of the last one, most likely was going to kill Danny and that... that was can of worms Danny didn't wanna deal with yet)

"Ten bucks says they try to stab RR when we get the feral thing home"

"...Losers bet...."

Danny had lived with his mother for a while after being brought back from the 'dead' for apparently the first time, it turned out training a five year old with an actual sword and a dumbass hidden revenge seeking teacher was a terrible idea.

"I swear if this one tries to murder me like the others I'm asking Zatanna if there is a curse on me."

He dealt with her high demands of perfection, the endless training, and the constant comparisons to his apparent older brother Damain... Who didn't know Danny, or rather Danyal existed.

Nor did his father (when Danny, using his powers he's kept hidden since 'waking' up in this Realm, he sneaked his way around the base and discovered how he came into the world. And tbh he couldn't blame his mom how she made him, she was an assassin first and foremost, being naturally pregnant would had painted a target on her for to long... but he also felt it was unfair and an asshole move on his unsuspecting father as well)

"As your elder brother I demand you to stop running!"

Now don't get him wrong, he did like his new mother (total badass assassin lady and all that) and he knew she loved him in her own... deadly way. But yeah, she really shouldn't be taking care of kids. He could tell she struggled with wanting to be a normal mother but her first instinct after so many years was to be an assassin first.

Something she was trying to engrave into Danny with as well.

"Ah, hello Beloved. I see you've learned of our Danyal."

"Talia. Back away from him and leave Gotham now."

"I can not do that. The League needs an heir and since Damian refuses to return... I have decided to create a new one and I shall not be leaving until he returns with me."

"Talia."

Hence why when Danny, or rather Danyal al Ghul had gotten decent control over his powers he decided to leave the League. Again nothing wrong with the life his mom leads, to each their own, but he... really, really didnt want to be an assassin. Or an assassin heir.

So here he was, after almost a year on the run, using his powers and training to out smart and out maneuver his mother and her many band of Assassins, in Gotham. One of the last places he ever wanted to run to cause he knew his father and brother lived here.

It was just his luck that his mother had managed to intercept his train ride that passed into Gotham for a few hours and forced him to run into the city...

Add her assassins into the mix and running into Robin, who heard from Oracle his mother had been spotted chasing a young boy across the city, that same night.

After that it became a full on "catch me if you can" chase for not only his mother but for the batclan as well.

And after two whole days of chase, it seemed like the final showdown was about to begin because everyone was on top of this rooftop, his mother and her assassins on one side, his father and the batclan on the other and Danny well... he was right in the middle of all of it.

He just had to hope no one would notice him once the fighting started...

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #basicly Danny is sent on a mission by CW #he wakes up in the DC version of himself in the pits after being killed and Talia tossing him in #he was created by Talia since shes head of the LOA now and needs her own heir #but she once again wants Bruce's bloodline in it so she used some leftover dna she still had #so no one knows Danny was created until he left about a year later #danny has his ghost powers since he took a dip in the pits #but had to relearn some control and kept it secret #he knows his mom would see it as 'the pits granted my heir its powers.' mindset #so hes been on the run #and didnt wanna go to Gotham cause... his dad dresses as a gaint bat #and dont get him started on the rest of the batfam #he doesnt wanna be an assassin or a crime fighting furry #in case some people didnt get it. the words being spoken happen when Danny is running all across Gotham away from those after him #guess who said what lol #i want danny to be completely independent and trying to take care of himself tbh #but hes still baby to everyone else #talia is slowy becoming a little unhinged due to being the Demon Head now #maybe due to the stress of it all? or maybe due to a curse? idk

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spacedace · 9 months

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Had a dc x dp brain worm, feel free to use as a prompt <3

Sidenote, I decided to get fancy with the Ancients titles because of course I did lol

Shifting Where = Space (Danny)

Eternal When = Time (Clockwork)

Ever Onward = Speedforce (Ellie)

---

Bruce watched the footage again.

And again.

Again.

It didn’t make sense.

A week ago every television, radio, computer, phone - even the LED billboards - had been taken over to deliver a message. Across the United States. In every territory it held. Every military base. Down in the depths of the oceans where American submarines tried to creep past Atlantian patrols. In the endless cold white of Antarctica. Even far above in the International Space Station. Any place the United States Government had control over, any place one of its citizens found themselves. There was the message.

The face of an entity, human in shape but not in form. Hair as gleaming white as starlight, eyes bright as the twisting dance of the Aurora Borealis, skin as cold and blue as the tail of a comet. The entity wore armor as black as the depths of space with a crown to match, the later glinting and shifting with the twisting birth and death of galaxies. A cloak of nebulae danced down his shoulders, eclipsing the world beyond the entity entirely.

He named himself, jaw tight, expression serious.

High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms.

The Shifting Where. Son of the Eternal When. Father of the Ever Onward. His Epitaphs many and ever growing. The True Balance. The Bridge Between. The Devourer of Dark. The Last Child of Between. The Great One.

King of the Dead. King of the Infinite Worlds. King of so much more than Bruce had ever even known was possible.

King who had declared war. Who marshaled his endless armies. Who spoke of warnings, of efforts to reach a peace, of trying again and again and again to find a way to not plunge into violence and bloodshed. All things living come to call him King in time, he had no want or need to go out and hurry that along. But there were no options left to him now. He had tried for peace. He had been denied.

He would not see his people suffer any longer. Would not see those he’d sworn to lead and protect imprisoned by fools who had sworn themselves enemies to all the afterlives. Would no longer permit the vicious cruelty to continue.

The message was a final warning.

A final offer.

Three days, Phantom said. The United States government would have three days to release their prisoners, to begin the process of dismantling the laws that made death itself an illegal act.

If they refused, he would lead his endless armies personally in the war to come.

It had not been an idle threat.

Three days after the message, after Bruce and the rest of the Justice League scrambled to try and figure out just what it was it was all about, after Justice League Dark’s members shakily took turns explaining just how powerful the being that had gave that message was and how much danger the world was in should he and his armies march upon their world, war came.

Of all places, it began in a town in Illinois.

The sky shattered like broken glass above, Lazarus Green beyond, and the Dead poured out.

It started in Illinois.

It did not end there.

Bruce watched the footage of it all, eyes burning as he watched every second of CCTV footage, every shaky phone camera video, every news broadcast.

Most of them looked human enough. Changed in death, but recognizably human once. A pair of glowing teenagers on a motorcycle, a writhing shadow twisting about at their command sweeping chaos upon the battlefield. A young woman dressed to perform with hair a literal flame, burning bright blue and snapping furiously as she played devastation upon her enemies with her guitar. A child with corpse gray skin and luminescent green hair, flickering in and out of Bruce’s ability to see as if fighting against a law of existence to be visible, screaming orders to a skeleton crew from his place on deck of a 1700s ship that sailed through the sky, disappearing into clouds before raining down attacks from above.

There was more. Glowing skeletons dressed in the fashions of war spanning every culture going back millennia. Robots with weapons far beyond the technology they had even in the League. Creatures of myth and legend. Things of nightmares.

Leading them all, as he had promised, was Phantom.

He looked younger, smaller. Just a boy, really, a gangly teenager that hadn’t quite finished growing into himself. One holding power beyond anything Bruce could ever imagine, but still just a child as far as he could see, no older than Tim who’d just graduated high school. Frantic research found Phantom appearing as far back as human history, but those sightings had to have been after his death. Bruce can’t help but wonder how young the boy had been when he died, how much of that youth still clung to him through all these eons.

It wasn’t something he’d let him self consider normally, not with something like this.

A dangerous unknown appearing without warning and attacking with unimaginable power and seemingly endless forces. It was something that would normally eclipse everything else. Something that would make Bruce put aside the ache at seeing a face so young twisted in rage.

But.

He watched all the footage.

Civilians were put in the crossfire. Were shot at and endangered. Were left terrified and scrambling for safety in buildings that were rapidly being torn away by stray artillery.

But never by Phantom or his armies.

The dead, in fact, went very far out of their way to ensure civilians weren’t harmed. Sweeping people up out of the way of falling debris. Shielding them from attacks that would have most certainly killed a normal human. Some dead even helped evacuate, ushering a frightened and panicked populous to safety as gently as they were capable of. Some of the less human creatures - giant bear-like beings with horns and fangs and ice edging their burly frames - even rushed forward to offer medical aid.

When the sky shattered open and the armies of the dead swept in, they ignored the town below. They focused instead on what was discovered later to be the base of a secretive government agency. The dead’s fight focused on those individuals in sharp white suits, bearing weapons capable of actually injuring King Phantom’s people.

It was these agents that brought the fight to the streets to Amity Park. That fired recklessly and without thought or care to the casualties they could inflict. That didn’t seem to care if they killed a hundred civilians if it meant hurting just one of Phantom’s soldiers.

Bruce watched all the footage.

And again.

Again.

Phantom had declared war.

Phantom spoke in his message of being out of options, of attempting peace. Phantom gave three days time for the release of captives. Phantom lead armies who fought viciously but never once willingly harmed civilians.

Phantom declared war, but he didn’t want it.

“Amanda Waller has reached out.”

Bruce didn’t turn his attention from the screens before him, eyes burning as he followed Phantom as the King dove away from the middle of locked combat to shield a child from a pulse of green energy from something like a grenade another agent in white had carelessly thrown. The child was crying but unharmed. The left pauldron of Phantom’s armor cracked and shattered from a direct shot from the enemy he’d just been fighting that he’d turned his back on, a glowing green liquid uncomfortably like Lazarus Water dripped down from a smoldering wound.

Clark stepped up to stand beside him as he watched, face worn and tired. The League had missed the first battle, but they’d been quick to appear at the rest. Phantom and his army ignored them unless they put themselves purposefully in the way of the fight. They were, as Justice League Dark had warned, vastly out powered by the entities fighting. A hulking giant knight made of shadow riding a nightmarish steed had driven Clark six feet down into the dirt when he’d attempted to make his way to Phantom directly to try and talk to the king.

The depth Clark had ended up felt like a warning of what would happen if he tried to get close to the king again.

It probably was.

“She said they have intel for us.” A faint twitch of fingers, jaw clenching, voice flat in that way that told Bruce his old friend was fighting back anger with everything he had. “That she has options for how to deal with the insurgence.”

Bruce shut off the monitors.

He’d seen enough.

Now was time to get answers to just what, exactly, Amanda Waller and the US government had done to cause the Dead to rise and rage.

---

Part Two Part Three Part Four

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #bruce wayne #clark kent #danny fenton #amanda waller #ghost king danny #ghost zone goes to war #space core danny #ancient of space danny #i'm gonna make ancient of the speedforce Elle a thing if it kills me lol #it just fits so well #Bruce's dad senses are tingling #Fright Knight might have been able to bat Clark away but if Bruce gets within a 100ft of Danny it's game over #Bat-Adoption Papers deployed #BatFam up a new member (or three or six)#Amanda Waller is not going to be as persuasive as she thinks she's going to be when it comes to getting the JL onboard with her plans

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evilminji · 9 months

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(O_O ) I sit here. With a Realization.

There.... There might be... ONE(1!) Danny.

Like... Multiverserally. Because otherwise? He WOULD have met himself. Would have had a big ol "Into The Spiderverse: This Time It's All Spooky Boys (Girl, and Other Assorted Genders)!" Lair and? QUICKLY started running into Portals that lead to Not-His-Parents Fenton Labs.

But he doesn't.

He might? Literally be IT. The ONE in countless of countless impossible numbers, monkey smashing on keyboards until you get a story, Impossible Combination. Maybe the Fenton Luck really DID take them out in every other universe. Maybe Maddies family had some near misses of their own. Maybe BOTH.

There is Only One Daniel Fenton.

He Dies At Fourteen.

He defeats Pariah Dark.

He Becomes King Eternal of The Infinite.

It Was, It Is, It Always Has Been.

Why would you need to create more then one? Clutter up creation with dead end roads and possible successors? Let the Zone be punched full of holes? No, no, if you NEED to replace the old king with a NEW one... you really only NEED One(1) soul... don't you?

I've heard it discussed the Clockwork might be Father Time, father of the Endless. Father too Death herself. If we allowed this to be true? Then the Zone is HER domain. Yet? She does not rule it. Why is he HERE? Time still lives. Still flows. He is not Dead.

Thus the Observants.

You may play here, papa. But not interfere. This place is MINE. She created something with the very literal job of watching her father. He's NOT in charge here. She is.

But! She also hates it. Forever chained to one place between places? Never to see her siblings again? Nah. She can delegate.

A Holy King, if you will. Sit on her throne, listen to their problems, nod and smile, then do her busy work! She'll check in. It should not be hard. Right? Just don't do anything crazy.

It Shouldn't Be That Hard.

But Nooooooo. King after Queen after Monarch after Boss! She comes back and they are either insane or NOT who she left in charge! Everything on fire! The newly dead terrorized and not where they should be! Pariah tried to INVADE THE LIVING WORLD!!!

Did he think she'd LET HIM?

Death is miffed. You could even say... annoyed! Possibly so far as even AGITATED.

It's unsustainable, Father. But, what to do? And, well, "Have You Considered Making A Person?" If organic royalty isn't working, store boughts fine. Check the timeliness, sweetie. Death IS your Domain. You can... delay some.

And he's right. She CAN. She shouldn't, there are consequences, but she can. Others may die sooner then they ought too, in place they should not. It MESSES with things. But... yes... yes she CAN.

She... LOOKS.

Finds herself JUST the right soul. She adores it. It's PERFECT.

AND she barely has to nudge things around! Hardly any messes! She's honestly.. kind of excited. It's been so long, since she and her Father worked on anything together. Bonded like this. Will he watch over him? Make sure he sticks to the right path?

Of course Clockwork would.

Anything for his Children.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny and Death #she has decided she is Momther now #unless today she feels like being his sister #she is Endless and lables are for mortals #keep up Danny #king is haunted by a God #grandpa may have tricked his Death Mom into creating him #she may have known #what fifth dimensional chess bullshittery is this #asks local danny

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the-witchhunter · 1 year

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DP x DC: Clockwork

I’ve been seeing “Clockwork is Chronos” popping up, and I don’t hate it, it’s a good way of connecting Danny to Wonder Woman, but there’s some baggage that comes with him being the literally mythological Chronos that I don’t think most people really want to deal with. AKA him eating his children and the war between the gods and the titans, which probably wouldn’t endear Danny to Wonder Woman

Also there’s a Villian named Chronos in DC comics, with time powers and that confuses things further

An alternative, if I may suggest, is have clockwork just be Time...

Time as in Father Time, the primordial embodiment of time, and father of the Endless from the Sandman series. Not to be confused with Father Time of S.H.A.D.E.

So Time is time and also controls his domain which is time. Time is constantly changing from a young boy to a middle-aged, then an elderly man in a random pattern. Sounds pretty darn familiar, right? Almost as if that describes Clockwork to a T. Time and his partner, Night, or Mother Night, hooked up and the result was the endless. Time and Night are no longer together, though Time misses night.

For those who don’t know, the Endless are embodiments of aspects of reality, beings above mere gods. They are described as “inconceivably powerful” There may be gods of the things they represent, but they are literally the thing they are. The Endless are Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium(formerly Delight). They’re a dysfunctional family with Death being the one that gets along with everyone and the one that most has her shit together.

So what does Clockwork being Time give Danny?

It would make him the adopted grandson of a cosmic force, as well as give him a bunch of dysfunctional aunts and uncles, one of which is Death herself, who is actually a really cool person.

This gives him ties to beings that are functions of reality embodied, that even if they are somehow destroyed, only that aspect of them is dead and they Reform as a different aspect, which has only happened twice.

Any member of Justice League dark would shit their pants finding this out about Danny. Hell, this might through some of the regular justice league for a loop. Martian Manhunter has met and recognized Dream before. Wonder Woman might know about the Endless already. Hell, Dream was allowed to waltz right into hell and met up with Lucifer, like it was no big deal, and that was after being incredibly weakened and lacking his tools

So yeah, let Danny be the adopted nephew/pseudo sibling to the Endless. His name even starts with a D so it works on multiple levels

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #clockwork #the sandman #the endless

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hush-writes-preg · 7 months

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Spooky Season Day #6: An Unholy Tome

Your father had always warned you of the danger of reading, but you'd never taken him seriously until this very day.

You're the young monarch of a small kingdom deep within the mountains. You'd been married to a king over a decade your senior as a way to solidify political alliances, and while your relationship was cordial, it'd never been particularly warm. The king seemed to hold little interest in members of your gender, but he still came to your bed like clockwork with the clinical intent to sire an heir. You endured it, because what other choice did you have? He had staff to cater to all of your whims and was never unkind, so you could have done much worse.

But still, you couldn't help but feel... neglected. You had needs, even if you didn't fully understand them, and no one with which to explore or satisfy them.

At least, not until you found the book.

Tucked in among your wedding gifts had been a slim volume wrapped in gilded leather, filled with strange things. You couldn't read the text, but the illustrations-- oh, those illustrations. Fantastic creatures of every size and shape were drawn in exquisite detail, not a single aspect missing the artist's trained eye.

It felt scandalous to gape at the familiar yet still alien shapes of their genitalia, but no matter how many times you slammed the book shut in mortification and hid it away, you always dug the tome back out. You always returned to a select handful of the pages, wondering why they made you feel so warm. If only you had someone to ask-- but as the king's foreign consort, you didn't have anyone you could trust with such an intimate query.

Then the dreams began.

And you quickly came to realize what that strange heat meant.

The monsters invaded your dreams like the fabled barbarians of the plains, swift and brutal. They chased you like a wolf hunting a rabbit, harrying your nude form through endless torch-lit corridors and toying with you until you could run no more. But instead of tearing out your throat, they flipped you onto your hands and knees. The horrible realization of what they intended crashed over you and choked off your cries of terror, leaving you frozen and trembling.

One of them mounted you like a beast on the hard stone floor. Thick shafts, tentacles, and appendages you couldn't even name flowed over your body with possessive intent, enveloping and fondling you in ways you'd never been touched before. Terror began to fuse with other things you couldn't name, similar to what you'd felt when gazing at that filthy book: heat, hunger, and a baffling emptiness between your thighs. Even while claws scraped over your skin, you wanted... you wanted...

"Accept us," a discordant voice rose from nowhere, countless voices layered over one another and ringing in your ears. Something nudged purposefully against your hole, teasing you with a taste of what your tormenter offered without truly entering you. Something hot and wet stroked its way down your neck until it curled around a nipple, plucking at the hardening nub until you whimpered. "Your body pleases us. Welcome us in, and we will overwhelm you with the kind of pleasure you'll never receive from your own kind."

You choked on a sob, your hips jerking instinctively back to meet the promised intrusion even as you shook your head. This wasn't right. You're married, and you had undeniable responsibilities to your husband and kingdom. Not to mention the fact that this thing at your back wasn't even human--

The shaft kissing your hole pulsed and began to vibrate, the sensation making your eyes roll back in your head.

"This is only a dream, little human," the voice taunted, its appendages winding even more closely around you. "There's no harm in indulging in a simple fantasy, is there?" There was a hint of menace behind the voices, sure, but it only seemed to stoke the flames in your belly even higher as your willpower began to melt away. "All you have to do is let us in."

Your hole clenched around nothing, eager to suck in anything that would fill it. You'd never felt like this before, and you didn't know how to handle the sensations crashing over you. How could such horrifying monsters make your body burn so hot?

What am I accepting?

Do I even care?

With a moan, you hesitantly spread your thighs in silent permission to the creature.

"Accept. Us."

"Yes," you whimpered, dropping your face to the floor in shameful submission. "Enter me. Ease this ache inside of me before I go mad, please!"

The beast's savage roar of victory nearly made you empty your bladder, but the sudden thrust of something impossibly hard and thick into your aching body immediately drove the fear away. The hulking creature wasted no time in fucking your soft, pampered body into the flagstone floor with all of the abandon of a wild animal. All you could do was hang on and take it. And when it finally finished inside of you, the sudden surge of wet heat painting your insides sent you tumbling over the edge of your very first orgasm.

Oh gods. Oh gods. This dream... sex couldn't possibly feel so good, could it? Pleasure that wiped your mind and left you feeling like you'd transcended to another plane of existence?

Sweaty, dazed, and leaking fluids from your freshly-fucked hole, all you could do was watch as the next creature moved to take its place at your back. Something cooler and more flexible slid into your sloppy hole this time, knobby protrusions along the length catching on the rim before popping inside. And how many more beasts waited along the edges of your vision for their turn?

Oh.

As the bumped shaft started to find its own rough rhythm, you deliriously found yourself hoping that this dream would never end.

It's been over seven months since your first experience with the dreams, and as promised, they fill your nights with untold pleasure. But there's been an unexpected complication.

You've fallen pregnant.

Your husband's kingdom is ecstatic with the news of the coming heir, his family embracing you with more kindness and attention than they ever have before. Your spouse is pleased, though he stopped bedding you the moment your condition became known.

Not that you mind. His disinterested late-night fumbling bores you; you'd much rather drift off to sleep and find satisfaction in the coils and claws of your imaginary lovers.

But as your pregnancy progresses, you can't help but wonder what has spawned in your womb. It seems foolish to imagine that the father could possibly be anyone but your husband, right? In reality, you've only ever entertained the king's attentions. The monsters aren't real. They haven't actually filled you with their seed, no matter how often they've left you sore and bloated from the sheer volume they've poured into you during your fantasies. You can't have been bred by figments of your imagination.

Yet still you find yourself plagued by apprehension. Your belly grows with unexpected speed, filling out into a taut sphere that hangs heavily from your frame. Your mother-in-law is sure this means you carry more than one child and begins taking every opportunity she can to rub your abdomen. This embarrasses you, but you don't feel like you can tell her no.

The midwife isn't as sure; she cautions your in-laws that you could just be carrying large for your first pregnancy. You can tell that she is puzzled by how quickly you've grown, since she's been attending you since your wedding in hopes of helping you conceive. At least you get along well, and she seems to be genuinely on your side. The last thing you need is someone suspecting you of trying to cuckold the king.

Because as much as logic dictates that such thoughts are foolishness, you still struggle against disquiet.

Maybe it is borne of guilt for being unfaithful to your husband, at least in your mind.

Maybe it has to do with the obvious pleasure that the dream-creatures take in fucking your gravid royal form.

Or maybe it is because of the way your belly sometimes moves, writhing and shifting like a bag full of eels. The baby's just active, right? It's not like you could possibly be carrying the offspring of some unnatural monster in your womb.

Of course not.

(A Spooky Season story.)

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belokhvostikova · 9 months

Text

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Crying, pregnancy, and brief mentions of body insecurity.

Eddie had told them.

So concisely, and specifically told them all that was forbidden in order to keep his friends from the scrutinizing tears of an anguished pregnant woman, that would have to be followed by a now frustrated father-to-be.

But like clockwork, his word of advice plummeted the second Jonathan Byers decided to speak. In retrospect, he wasn’t at all to blame, in fact, he was attempting to be supportive. And he would have done a great job had his nice words not been targeted to an overly sensitive thirty-four weeks expecting lady.

“Don’t worry,” he’d smiled so kindly, a testament to the Byers politeness that ran through the family, “I’m sure you’ll have a safe and easy delivery. Nothing to stress over.”

But the baby you were carrying was formulated by Munson genes, and the way it head-butted your pancreas, while simultaneously kicking your bladder made it hard to enjoy Jonathan’s sentiment.

“Ugh.” You could only scoff. “What do you know, you’re not pushing a baby out of your vagina.” Doing the one thing he told you not to do: stress.

The panic on Jonathan’s face was quite humorous, at least to Steve Harrington it was. Eddie, on the other hand, was shooting a disappointed glare to his friend. Because he told him. So concisely, and specifically told him.

1. Don’t say anything that’ll upset her.

2. Don’t try to say anything too mushy or nice to make it up for the first mistake, she’ll cry and feel awful about yelling.

3. Honestly, you shouldn’t even really speak to her.

4. But don’t ignore her! She’ll find a way to circle it back to you thinking she looks like a beached whale.

Rule number four had came about after Dustin Henderson tried to maneuver around the monstrosity that was Eddie Munson’s rules. In his own little weird way, he was trying to be helpful after your cries about being big. And Dustin thought it would be a bright idea to say “I happen to like whales.” It did not go over well.

And now, Jonathan Byers was falling into the same cycle.

“No, no!” It was damage control time. “I’m just wishing you and the baby to be okay, I swear. I just want you to be happy and comfortable.”

Bad move. How did he forget rule number two already?

Your face contorted into a deep frown, as your eyes watered, and that panicked look on Jonathan’s face never ceased.

“Oh, god.” Eddie whispered, as the waterworks crashed out.

“That’s so sweet of you!” You bawled. “I was so mean to you, and you were just being niceee!” Your head dropped to Jonathan’s shoulder, wetting his flannel with salty tears that seemed endless. Eddie would thump his friend’s forehead if he had the chance, but instead, he had to do damage control, and his tender hand rubbed your back.

“It’s alright, baby.” He cooed. “It’s totally okay, just let it all out.”

He fervently gestured to Jonathan to add on. This was his mistake, anyways. “There… there.” He awkwardly patted your back. “Yeah, it’s totally okay.”

Steve Harrington was beginning to rethink the whole six little nuggets thing.

Luckily, Jonathan’s words were enough, and you sniffled your way away from his now dampened shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry for crying so much.” Your hurt little face was enough to elicit some aw’s and it’s okay’s from the three men, who jumped to console you.

But then Steve spoke. Unwarrantedly.

“Hey, I’d cry, too, if I had to rip a seven pounder from my body.” He chuckled.

Your face dropped with horror. “Eddie!”

Eddie Munson was going to kill Steve Harrington.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #dad!eddie x mom!reader #jonathan byers #steve harrington

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ramblingoak · 3 months

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Building A Family

Another peek into the steampunk Copia fic I'm working on because I can't help myself. Check out the previous story here: Clockwork Friends.

A young Copia (probably about 5 or 6 years old) trying to settle in at his new home.

Warnings: angst, sfw, 1k words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

Copia’s oldest clockwork rat is Aldo and he made him when he was just a young boy, barely able to read and write.

After being dropped off to live with his apparent father Nihil, Copia was mostly left to his own devices. His brothers were busy with their own lives and didn’t want to deal with the burden of another Emeritus heir. The sprawling estate they lived on was closed off from the rest of the city by high walls that were patrolled by mechanical golems. Not to mention the reputation of the Emeritus family itself. Most of the city was convinced they were more machine than human these days.

On a particularly lonely day Copia found himself near tears as he wandered the halls. He spent the beginning of his life in an orphanage surrounded by other children. An endless amount of people to play with and talk to. Here it was just him. It was bad enough his own family didn’t seem to want anything to do with him but even the ghouls avoided him.

Copia finally stopped when he walked by a strangely silent grandfather clock. It loomed over him much like Nihil had done the day he was picked up from the orphanage. The hands of the clock were still and Copia’s fingers started twitching, the urge to fix it growing stronger by the second. It wasn’t until he had dragged a nearby chair over and started taking the clock face apart that he had an idea for another purpose for it.

“Can you hear me?”

It was hours later, the grandfather clock now just a corpse of its former self. Copia had brought all the parts he needed into his room and spread them out on the floor. A ghoul had come by when it had gotten dark, dropping off a plate of food and getting a fire going. He had lingered for some time after, seemingly content to silently watch Copia work. They had only left when Copia found himself getting frustrated when the tiny creature in front of him remained silent.

Tears began to prick at his eyes again and he struggled to keep them from falling down his cheeks. He was just so lonely, all he wanted was something to keep him company. It didn’t matter to him whether it was a machine or not. Right now he had no one. No friends…no family…just an empty house full of memories he wasn’t a part of. With a whimper he dropped his head into his hands, his small shoulders starting to shake as the tears started to come in earnest.

“Try this.” Copia’s head shot up, his eyes meeting that of the ghoul that had managed to sneak back in. The firelight danced across his silver mask and Copia shivered when it made it seem like his eyes were on fire as well. He finally looked down to see a small metal object in its hand, the gold contrasting with the black metal of his fingers. “This will bring it to life.”

After a few more trips to the destroyed grandfather clock Copia had re-worked his little creation to utilize what the ghoul had brought him. Copia’s hand shook as he inserted the gold key into its back. He could hear the gears turn as he twisted it, over and over again until he felt confident it was enough. As delicately as possible he lowered it back to the ground, afraid to let go in case it didn’t work.

In case his new friend remained silent.

“It’s ok.”

Copia looked up at the ghoul, forgetting he had stuck around to watch. It was impossible to know what the ghoul was thinking but Copia saw something in his eyes that he had only seen a few other times in his young life. Kindness and understanding shone there, emotions so strong that Copia had to look away quickly lest he got upset again. He took a deep breath and slowly pulled his hands away, trembling as he waited for something to happen.

It was slow at first, timid as it began to move around the rug Copia was sitting on. After a few unsure first steps it gained confidence and crept closer to him on shaky legs. Copia was afraid to touch it, afraid he’d break the spell the small thing might be under. When a tiny metal paw touched his leg Copia finally smiled and reached down to scoop it up in his hands.

“Hello.” The small metal rat twitched its nose, as if it could smell whether Copia was a friend or not. “H-how do you feel?”

The door to his room opening and closing made him look up briefly but Copia didn’t give the ghoul leaving another thought. He was too enamored by what he had created. The clockwork rat was busy looking around the room, his limbs still shaky against Copia’s hands. He was already thinking of ways to improve the design, of how he could make his new friend stronger.

After a few moments its small body started to stop, the key moving slower and slower on its back. Copia set it back down on the rug and ran a finger up and down its head. It was a comforting gesture for both of them and neither one looked away from each other until the key had completely stopped.

Copia sat back on his heels, his eyes quickly looking around the room as he thought of what he would need. He had a responsibility now to his new friend. He needed to take care of it, to make it healthy and happy. Copia was prepared to do whatever he could to make sure that happened. With a grunt he stretched out on his stomach in front of the rat, reaching out and winding the key up again. When it came to life once more it immediately walked forward and bumped noses with him.

“I’m going to name you Aldo, ok?” The rat's nose moved across his face, the small whiskers he had given him tickling his cheek. “Welcome home.”

Some more baby steampunk Copia here 💙

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

#my fics #my writing #steampunk copia #copia fanfiction #cardinal copia fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #copia fanfic

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flowerandblood · 10 months

Text

Song from the Sea (2)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Greyjoy! • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: physical violence, swearing, sexual tension]

[description: Aemond and Aegon arrive in the Iron Islands, to confirm the arrangements made years ago and the marriage of Lord Greyjoy's daughter to Aemond. (Anon Request) During a break on a long journey, at one of the taverns Aegon drags him to, Aemond meets a woman, who will change his life forever. (Anon Request) Smut, angst, sexual tension, domination.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Watching the waves of blue water lapping against the side of their ship, listening thoughtfully to the restless roar of the element, she considered throwing herself into the sea. Shouldn't she let the Drowned God take her to his depths, take the sea abyss for her husband.

The thought of marriage made her want to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. Her indifferent face looked at her small, blurred reflection, their huge galley sailing at high speed, which made the whole ship rock, her dark hair, partly tied in a bun at the back of her head was blowing in the wind.

She boarded a ship for the first time when she was five years old. She accompanied her father, Dalton Greyjoy, on one of his short trips. He wanted his daughter to get acquainted with the cold and dangerous sea, to understand what the difficult life of a seaman is. She remembered her admiration for the ship's vastness, its huge sails that practically touched the sky.

She heard the shouts and orders of men, strange, tattooed, without eyes, arms or legs, in elaborate, gray and brown dun clothes, running from one point of the boat to another. Although it seemed like chaos at first to her, then she realized that everyone was working like clockwork, adapting to the changes in the sky and water.

Then she fell in love with the sea.

She first escaped from a stronghold in the Iron Islands at the age of eight. She packed a small bag, in her child's opinion, her most necessary things and sneaked out of the castle under the cover of night, heading towards the port, leaving only a letter.

She boarded Devilwind's galley unnoticed. In the morning one of the boatswains found her and took her to Captain John Senray, her father's closest friend.

Captain Senray was ten years older than her father, his long dark beard was covered with earrings and beads. She still remembered him looking at her, thinking hard, the boat creaking loudly around them from the speed that they had reached at sea.

After much thought, he decided that they couldn't turn back if they were to get the goods on time. He ordered her to sit in her cabin and obey all his orders.

She spent a week on his ship. The men, mostly bearded, with long, sticky hair, smelling of sea and rum, welcomed her as if she were their own daughter. They thought it worthy that Lord Greyjoy's daughter would go on a sea voyage, and they liked that she had no fear.

They taught her how to tie ropes and look at the stars, set a course, read maps and signs in the sky, the clouds that told her if it was going to be clear or a storm was coming.

She helped them with everything she could. They did not allow her to participate in their drunken revels, but they protected her and gave her a sense of complete security, combined with a freedom that she felt every time she looked overboard and saw only the endless sea.

When she returned home a week later, all dirty and plastered, her robes torn, her father greeted her with a love and tenderness that she never knew he was capable of. Although her mother died of worry every day, he was proud that his child felt the call of the sea. He didn't want her to be a plain, gentle lady like her mother.

Lady Greyjoy made her husband happy only twice: the day she gave him his beloved daughter and the day she gave him a son and heir. He considered her death in childbirth to be the natural order of things, with which he came to terms quite quickly, unlike his daughter.

She wanted to throw herself into the sea after her, to apologize to her for all she had suffered. She would wake up sometimes in the night, feeling like her mother was giving birth again, screaming so loud that her heart clenched.

From that moment on, she tried to pretend that the subject of marriage did not concern her. She was at sea with Captain Senray who already treated her as part of his crew.

She knew that her father loved her more than her brother, who had a softer nature, being more like their mother inside. He also swam at sea, but not so willingly, feeling weary from long voyages. Their father often told her that if he could, he would sign over the entire Iron Islands and the rest of his inheritance to her.

However, when the king proposed that they make a deal, her father betrayed her. He explained to her that the Iron Islands with the support of the crown would be richer and stronger than ever. That as her father expects from her and knows that she will fulfill her vocation.

She wanted to spit in his face then, considering that he had abandoned her, as he had abandoned her mother.

But nothing came out of her mouth.

Now, standing on Devilwind's galley, sailing back to the Iron Islands to meet her future husband, she wondered, if it wouldn't be better for her to just end it all.

She could still hear her mother's scream, see the brief fragment of her body lying in blood, that she saw through the crack in the door, which a moment later someone closed, noticing her. She thought, that the same would happen to her. That she would die giving birth to a man, who would be completely indifferent to her.

She shuddered and leaned forward, as they suddenly heard a loud, piercing roar above them. For a moment she thought, that she had lost her hearing, then looked up and saw two giant dragons, flying over them at such speed, that their entire galley began to rock side to side, causing panic. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought, that it was him.

She turned quickly, glancing after the great monsters flying through the sky, and saw, that they began to circle above the ground, landing. She knew, that there was a port nearby and ran to the captain to beg him to dock. She told him, that she wanted to meet her future husband.

Captain Senray and Walter Moore decided to accompany her in case of trouble. The route at night was dangerous and led only to one village. She knew there was an inn there, and that perhaps they had gone there. All three of them knew exactly the owner of this establishment, because they had stayed there more than once. She felt her heart pounding at the thought, that she might soon meet the person, on whom her entire future life depended.

They stepped inside, pulling off their hoods, looking around. She saw him at once, his back to them, watching them warily over his shoulder, his lips pursed. She knew, that it was him, because of his eyepatch and the light shade of his eye, unnatural in this part of the country. With difficulty she looked away from him, feeling her whole body tremble.

They went to the counter and ordered beers, exchanging pleasantries with the host. Then they approached one of the occupied benches. The men recognized them at once, so they only bowed their heads in appreciation and got up to find another place. Only then did they make themselves comfortable, taking off their coats. She now had a perfect view of their table. She barely suppressed an amused smile, as she saw him staring intensely at her and her waist.

His brother was babbling to him, and her future husband was answering him impatiently. He got up, she heard him say in the distance, that he wanted to leave and move on. Her heart squeezed at the thought.

After a while, however, they began to struggle with each other, and his drunken brother practically shouted, that they came here on dragons. Looking at them, she decided, that Prince Aemond's brother was an idiot.

She wasn't surprised, when he walked over to the counter to order something for himself, furious and resigned. She thought, that he had a very interesting face, and his scar didn't take anything away from him. Besides, she'd seen plenty of mutilated men, and such physical deficiencies didn't bother her much anymore.

She got up and walked over to him, figuring, that she wanted to tease him a little. She wasn't afraid of the consequences, she knew, that everything was already decided. She wanted to see, what awaited her, what kind of man he was.

When she bought him a round, he just looked at her searchingly, his face seemed to be made of stone. He was very tense, his eye cold, furious and disapproving. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw, that he had one hand on the dagger. There was some tension between them.

She thought, that he was handsome. That she could go upstairs and give herself to him, if he wanted to. See if he's a good lover. She smiled at the thought.

“Come upstairs with me. By the time we're done, your brother will fall asleep here, on the table.” She said calmly, softly, looking at him with her mouth slightly parted. She thought, that she wanted it. That she needed relief, because the frustration, pain, and fear she was feeling were too much to bear.

She didn't expect what would happen between them. She hadn't suspected, how he would react to her touch, hadn't expected, how wonderfully his sapphire eye graced his face.

She did not expect, that his disability was the reason for his great complexes. She thought, that in King's Landing, where everyone walked around in colorful robes, adorned with rich stones, he must have felt like a monster. She thought, that among her people, he would find acceptance, stop thinking, that he lacked anything.

The thought of him being like her, made her lose her temper. Originally, she just wanted to get fucked by him, but she ended up riding him. Her orgasm was so strong, that it was almost painful, her muscles clenching greedily around him, drawing low moans from him, that sent shivers down her spine.

In addition, she allowed him to cum inside herself, although no other man, with whom she had known this kind of pleasure, had been granted this honor before.

As he left, she slowly began to calm down. She thought, maybe there was hope for them. That maybe she'll find at least a little happiness with him.

However, as she officially entered the hall of her stronghold, wearing her most elegant, black gown, she saw his expression change from shock to fury. If he could, he would kill her with his eye.

She saw him clench his jaw, turn his head away, squeezing his eye shut, trying to calm himself down and not show anything. She wanted to laugh at the sight.

Her father ordered a small feast to be prepared for them, attended by Prince Aegon and her brother, Laren. She was seated next to her fiancé and even wanted to exchange a few courtesy words with him, but he beat her to it.

"Do not speak to me." He hissed softly like a snake, and she pursed her lips, arching an eyebrow, amused, simply taking a piece of roast into her mouth, unfazed. She decided not to force herself on him and waited, until he calmed down.

Her father had been sullen throughout the entire dinner and hardly spoke, leaving the entire burden of discussion on her younger brother's shoulders. Laren was a great talker, and though he tried to get something out of her future husband, he answered practically only in grunts, thoughtful and angry, completely in his own world. She thought, looking at him, that if he could, he would breathe fire and burn them all, including himself.

He was the first to get up after dinner. At first she decided she wouldn't run after him, but then she found herself wanting to drive him mad with rage. She stood up, thinking, that maybe he might even kill her, while doing her a favor. She wasn't afraid of death or the brutality he was known for.

He turned after her, surprised to see, that she had followed him into the chamber, that Lord Greyjoy had assigned him. She closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it, looking at him with a haughty, calm smile.

"Get out." He spoke low, menacing, dangerous, madness in his eye, that made her belly hot. She thought, that he was about to explode and licked her lips involuntarily.

“No.” She spoke calmy, sensually, softly. She saw a grimace cross his face, for some memory of their shared elation, that he wanted to get rid of.

He walked over to her unhurriedly, his eye black, his face expressionless. He grabbed her neck, his large hand slowly tightening on her slender, soft skin, forcing her to tilt her head back slightly.

He stared at her for a moment, and she could feel his hot, uneasy breath on her face. She smelled him again, the smell of smoke and something else, that she couldn't describe. She felt wetness between her thighs for some reason.

"Fucking whore." He spoke softly, lightly, not even blinking, his good eye wide open, as if he was just fighting hard not to strangle her. She smiled at his words, making him purse his lips.

“From what I remember, it takes two to elevate between a man and a woman. So you're just as much a whore, as I am." She whispered, moving closer to him as if to kiss him.

His hand gripped her neck tighter, slamming her whole body brutally against the back of the door with a dull thud. She felt him draw in a breath as he felt her short, tiny knife hidden in her sleeve, pressed against the side of his stomach.

"I could kill you for those words. For such an insult to the prince and the crown." He said through clenched teeth, not controlling himself. She thought, that he had just reached the height of his rage. She parted her lips slightly, impassive, looking at him with dreamy eyes.

"Take your beautiful princely knife from your belt and cut my throat. Punish me for wanting to meet a man, for whom I would give my freedom, my body, whose future descendants would tear my womb. With whom I will fly to King's Landing to be nothing, sewing with sweet, perfumed ladies fabrics, praising his future victories and achievements." She laughed lightly, warmly, feeling her throat constrict not because of his strength, but because of the tears, that she was holding back with the last of her willpower.

She saw him hesitate, something changed in his face. Her words surprised him and knocked him off balance.

"Or let's both assume that it never happened. That you fucked some strange, unknown woman, and I fucked some unknown, strange man. The last joy before an arranged wedding. Isn't that beautiful?” She asked quietly, one tear streaming down her face.

Her mask fell down. Her mouth went from smiling to helpless, her lips began to twitch, her body relaxed, as if she was about to collapse and pass out, her gaze pleading and tired. The knife slipped from her hand, falling with a loud thud to the floor.

She saw, that he was dismayed and surprised. His grip loosened suddenly and he took a few steps away from her, as if he didn't recognize her. She sank to the ground, burying her head between her knees and just started sobbing.

"I should have thrown myself into the sea." She said finally, covering her head with her hands, as if he was about to kick and punch her.

The fact, that he was in this chamber at that moment, was indifferent to her. All the grief, that she'd felt for months, ever since she found out, that her father had sold her, had just been released.

She didn't care what he thought of her, whether he thought she was a whore, an idiot, or a lunatic. For a moment, all she heard was the sound of her ragged breathing, and nothing else. She knew, that he was looking at her.

After a while, she heard him move and sit up on bed, with a loud creaking of wood. She looked up slightly and saw, that he was bent over, his face buried in his hands. She thought, that he was as broken as she was.

She changed her position and lay down on the floor, staring straight ahead at the legs of a small, wooden table, that stood at the back of the chamber. Her future husband looked at her, his expression uncertain and puzzled.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking at her, as if he was about to faint from exhaustion and frustration himself. She didn't even look at him, when she heard his words.

"I'm lying." She said indifferently. He sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands again, apparently deciding, that it was too much for him.

She heard him begin to unbutton his jacket, then pull off his boots, knocking them to the ground with a loud thud. He blew out the candles lit in the chamber, making it completely dark. Then she heard the rustling of cloth. He lay down on the bed with his back to her, pretending, that she wasn't there.

She thought, for some reason, that she wanted to stay with him. She'd slept on the floor more than once on ships, and it wasn't uncomfortable for her at all, though he probably thought she was crazy. She didn't want to be alone in her chamber.

In the Iron Islands, the approach to male-female relationships was lighter, and she knew, that as long as he didn't kick her out, she could do whatever she wanted.

She fell asleep after a while, crying without a sound, looking at the moon, that shone brightly outside the window. She dreamed of her mother again, covered in blood. Then she had a dream about her father, saying, that he was proud of her. She cried in her sleep, begging him not to give her away.

She flinched, as she felt someone suddenly grab her and throw her over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. For a moment she didn't know where she was, so she started kicking.

"Stop it." He hissed as he laid her on his bed, and only then did she recognize his face.

She pursed her lips, a bit embarrassed by her outburst. She straightened her long dress, as he laid down next to her, with his back to her.

"Stop crying and sleep."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses

Others: @letmeloveyouuuu @fantasias-creativebubble

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kitsunesongs · 2 years

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In DC canon, I'm pretty sure the Seven Endless, Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair and Delirium, are the children of Father Time and Night.

My brain immediately came up with an idea where Father Time is the same as Clockwork. For the first time in eons, the Endless's Father shows up at the family dinner, bringing with him a young half-human half-ghost named Daniel.

Clockwork/Time: Everyone, this is your new little brother, Daniel.

#dp x dc #the sandman #danny phantom #clockwork #the endless

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dragonagecompanions · 8 months

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DA2 crew reacting to Hawke who stops caring? Maybe after the death of Leandra they just stop showing any kind of emotion? Not even rage or sadness it's as if they're made tranquil but without the need to be cut off from the fade instead, it's their emotions that are cut off. When they finally ask Hawke they simply shrug and respond with

"Why do I care? Everyone leaves me or they want something from me only to stab me in the back, why should I care anymore?"

Just, just pure angst heartbreak something that will hurt I BEG FOR THE HURT JUICE!

WELCOME TO THE JUICE BAR! HERE THERE BE ANGST!

Varric: He gets it. For most of the time, amongst the odd band of friends he has made in the City of Chains, Varric puts on a very convincing show as the devil may care rogue with the world at his fingers and no weight on his shoulders.

But on the nights when he is not walking through Darktown killing...well, anyone who crossed their path really, it was hard to maintain the mask. When the last drunken drunken warbler had left or past out or otherwise left the Hang Man silent in the wee hours even his tavern rooms couldn't keep the echoes at bay. Brother, father, mother, ancestral culture and society; all of it gone before he was even respectably middle age. He'd lost Orzammar before his first breathe, and no matter how in the Merchant Guild he climbed no surfacer would ever be anything less than a casteless outcast.

Normally that didn't bother him, but on the heaviest nights...He can't bring back everything Hawke lost, and isn't fool enough to try. But he can be a friend, a port in the storm. Once Hawke's mindset is known Kirkwall's resident story teller makes it his mission to be a constant bulwark for his friend. He has let them flounder for too long-- dwarves might not be great at swimming, but Varric will not let Hawke drown.

Bethany: It takes a long time for her own bitterness, at a life of endless hunger and exhaustion and nightmares of a Grey Warden that she would never have chosen for herself, to fade enough for her sibling's silence to truly register. Their mother's death had been a terrible blow, a severing of the last parental bond, but it had also heralded a silence from Kirkwall that...

Well, that she had come to take for granted. Varric still wrote like clockwork, his letters a comforting and humorous glance into the city that had been home so briefly, but after more than a year the remaining Hawke sibling looks up to realize she has had not a word in months. Her last letter was so bitter, penned in grief and anger and without thought for the child who actually had to see and bury Leandra, but now those caustic words eat at her own mind.

Distance has bled off the pain, and the missive that goes to the City of Chains is almost meek in comparison to her fiery words. But the letter she receives makes silence preferable-- she can feel her sibling's desolate apathy through the short penned lines, and for once she aches for the cramped paradise of Gamlen's hovel when their family was mostly whole.

They do not write again, and in her shame and sorrow she does not ask them to. A Grey Warden is meant to leave all their former life behind, and yet somehow her older sibling has managed to cut loose of those bonds-- and Bethany finds herself clinging to a life that she cannot save.

Anders: Justice roils, unsettled and uneasy at the terrible symmetry. There is no sunburst scar to mark the sundering of mind and fade, no judgement rendered to murder life and emotion, and yet tranquility would almost be preferable to the empty aching sorrow. Hawke had always been a vibrant soul, built for purpose and life and determined to make their way in the world no matter the cost. But this...

There had been a time when Anders had been that alone. The loss of friends, of family, of the chance to have a life of his own. Even the freedom of the circles had still left him chained to another institution, no matter how preferable the Grey Wardens might have been. Isolation was a like an unhealing wound, pulling at the body and soul until there was nothing left to fight it. A sepsis of the soul, where no surgeon's blade could cut it free.

There had been no true isolation since Justice had come to him; it feels like a betrayal to admit he missed it.

And oh Anders wants to comfort his friend, tries to be there and sets aside (as much as his fracturing mental state will allow) the conversation of mages rights for other conversation. Brings food and wine and tries to rekindle that spark that had always been in Hawke's soul.

But his plans for the Chantry -and the looming betrayal that must carve them apart once again- keeps a pall of guilt over those efforts. It seems crueler somehow -infinitely more so if they are in a romantic relationshiip-to build up only to destroy, and so knowing he cannot help one of his first true friends in the city is another burden to lay against the cost of mage freedom on the scales of Justice.

Isabela: At first she brushes it off as a bad day, nothing that a trip to the Hanged Man and the Blooming Rose can't clear right up. She's had a few of her own, after all, and knows the liberal application of lover and libation to be a perfect solution for gloomy moods. Friend or lover, she knows how to raise the spirits.

But when that doesn't work, when her efforts are shot down again and again in that same terrible, dry tone, something distant and awful howls in the back of her mind. As the captain of a ship she is good at watching for storms and reefs, for the dangerous shoals that can render a ship little more than kindling or the hurricanes that turn even the greatest ports into unsafe harbors. There are no maps to nagivate here, no sounding charts or sextant readings to guide her to calmer waters.

She has looked death and danger in the eye with laughter and a ready blade, but the dull and distant apathy in her friends eyes shakes her like no nautical challenge ever has. They tetter on the crest of a wave, and for all that she might scramble for control the trough might be too much for them to weather. Emotions have never been her strong suite, commitment not in her wheelhouse. Isabela is shallow and vain by her own admission, made for the life at sea and not meant to drop anchor forever.

But when she takes a heading, she takes it true. It will be work, work the captain is not at all sure she is capable of, but in all her long life Isabela has never abandoned a crew member gone overboard. And even if Hawke is determined to struggle against joy and life and recovery, she will not let them drown.

Aveline: It is so, so tempting to lay pain for pain. To compare the loss of home and husband and life against the inevitable (if untimely) loss of parent, the grief of lost siblings and broken friendships to the struggle of proving herself to the guard. Who are they cut themselves off from those who love them, when no one is untouched by loss?

But the simple and terrible truth is that pain is a terrible equalizer, and lays low all who come before it. Aveline has fought for her position as a guardsman, and then guard captain, and is proud of her duty. But she is also too well aware that the burdens laid at her desk are nothing like that of a Champion of a city, and that Kirkwall has for years asked far more of Hawke than it has given in return. Her friend has never waivered, never failed in their devotion to a city that never stops taking.

Her own rise in station comes of both her work and theirs, and with a pang Aveline is suddenly unsure if she has ever let Hawke know how deeply grateful she has been for their friendship-- from that first day in Ferelden onward.

It is not in her nature to look back and regret on mistakes that cannot be fixed, or dwell too much on old sorrows. With Donnell's help she can only move forward as a better friend, a better companion. To make sure Hawke knows without question that they are loved, and to guard them and their future as she does the city they will build it in.

Fenris: Everything he touches, it seems, must be laid low.

There is no question that his social skills lack a certain...polish, nor that on the whole Fenris and society are mostly estranged. He in content to live in his decaying mansion, to make a life devoid of company when not traipsing through Kirkwall with a ragtag bunch of friends. He does not seek out company often, is not comfortable with the idea of the vulnerability that friendship requires with more than a handful of people.

It does not occur to him until Hawke's empty and apathetic words that those actions and attitudes might hurt more than himself. Hawke has been a better friend and compatriot than Fenris ever dared to hope for, certainly better than he had the right to ask for, but his actions have not been equal to that friendship. He has let them suffer alone, or at least mostly unsupported, and that is...

It hurts like the Fog Warriors hurt, needless betrayal when something better might have been.

There is a cold blessing in the memories of a life enslaved being ripped away by the lyrium, even if the experiences after were hardly kindness itself. But Hawke must live with it all, the pain and betrayal and the crushing isolation that comes with duty. Fenris has chosen to be alone, at least, in his self imposed solitude.

Hawke has no one.

It is a bitter vintage of guilt, particularly for a romanced Fenris who has done more than most to cause such pain. But he has not come so far in life without being tenacious, and commitment to a goal is keen to success. If he must finally leave the mansion behind, to spend everyday with his friend until that sorrow is as distant as his life in Tevinter, than it is a sacrifice worth making.

He will bring the good wine--it stands up well to despair.

Carver: There is a sort of inherent loss of self, when you have a twin. For all that Bethany and he had been different people, it is at times unavoidable that you be lumped together by even your family. It is rarely malicious but often very annoying, and was in some ways the catalyst for how much he envied his older sibling's singular triumphs and failures. There was no one to share that spotlight with, and it burned at something deep within Carver's soul.

The bitter grief that came when Bethany was gone, gone and leaving him with no one to lock step with, did not lend itself to mending the hard feelings for his older sibling. While not so cruel as Leandra to lay blame at the eldest Hawke child for his sister's death, her absence creates a void that neither can ever truly fill.

Time heals some wounds, of course, but distance and duty can cauterize what has not yet healed. Leaving his life behind to take the oath of a Grey Warden is perhaps the most freeing thing he has ever done, and if it is easier than most to carve away his past life...he is well named for it. That is not to say that the news of his mothers death does not pain him, but his new brothers and sisters a balm in a way family has not been in the past.

It is cold comfort when Varric's letter, with the uncertain request to write to his sibling in an attempt to ease their pain, makes them uncomfortably aware that years have passed without correspondence. Somewhere between the Deep Roads and his duties the oldest Hawke sibling ceased to be a daily thought for him, and Carver is ashamed to realize that he was relieved when the letters stopped. He does write a few stilted lines, unsurprised to receive no reply, and tells himself he can do no more.

If his father's face haunts his dreams with imagined disappointment and grief for months after, let that be penance enough.

Merrill: If Clan Sabrae still lives she will find it difficult to relate, but if Keeper Marethari's actions have cost her so much more than Merrill is painfully aware of the pain of total isolation. Hawke does not even have the eluvian to compensate their struggles, and for a time the Dalish mage is unsure how to help.

So she simply listens. Even if it is apathetic silence, or quiet sorrow, or even howling rage, Merrill stays. Her friend has never abandoned her, not in all the time she has known Hawke. Their life has been a bitter one, with duty and grief and helpless loss too mich a companion. Nothing she can do will fix the past, but she can prove to them with the consistency and patience of her presence that they are not alone.

The introduction of baked goods to that listening and support is also, in her experience and delight, a helpful tool. Among the Dalish shared food is the foundation of family and community, and in time she will use it to bring hope back to her friend.

Creators, let her succeed.

-Mod Fereldone

#dragon age 2 #merrill #aveline #hawke #carver hawke #bethany hawke #fenris #anders #isabela #angst

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ghostly-penumbra · 1 month

Text

Father and Sons

Ao3 FFN

Summary: Clockwork is Danny's loving, adoptive grandpa. Time is the Endless' neglectful father. They are one and the same.

Chapter One: First Meeting

- - -

Dream of the Endless stepped into his father's realm and found himself alone. Neither Dream of the Cats nor Hope Beautiful Lost Nebula had come with him. This wouldn't affect him, he would carry on.

He walked down the sprawling garden and stumbled then upon a young boy wearing his father's sygil in a purple cloak, not unlike one his father might use when seen by humans.

The boy stopped dead in his tracks when he saw him, the tilted watering can still spilling its content with no end in sight.

"Uh… hello?" He asked tentatively, the can still tipped. "May I help y—?"

"Who are you?" Dream asked bluntly, straightforward, looking at this child whose identity and dreams were blurred to him, being from a different time period than him, and his father's realm not being a Soft Place nor Dream's jurisdiction.

"Oh! That's- I'm… not supposed to just give my name to strangers." He trailed off, and finally straightened the watering can. "I'll… go get my grandpa." He turned and flew away, giving the perplexed Lord Shaper one last look before vanishing from sight.

"Dream." His father's voice had him turn around and there he was, shifting in shape through ages.

A toddler, a child, an old man, a younger man, if time could truly be described as a man, but always, invariably, with a jagged scar going across his eye.

Next to him stood the boy, looking between father and son with green eyes full of human curiosity, but ultimately leaning towards Dream's father with ease.

"What do you want?" His father asked as his beard vanished to give way to a toddler's impassive face. "You only come here if you want something."

"Can't a son see his father with no motive other than to wish him well?" He asked instead of answering.

This was unscripted. As it often did with his father, being in his presence was to step in loops and whorls of someone else's design, leaving Dream wrong-footed, regardless of where he stepped.

But for that same reason a strange child trailing after his father and referring to him as 'his grandpa' would not deter him from what he had come here for.

It did make him wonder, though…

"Of course you can," Father Time was saying, "but you never do. If any of you or your siblings visit is because you need my help."

"Siblings?! How many children do you have?" The boy almost shouted in what he seemed to believe was a whisper.

Dream turned his gaze upon him, the intense cosmos in his eyes having him shrink, abashedly, behind his father's figure once again.

Dream's father closed his eyes for one second – or a dozen. Or a year, or seventy, or a century – and then opened them again and turned his head towards his companion. "Seven." Was all he said.

"Damn!"

And against anything Dream would have thought, his father smiled, small but genuine. Fond.

"As you well know, I am older than dust."

They were making their way through the garden, where some plants grew and flourished or perished or even returned to seeds as Time approached them, and his father picked two apples, one of which he handed to the boy – who was now floating after Father Time –, and the other he offered to Dream.

"I'm not hungry."

"You will be."

Dream disregarded his father's remark and ignored the proffered fruit, even as the boy happily bit into his own.

"I wasn't travelling alone." Dream said. "Why am I the only one here?"

"You were planning on bringing your friends, uninvited, to my domain, son?" His father asked, his youthful face at odds with the rotting fruit in his hands.

"Not friends, no. A cat, who is also me. And a girl."

His father held a hand to his forehead and sighed, before looking back up at Dream whilst he handed the fresh apple to… his grandson.

"What do you want, Dream?"

"Help me, father. Help me."

- - -

[Chapter Two]

#Danny Phantom #The Sandman #Dream of the Endless #ghostly-scrypts #cross posted on ao3 #crossposted on ffn #The Sandman: Overture #Father Time #Clockwork #danny phantom clockwork #clockwork my beloved #grandpa clockwork #Morpheus

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