#fic: petrified | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

canarycolemine · 1 year

Text

Death and the Promises He Made

Pairing: Papa Emeritus II x Female Reader

Summary: A young woman finds herself trapped working a dive bar outside of Reno, Nevada. Lured in by false promises, she finds herself like a sheep in a lion's den - catering to the wicked desires of the wicked men frequenting the bar. With so much having gone wrong in this life, even Death himself sounds like a gentle partner. For week 3 of @petrifyingpapas prompts: hunted

Warnings: MDNI - graphic depictions of violence, dubious consent, forced sex work, forced drug use (please skip if needed, take care of yourselves ghesties <3)

AO3 Link

I was supposed to be so beautiful. How it all went so wrong.

The nights have kept me bound for years now, dust grows and collects on my skin as my youth slips past me.

Another night I would spend at the dive bar. I was the lounge singer. Not so much of a lounge, rather, it was a dinghy stage lit by the old bar’s overhead lamps and the blue glow of the beer signs. A far cry from where I used to perform. When I was a child, my voice was praised and rewarded. I even sang at Carnegie hall - the first one in my little town to do it. How they all thought I would be a star, being the one to leave that old midwestern town. And I did leave it, but I got so lost along the way.

The patrons of the bar always shouted at me - old men, bikers and truckers amidst their travels across the southern United States. I was a fragile doll in this unfriendly bar. These men were stronger than me, intoxicated and hotly tempered. And their eyes would make me feel more naked on the stage than I already was.

It had become customary for me to wear this baby-doll wedding dress while I sang to a scratched up old karaoke CD. Some old songs I used to sing with an accompanying pianist - but now, all those Nina Simone songs skip and stall. The patrons used to laugh when it happened, knowing how flustered I could get when things went wrong during the sets. My blushing cheeks - a reminder of innocence. But now, I don’t get nearly as flustered - I just don’t have it left in me anymore.

Tonight would be no exception. I made my way down the dusty road from the trailer park to the bar. Men in trucks would drive by - honking their horns at me. I hated it.

My sets never paid so well, if at all. The bar boss - Eddie, he didn’t really even feed me. Sometimes peanuts or olives - whatever scraps they had that night, but more often than not, I would go without food at night. After I was done singing for the night, Eddie had me mingle in the crowd. It’s patrons would have me sit in their laps, drinking their cheap beer.

They would pet me - how they would always stare and call me their baby, as I stayed silent.

I used to be so scared of these men.

Eddie realized that he could make another source of income from me. Something heinous. For a fee, the men of the road would rent me for the night: take me to the loft above the bar and do whatever they wanted.

It always hurt. More often than not, I’d end up bleeding.

But, Eddie would sell me to more than one man throughout the night, in between sets, and keep my tips.

So why did I stay? Couldn’t I have just run away?

Oh, it’s so cruel.

Eddie realized that I could have run away, so he had to tie me down to get me to stay. Or, he could get me hooked on something. My something was coke. He didn’t pay me well, if at all, but he let me stay in his dead grandmother’s trailer, sometimes would bring me frozen meals, and all the coke I needed to stay.

Those bloody noses, the highs I would run during the nights - it was just enough to get me through the abuse. But over the months I lived in this town outside of Reno, I was slipping away.

It was winter in the desert now, it should have been colder. I thought about how it was in Pennsylvania, where I was raised, my parents were probably shoveling snow and doing their best to forget about me.

After another night where the dust hung on me and my lips fell dry, my voice had finished its work. A regular to the bar - Mr. Danvers, or as he liked me to call him, Daddy, was passing through town. He had just finished an oversized load in Palm Springs, he told me, and it was one of his biggest scores yet. Whenever I finished singing, he made me sit on his lap and kiss his reddened cheeks - blushed from high blood pressure. He told me I was a pretty thing and that if he could, he would take me in his truck and carry me around the roads of America. Like I was his pet.

I always saw a ring on his left hand - I used to wonder if Mrs. Danvers knew about me. Or if maybe he had children. It didn’t matter.

He bought me for the night.

We went upstairs, the wooden floors creaking under our feet. The loft was nothing special, in fact, the appearance alone could make me gag.

There was an overused cot, several too many stains, often from my own blood and the truckers’ spend. Eddie would never clean up here. If I was anything like the girl I used to be, I would have huffed and puffed about the sensibilities. But that’s gone away.

It was dark, spare for a dingy lamp.

And he used me for what could have been hours or maybe five minutes. Truth is, I just couldn’t tell anymore. Numb. I never came when I would be with these men, and that was never the goal. Never to make me feel good, just feel how good I was. And they would take and take from me.

I didn’t have anything left. I was just numb. I had enough coke in my blood to get me to escape my body, while it was assaulted.

Daddy would hurl insults at me as he came. I was a bitch but I was his baby. His princess but his whore. I tuned it all out long ago. I stopped crying long ago.

From where his clothes were discarded, I saw his safe box. The cash he made from this job, too much compared to his standard - it must have been an under the table kind of deal. Makes sense, a lot of his business and affairs seemed to be under the table kind of work.

A moment of clarity as I was coming down - the night was surely ending soon. I was naked, feeling the disgust grow in myself. I saw his cash. If he would drink away the rest of the night, how much could he really miss a few hundred?

So I snuck away when he was spent. I usually did anyway. Dressing myself back up, I stole from his cash box - the stupid fucker already told me the lock box combo - his mother’s birthday. It was something I kept in the back of my mind, as he had me on his lap in the bar.

Not thinking too hard and grabbing what I could, I estimated it was about a grand? Maybe. I kept peering over my shoulder, thinking he could wake at the slightest of sounds. But no, he slept like a pig in shit.

Eddie paid me no mind as I left, I did my work and paid off for the night. Back on the dusty old roads, I started the walk to trailer parks.

The sun was nearly rising behind me, the slightest shift from black to blue creeping over the mountains of the desert. I would be asleep long before they would turn orange. Maybe one day I’ll see the sun rise properly. Not today.

Unit 3 was as close to a home as I could get out here. Maybe a few hundred square feet, rarely ever having heating or running water. Eddie always forgot to pay the water bill. Ever since his grandmother died, he just left it to rot. Only after a few patrons complaining of my smell would he think about buying me more soap and getting running water again. It never lasted longer than a month at a time, he was always late on the bill.

Lights, too - it was always dark in the trailer. Not like there was much to see - some mid century paisley couch, browned through the years of use and cigarette smoke. It was a serviceable place to sleep; after all, my body nearly quit on me through the exhaustion.

Thankfully, Eddie had a few days before the county would come and shut off the water - so I had the luxury of an ice cold shower and dollar store soap. Tucking away the trucker’s cash in my old purse - the small remnant of the life I used to live, stowing away under the couch. The bag I brought out west, where I was going to be a star, now sits in this trailer, occupied from some dive bar whore.

My reflection in the mirror was a girl I could no longer recognize, I looked at her after my shower. Her face lost its baby fat long ago and then some. The purple hung under my eyes, the whites now reddened from lack of sleep and the high I was falling from.

She looked like death - a walking corpse. If I had met this woman in my past life, I would pray for her. Pray that God would bring her into His light. How God would guide his lost sheep back to the safety of His flock.

How cruel.

The lost sheep I had become, but God never came to steer me back.

I hardly registered the tears falling from my eyes as I stared back at myself. Bones protruding from my collarbone - my cheek bones growing closer to the surface of my skin more by the day. I used to be more beautiful.

And I had stolen from the old trucker, now reflecting on my crimes. My body was sold for sex, my nose knew the scent of illicit substances - but all of it just happened without my permission. All of these choices were made for me. But this robbery, this was the sign of how far I’ve fallen. I stole from him - an action I chose and followed through.

I’m not the person I wanted to be. This was the wickedness I became, in the wickedness of where I was.

Any evil thoughts I had needed to be sedated. Numbed, just like I was. My body demanded sleep. I dried off the cold water in the even colder trailer. One of Eddie’s shitty old t-shirts was my nightwear, the material was cold and scratchy - the band logo long faded.

If God was listening, I prayed He would slip me into sleep quickly.

Perhaps He was, that night I fell into a dreamless sleep. Perhaps I did dream, but I could no longer remember them.

All too soon I was awoken by banging and screaming on the old trailer’s door.

“Wake up, you fucking bitch!”

Eddie’s nasally voice rang out as the blinds on the door rebounded from his strikes. The sun peeked through, it must have been midday as I came back from haze - pounding in my eyes.

“Get up! Get up! Get up!” He yelled, as he brutalized my door.

The door threatened to fall from its hinges as I opened to his greasy face. He had one of those kinds of faces where he couldn’t grow a beard but it would benefit from concealing his impressive lack of jaw. Even in the daylight, his flesh had a green-ish undercurrent. He simply looked as unsavory as he was.

But he was furious for some reason. I was still too tired to care. My captor often showed up at odd hours demanding this, that or the other.

“You fucking bitch!” He stormed into the trailer, smacking the small potted succulent off of the tiny table I had. Smashing into pieces, the shattering startled me more awake.

“What’s your problem, Eddie?”

He turned to me, his eyes beat red. Gaze vicious, like I was prey.

“Tell me why the fuck Chuck’s cash was missing this morning.”

“Who’s Chuck?”

“Oh my god” he couldn’t look at me, enraged as he was. “God you’re stupid - Chuck is ‘Daddy,’ dumbass.”

“Mr. Danvers?” I asked, hoping to steer Eddie away from the topic.

“Yes, so why was his cash missing?”

“I… I don’t know.” Never a convincing liar - I feigned ignorance.

“Awesome, you don’t know!” He raged. “Well, the bar’s out $800, thanks to you. So here’s the deal, you go get that cash that you fucking stole or you don’t get paid for a week. Deal?”

I hated this man.

“Oh, I’m getting paid now?” I spat back.

It was all too quickly when a fist was raised to my face and struck me. The force knocked me to the ground - throbbing in my eye.

Before I could register my injury, Eddie grabbed me up by the arms and forced me onto the old couch where I slept. He continued to strike my face as he sat on me, keeping me locked in place.

My tears felt hot against the burning skin, the throbbing in my head quickly becoming overwhelming - choked sobs tumbled out.

This beating went on longer than my body wanted me to remember. Some part of my conscience was ripped from my body; experiencing pain that I was already trying to forget. At some point, liquid fell from my temples - it was warm. Perhaps blood.

“You fucking bitch!” he spat, satisfied with his work. “You’ll be at the bar early tonight, no fucking tips, no free fucking drinks, and no fucking coke - got it?”

I sniffled, sitting up to look at him. My heart beat was felt in the ruined flesh of my face - the deep, bone aching pain starting to register to my conscious mind. I nodded, ready for him just to leave.

“Good.” Eddie looked around the dinghy trailer, fidgeting with his hands - evidence of his inexperience in fighting. “This place is a fucking mess.”

“I’m sorry.” I could hardly eek out.

He quickly exited the trailer, the force of slamming the door shut causing the building to move.

I sat in silence for longer than I could register. Eddie had never hit me before. The motherfucker whored me out, worked me like a dog, but he never had the cruelty to hit me. And to think, I thought I could trust him.

I could really use that coke.

If I could cry, I would have. But that was it. I really didn’t have much else left - the last of my dignity swept away like lines in the desert sand. An evil thought: I am better off dead. Something more insidious: I don’t have the will to do it. I don’t even have a first clue on how to do it. Even if I died, I wouldn’t put it passed the wicked men I kept in company to fuck my corpse. Even in death, I could find no dignity.

The warm hues of the desert felt so gray and cold - a perpetual winter in my mind.

Trying my best, sleeping away the pain until the night fell. My mind was entirely outside of my body, numb to the sensations. Something in my body ached for the high, it’s been some time since I’ve had a night without coke.

Dabbing the cheap cover up over the fresh bruises, my eyes puffy. I knew the old men would say something tonight - they liked to see me in pain. What a terrible life I live.

My little babydoll dress still smelled like the bar, a smell you really couldn’t ever get out of clothes. I never really did get the chance to clean it often - only if a few dirt stains or a too far gone patron spilling their beer on me would warrant Eddie taking it to the cleaners. It wasn’t quite dirty enough yet, so I had to wear the stench.

The first few hours of my bar shift were a haze. My eyes still clouded my vision from weariness and crying. I sang for a while, maybe the track skipped. I couldn’t tell. My head ached from lack of high - a tremor permanently settling in my hands.

The bikers passing through that night seemed to like how helpless and flushed I looked - a woman who had given up. To be owned by them.

In between the sets, I made my rounds, sitting on their laps as they whispered vulgarities to me and amongst themselves. Several marriage proposals, offers to take me away from this life - all if I gave them a little smile. I would meekly shake my head, fighting the tears from indignity.

A few hours passed until I needed to return to the stage. Another Etta James. The comfort I used to feel singing her words, now it’s the only sweetness I have.

A few songs in, I could hear from the shifting outside, a large group was approaching. The sound of dirt crushed under a large group of cars. The usually rowdy voices I expected were absent. I began:

“I heard church bells ringing,

I heard a choir singing.

I saw my love walk down the aisle.

On her finger, he placed a ring, oh, oh.

I saw them holding hands

She was standing there with my man.

I heard them promise 'til death do us part.

Each word was a pain in my heart.”

The group walked in, unfamiliar was the lot. Certainly not the typical bikers and truckers that I’ve enslaved to. I couldn’t direct too much attention to them, but my curiosity grew. Some conscious part of my mind returned.

“Oh. All I could do, all I could do was cry.

All I could do was cry.

I was losing the man that I loved,

and all I could do was cry.

And now the wedding is over,

rice has been thrown over their heads.

For them, life has just begun but mine is at an end”

The group filed in - several large men, lean and muscular. All but one was wearing some … hoods? Masks maybe? There was one man, though, the one not wearing a mask. He looked deadly. His face was painted to look like a skull. Maybe it was a tattoo - but the bar didn’t attract those types.

He was wearing a black suit, much too expensive for a place like this. His face had an immovable quality to it, he was a man who got what he wanted, demanding the attention of the room. And he certainly demanded mine.

Eddie nearly fell over himself, trying to pour the man and the crew drinks. I could almost chuckle to myself - if this man came in here expecting top shelf liquor, he’d have better luck at a gas station. I saw his eventual choice - some Jack Daniels, he looked too good for it. Swirling the brown liquid in the cheap glass cup, bringing to his mouth for a sip.

His disgusted visage complimented his stern face. But eventually, his eyes met mine. I kept singing, now feeling hot in the cheeks. Quickly, I averted my gaze.

“Oh. All I could do, all I could do was cry.

All I could do was cry.

I was losing the man that I loved,

And all I could do was cry.”

The song ended to the typical wolf whistles from the patrons, but the stern-faced man’s gaze remained unmoved. I felt frozen in place under his watch - prey aware of being hunted.

And his eyes remained on me for the remainder of the set. Occasionally beckoning over a masked man, he would whisper something.

I felt afraid of him, scared to look at him for too long. I had never felt truly afraid of the men here, but this stranger, he looked like death. A lump in my throat nearly ruined my singing, as I held back the tears of fear.

Once I finished for the hour, I stepped off of the stage, making my way to the bar for some water.

“No free drinks tonight, remember?” Eddie said from behind the bar.

“I just want some water, Eddie.” I pleaded with the fucker.

“No. Free. Drinks.” He bit back. I looked at him with shock at his unreasonable demand. He had this shit eating smirk on his face, cocking his brow. “Now do your thing, and save the old guy for last.” He nudged his shoulder towards the skull faced man. His gaze was still on me; while I didn’t even see it, I knew it was one me. My skin crawled.

I sauntered throughout the bar, attending to the patrons as usual. This time of night the men were still consciously drunk, able to hurt me if they wanted to, not sloppy. Still disgusting - kissing me, making me sit in their laps, bouncing me on their knees and telling me what a good girl I was.

My face was usually cold, indifferent at their comments. Tonight was different, the skull-faced man was silently watching the spectacle. Too afraid to meet his gaze, my eyes watched the ground.

Eddie walked over to the man over the course of the night, occasionally refilling the whisky. Almost out of reach of my hearing, I knew exactly what he was doing and it terrified me. He was selling me to the man for the night.

I lingered on the familiar men’s laps longer than usual, prolonging the inevitable. I shot a look at Eddie, knowing I would find no reprieve - no mercy. And with no mercy I was met, he merely pointed in the direction of the man.

Sheepishly, I walked over to the man. He was sitting in a beaten leather booth, by himself. The men he walked in with standing nearby, as if to guard him. Any semblance of confidence I could muster for the regulars was gone.

I finally made eye contact with him; confirming what I already knew, his eyes never left me. But now I could see more clearly. As if he couldn’t look more intimidating, his right eye was a brilliant green and the other an eerie white. The white iris nearly absorbed the light it perceived, making it shine brightly but deadly.

“Hello.” I said, but only loud enough for me to hear. Having his eye contact was enough to silence me.

“Hello.” He said with a smirk, taking a long draw of his drink. “You have a lovely voice.” There was something to his voice - like English wasn’t his first language.

“Thank you, sir.” I weakly smiled back, still doing my best to remain polite while avoiding eye contact at all costs. I merely stood in front of him, brutalizing my cuticles all the while.

“Sir? That is new for me.” He chucked, “No need for formalities. Will you sit with me, dolce?”

Dolce? That’s new and maybe… Italian, I thought. How I hated pet names. The way pet names were hurled at me by the regulars felt as bad as vulgarities. I must have communicated my dislike for the name through my face as I sat, only as close as I needed to be.

“You do not like ‘dolce?’” He said, easing closer to me, as if to examine me. I still averted his gaze.

“I’m sorry. I just…It’s Italian, isn’t it?” I flickered my eyes to his. Something in those eyes softened as I looked at him, holding his gaze longer than I thought I could.

“Yes, it is.” Another sip of his drink, examining the contents. Certainly it was not up to his standards, as his face told me so. “You do not have to be so afraid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need for apologizing. I understand, I look like a, eh, scary old man.” He growled lightly, as if to ease tension. I broke a smirk at his actions - the muscles of my face experiencing the action for the first time in months. The smirk left at my realization. “But I am really just like a delicate butterfly, you see.”

I felt somewhat more comfortable looking at him properly. Certainly his face was painted to look like a skull, tattoos would have appeared differently in the light. I studied him, briefly, still cautious of the man.

I couldn’t stay too comfortable, I was still working.

“Um, sorry, Eddie told me to come over here.”

“Yes, the weasel bartender” He recalled, “he informed me of your… services.”

“Um, there’s a room upstairs. We go up there. But, that’s only if you want to.”

“Do you like what you do?” He asked, meeting my gaze again. The softened gaze of the wicked looking man almost made me feel… safe. This wasn’t a move to humiliate me, as so many of the others before had done.

No words fell from my lips as tears welled in my eyes. I merely shook my head. Closing my eyes, turning my face towards the ground as the tears slipped from my eyelids.

The man was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words carefully, it seemed.

“You looked scared while you were singing.” He said. “It hurt me to see someone so young look so frightened.”

My stomach churned at his words. It was the same script that an unfamiliar man would use - always promising me that he cared about how I felt, that he could save me from this miserable life. But always, always - he would only be a few drinks from ravaging my body and skipping town, never to see me again. Some men get great pleasure from watching hope leave a woman’s eyes.

I could sense that perhaps he was the same, although more convincing than the last.

The tears lifted the cover up, concealing my bruises. As I wiped away, the beige color appeared on my fingers.

I felt a strong hand on my shoulders, frightening me.

“You will be with me tonight. We will go back to the hotel where I am staying. I have discussed this with the bartender.”

“I don’t leave the bar.” A stipulation I fought with Eddie on - my last hope of safety. If he sold me for the night, he promised me no one could take me away. “Ever. Did Eddie tell you-”

“Yes, he said you may be… apprehensive.” His gaze was firm, but somehow reassuring. “I do not intend to have sex with you, if you must know.”

Certainly now I was confused. “Then why did you hire me for the night?” I asked with more venom than I should have.

“You are a lovely lady, with a lovely voice. You do not need to be in such a wicked place like this. If there is any service you could provide me tonight, consider it company and perhaps another song.”

A charm lingered in his words, smoother than most other men. As I looked more at his face, I could see how beautiful he really was - although obscured by the paint, his face was rugged, pointed and agreeable.

“I have paid the bartender for the night. However, you do not have to come with me. We must walk out together, but you may go home, if you desire.”

A choice - a luxury long since lost.

I weighed my options. Certainly, I did not trust this man. I couldn’t. But quite frankly, there was so little left in my life. Even if he killed me, had his way with just like all the others, at least I would finally be gone from this life.

“Okay.” Nodding. “I’ll go.”

He smiled. It was more gentle than I expected.

A final swig, finishing his drink. He stood, gathering his coat and offered me his hand. How chivalrous - the charming man who looked like death himself.

To be continued.

#petrifyingpapas #petrifying papas #papa emeritus secondo #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii fan fic #papa emeritus x female reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #ghost band fic #ghost band fan fic #secondo #he's a real sweeties guys #trust

84 notes · View notes

theclaravoyant · 7 months

Text

AN ~ I had some emotions about domestic blackbonnet having healthy and positive emotional conversations. May turn into a collection of vignettes featuring their beautiful work inn progress! <3

Characters: Ed/Stede, Stede & Alma

Read on AO3

The Petrified Orange

Ed woke up to a little note left on Stede’s pillow. Izzy.

He frowned at it, and contemplated going down there himself. Then he thought the better of it. There was obviously a reason Stede had gone to see Izzy instead of waking him up, like maybe he needed some space. Or to talk about whatever was on his mind with someone who wasn’t Ed - apparently, having more than one freakishly codependent confidant could actually help one’s mental health and decision making abilities. Who would have thought. (He’s not sure where they stand on that if one of said confidants is dead, but it’s got to be better than nothing.)

Still. Ed was not, as a rule, a patient person, and an impatient person prone to panic could only handle so much mystery before the sun rose. So when he’d done up the bacon and eggs and put the tea on and Stede still had not reappeared over the threshold, he slung a robe over his shoulders, bundled breakfast onto a tray, and picked up a lantern to pick his way down there.

Stede was asleep in the sand by the grave marker. At least, he was until he heard footsteps and awoke with a start, dagger in hand.

“Oh. Ed.” He relaxed again and looked around, getting his bearings. Brushed the sand from his shirt and his mouth, distractedly. “I must have drifted off. The sound of the ocean is so nice out here.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? You’re sort of … staring wistfully.”

Ed gestured, and Stede caught himself doing it again. It was as if without even noticing, his eyes were drawn to the small, rhythmic motions of the distant waves. He had kind of been hoping it would help him think through something, but he’d mostly just thought himself around in circles. He sighed. There was so much in that sigh, Ed took himself a seat in the sand and poured them each a teacup.

“What’re you staring wistfully about, then?”

“It’s Alma’s birthday today. My daughter. She’s thirteen.”

“First one you’ve missed?”

Stede snorted. “God no. Probably closer to the sixth; I don’t actually know.”

“Oh.”

“As always, I admire your faith in me,” Stede assured him, “but I was a pretty rubbish dad. I didn’t really try that hard with her, and even when I did I wasn’t very good at it. Then I went and … blew up her life, didn’t I? Abandoned her and her brother, then came back, then left again. She should hate me. I shouldn’t even call her my daughter, to be honest. She’s Mary’s daughter, not mine.”

Ed nodded, understanding. “So it was a Chauncey Spiral Night, huh?”

“Every spiral night is Chauncey Spiral Night,” Stede reminded him. “He did play all the hits. Plus. I found this while we were unpacking.”

Stede reached into his pocket and pulled out a stone. Looking closer, Ed recognised it. The petrified orange. Well, half of it anyway.

“She gave me half,” Stede whispered. “And kept half with her. I think it was her way of telling me she forgives me.”

“That’s sweet. Kids can appreciate courage, I think,” Ed said. “She must have known it took some guts for you to go back after all that.”

“You know what, I think she did. I think she understood why I did what I did, too. And that it worked. We were all happier for it, in the end.”

“Mm. Poison into positivity, eh?”

“Yeah.” Stede turned the orange over in his hand, and smiled. “I guess so.”

He cast a glance back over his shoulder, up toward the house, and Ed followed his gaze. He had an idea, and if he had it right, Ed was having that same idea right now.

“Maybe that’s what we should call it,” Stede suggested. “The Petrified Orange.”

“The real treasure we found along the way?” Ed chuckled. “I love that. I’m in.”

#blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #the petrified orange inn verse #clara's fic tag

27 notes · View notes

jessicanjpa · 8 months

Text

Petrification fic idea

I'm officially dropping this plot bunny off at @twibunny because it's been pinging around in my brain for years and I'm no closer to writing it. If anybody wants to adopt please go for it!

Basically it's a fic in which some vampires start to petrify. They start to lose their speed first, then more motor skills as their bodies stiffen up. Gifted vampires start losing control over their gifts (or the gifts go haywire, whichever is more fun). Finally they lose the ability to speak and move and they essentially become frozen statues. Even their thoughts and emotions slip away, as confirmed by Edward and Jasper.

Alice is the first one to go, followed by Jasper. This leads the Cullens to think this is some form of gifted attack, like maybe the enemy is neutralizing the gifted coven members first. Bella and Edward are scared they will be next, but nothing happens.

Then Demetri shows up on their doorstep, and he's barely able to walk because he's petrifying too. He says the Volturi have declared martial law and that Carlisle has been summoned to Volterra to help solve the mystery of why so many vampires are "dying."

The reality is that no one knows whether the affected vampires are alive or dead. Some have been burned and others are being watched over by family/coven members. Afraid to break up the family, all the Cullens agree to go to Volterra and they bring Alice and Jasper's bodies along too.

After examining the data, Carlisle and Aro and my OC vampire doc Amin come to the conclusion that the "disease" can be traced through venomlines. In other words, only the "descendants" of certain vampires are petrifying. Carlisle and all his creations (and his creator too, and so on) are safe, and same for Aro. For now, at least.

Well, that's where I always get stuck--why is the disease suddenly "activating" in certain venomlines and not in others? Feel free to adopt this idea and change whatever you want! (I imagine this taking place post-canon, but whatever you want.)

@twibunny

#I'm a mod for @twibunny so I can't submit ideas lol #Fic idea #Plot bunny #Twilight fanfiction #Twilight saga #Petrify #Fanfiction #Vampire physiology #Probably AU lore but who knows?

17 notes · View notes

thevenstar · 1 year

Text

what you see will be

pairing: TK/Carlos | words: 64k

“Greece, uh?”

TK doesn’t specify. He doesn’t point out that it’s an island, hours away from where the plane will leave him. He doesn’t tell him that the name – Varco – is one he never heard before; didn’t even know it existed, until he saw it scribbled black on white.

He doesn’t tell him how much he likes the word, like it came out of a fairy-tale. Owen would probably think him foolish, and TK is not sure he would be wrong.

So he just smiles, bites his lip to smother it a bit: keep it leveled, secure. For now. “Yeah.”

(An island filled with legends, a son with a path to build or just return to, and a house that waited. A story about patience, courage and a love that grants wishes as shooting stars do: all it takes is belief.)

#aaaa it is done #i am very excited to finally share this / while also being petrified bc my whole heart is in it #and that’s always terrifying uh #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #911 ls fic #911 lone star fanfic #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos #hope u grow to love varco as much as i do <3

69 notes · View notes

heyidkyay · 6 months

Text

An update later tonight?

#the 1975 #matty healy #fic #aipoban #and i’m petrified of being alone now

18 notes · View notes

miaoqing · 17 days

Text

Chapter 2!! bingy POV time :3

#svsss #bingqiu #lesbingqiu #fic #miao #nearly petrified

4 notes · View notes

unknownteapot · 2 days

Text

i'm in a field of yellow flowers today ;)

now who wants to meet me here & be eternal lovers amangela-style 🫡

#jkjk i am petrified of love #isnt it insane that even nature reminds me of them #a field of yellow flowers #amangela fic #amangela

6 notes · View notes

bigboysteveharrington · 2 years

Text

I got distracted working on part of a chapter later than the one I still need to finish and post and

Mike: Everyone’s afraid of Hopper, right?

Will, whose previous father figure was Lonnie and whose first memory of Hopper is him carrying him out of the Upside Down: 🤨

#I can't put Will or El or Jonathan's thoughts on this scene until I get there in the so far unposted fic in the same universe as The Things #in Life That I Can't Find but I *can* make a post making it clear that Will is internally like bitch wtf??? because he hasn't witnessed #Hopper intentionally being ominous to Mike and to Will Hopper was already becoming a dad figure before Hopper and Joyce even got together #Because he didn't even know Hopper when Hopper didn't give up on helping Joyce finding him even after his fake dead body washed up #And Hopper went into the Upside Down back when no one had ever come back out alive to get him and carried him out #And Hopper came along to the check ups Will had to have at Hawkins Lab and Hopper was already there for him more and doing more as a father #figure than Lonnie ever did even before they suddenly became a 5 person Hopper-Byers family unit so Will is one of the only ones that #didn't start off petrified of Hopper before they realized that he was on their side and he's seen the way that El is the boss out of Hopper #and El a lot of the time and he's seen the way that Hopper goes along with whatever Joyce wants 99.9% of the time even if they do bicker in #a more lighthearted way that never has Will hiding in Jonathan's room with loud music on to get away from it so he's like yeah Hopper's #big but he's just Hopper??? He's tough in a good at protecting us way but he gives in all the time to what people he cares about want and #he goes out of the way to do things for people regularly???#Plus Joyce never looks scared of him and she's happier when he's around and Jonathan and Joyce and El all trust him so Will fully trusts #him and likes having him around too #Oops I didn't mean to go on such a long ramble in the tags but I have a lot of thoughts on that family dynamic #Hence the turning the fic into a series so that I can have a fic that focuses on their dynamics #Mine

69 notes · View notes

noxexistant · 11 months

Text

i’m very excited for the newsies fic exchange, i hope everyone has the best time

#<- is also petrified of failure #it’s baby second fic exchange #nox.txt

17 notes · View notes

via-the-cryptid · 11 months

Text

Lami’s design at the beginning of my Petrify AU, one version with the Amber Lead effects and one without. I will not be apologizing for the limbs, I did my best and therefore no one can judge me. I also made one of her eyes slightly paler in the ALS version because I headcanon that the buildup of lead would have eventually made her partially blind

#one piece #one piece au #fanart #ao3 #digital fanart #fic fanart #Petrify AU #trafalgar d water lami #trafalgar lami #lami lives au #oda stop fridging the female Ds I am begging you

11 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 1 year

Text

in which eddie has to deal with the horrible ordeal of being known and finds out that it’s okay to want to hug your boyfriend all the time. in fact, it’s encouraged | 1.4k

It’s torture. Frankly, it should be labelled nothing short of a war crime, psychological warfare, the bane of Eddie Munson’s very existence! There should be novels about this, reports, guides, brochures lying in some guidance counsellor’s office in some funky-ass colour that prevents anyone from actually taking one, let alone read it.

The point: Being with Steve, being anywhere near him, in his close vicinity, falling victim to the smile slowly spreading on his face or the way it makes his eyes twinkle, is torture. Torture! Really, it should be forbidden to look this godsdamn adorable, so fucking huggable.

Steve, for all intents and purposes, for all his very hot muscles and athleticism, for all his occasional glares and menacing tone, looks too fucking huggable for Eddie’s mind to keep up.

He loses track of time, loses his words, and most of his rings have a whole new purpose. Because these days, he spends most of his time keeping himself from hugging Steve at any given moment. From just attaching himself to Steve’s side and never, ever, ever letting go.

The Fates have decided to make it this boy’s duty, his calling, his godsdamn destiny, to look like he would look even better wrapped up in Eddie’s arms. And Eddie is not dealing well. In fact, he’s not dealing at all, because this is all so new to him.

He doesn’t know what’s allowed and what isn’t, what’s normal and what’s just Eddie being Eddie, what Steve wants and what he just allows. And it’s real scary sometimes.

Warm hands come up to encase his, and Eddie blinks back into that part of reality where Steve actually notices when he’s staring.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, turning his hands in Steve’s so their palms are touching. It always makes Steve smile, and Eddie wants to explode. Maybe he will. He feels like that’s a very reasonable assumption at this point.

“Okay,” Steve says and nods, and the smile doesn’t falter, but Eddie gets to watch as Steve obviously works up the courage to say something.

So he waits. Holds his hands, his eyes, and also his tongue.

“I— This is not me complaining, okay. Please don’t think that, I am not mad and not complaining, Eddie, okay?”

Steve is waiting for him to react, and while Eddie’s heart has jumped into his throat and is racing in there now, he nods. He is rewarded for it when Steve lifts their joined hands to his lips and peppers the back of Eddie’s hands with kisses.

Gods, but he loves that boy so much it’s choking him right up.

“It’s just, sometimes I feel like… I worry that you’re holding back. Or, or hiding something. Yourself, most likely, but I don’t wanna say you’ve been untruthful or playing some game with me, it’s just… I don’t know. But. You’ll stare at me sometimes and fidget. Or sit on your hands. Or… I don’t know, but it looks like you’re physically restraining yourself from reaching out, or something, y’know? And you don’t gotta do that anymore. I’m here, Eds, and I want— I want you. Any way I can, but most of all I want you safe. And comfortable. And knowing that you don’t have to hold back, okay?”

For a moment there, Eddie’s world ends. Because Steve worries, Steve doubts, Steve knows Eddie is just playing some game at this life of his. He doesn’t actually know his next moves, doesn’t actually know when it’s okay to shut up or better to talk, when it’s okay to touch, to hold, to keep.

He got it all wrong. How does one make relationships work? When is it okay to kiss, to hug, to leave, to talk?

He keeps getting it wrong. And Steve knows.

“Don’t panic, my love, please,” Steve whispers, and there’s fear in his voice. “Stay with me.” Stay with me. It holds more meanings than one, because he remembers Nancy, remembers bullshit, remembers Steve’s fear of abandonment.

But Eddie is here, he’s here, he’s not leaving.

Now he’s the one raising Steve’s hands to his lips and keeping them there as he speaks.

“It’s stupid. You’re right, by the way, but it’s stupid.”

“What is it, Eds?”

A sigh, and then all the air has left his lungs, which makes speaking easier. “You know how I never had a boyfriend before, what with the dating pool in stupid fucking Hawkins being nonexistent, actually? Well, sometimes that makes things a bit… Difficult.”

He chooses his words slowly, trying to make sense of his scrambles thoughts as he goes.

“And being with you, it’s, it’s a lot, because—“ Steve is pulling back, and Eddie surges forward, keeping his hands, lacing their fingers now. “No, no, no, Stevie, now you have to stay, okay? Good. Kissing you is great. Wonderful. Best thing ever invented by humankind, actually. I’m pretty sure our forefathers have invented kissing just so you, Steve Harrington, could be handled appropriately. It’s the law, and all.”

Steve is laughing now, and it’s his ‘My boyfriend is ridiculous and he might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me’-laugh, which makes Eddie melt right off the couch. He’s joining Steve on the floor now, their knees touching, and he’s leaning forward, his forehead against Steve’s who lets it happen, who leans into him right back, who makes this all okay. His eyes are closed and he can pretend he’s not exposing his heart and soul right now.

“But sometimes, Stevie? Sometimes all I can think about is how much I wanna hug you. How much I wanna wrap my whole body around you and just exist. It’s not even about the kissing or the sex, and maybe that makes me a bad boyfriend? Pretty sure it does, yeah. But not an hour goes by where I don’t… yearn.”

The last word is usually only to be found in his D&D repertoire, and it’s so silent, so quiet that he hopes Steve didn’t catch it. That Steve doesn’t know its meaning.

But for once, no such luck.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, but there’s an urgency in his voice, so very adamant to be heard yet so, so quiet. “Eddie, you can’t— can’t just say things like this. You yearn for me? The whole ‘I never wanna let you go’ thing?”

Eddie nods, a tad miserably.

“That’s… God, that’s the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. And you think that makes you a bad boyfriend? Honey, I think that makes you the love of my fucking life. And just so we’re clear, yeah? You can always hug me. Tackle me to the damn floor for all I care, but before that little speech of yours, I’d have bet you a nice sum of money that I’m the most touch starved person in Hawkins. Now, turns out that might be you, but that’s fine because I’m here, lovely, and I’m yours. That means you can go ahead and—”

Whatever it is that Steve wanted to say gets lost in the void, because Eddie does what he just got express permission for: He tackles Steve to the floor, gently, and lies down on top of him, his arms around his laughing boyfriend who winds his arms around Eddie in turn like that’s exactly where he belongs. Maybe it is.

Maybe it’s not torture, being with Steve. But maybe it’s the best thing that has ever happened to Eddie.

Robin sometimes talks about stuff like this and calls it The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known. And Eddie wants to agree, he does. Especially when it comes to things like this, because it’s terrifying, petrifying, nauseating to talk to Steve about himself. Steve Harrington, who sees when he looks, who tries to understand and make everything just a bit better.

Intimacy. Honesty. Sincerity is scary.

But it also means he gets to be himself, it means he gets to hold his boyfriend in his arms and just breathe him in, just listen to his heartbeat and let everything about that moment ground him. It means he gets to shut up his asshole boyfriend when he says, “I knew you only liked me for my body.” Eddie kisses him senseless, and then that is that.

The horrible ordeal of being known is not quite so horrible when it means he gets to have his Stevie like this and feel better, safer, happier than ever.

for @bethespark who asked for fluff but me being me, i can only give you this :/ one day. one day i will write you fluff

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #dio words #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #listen i wanted to make thus pure fluff actually but the only experience i have at relationships is being terrified and petrified #so i decided to treat eddie a little bit :))#poe please remember you love me despite my inability to write the kinda fluff i’m supposed to

641 notes · View notes

hisoknen · 7 months

Text

which fic that i’m never gonna finish should i work on today

#BRO SOMEONE REBLOGGWD A POST FROM 2022 #and i went back to read it #and almost deleted all my old fics #keeping them to look back to in my 70’s but holy shit i get embarrassed sometimes #i promise i write better now guys i’m just one petrified to post and two #never satisfied #and three writi these long ass 30k +#things that will be done in my 40’s #hei and ken and mingyu and chan are all occupying my skull horifically #ive been making playlists for them and sprinting and only fucking outlining and theyre all 20k plus what in the fuck will they end up at #jfc #tophee talks

3 notes · View notes

theclaravoyant · 7 months

Text

AN ~ I had to get Ed out of those leathers. Especially when I saw this waistcoat. Hurt/comforty Blackbonnet Bliss

now on AO3 (Petrified Orange Ch.3)

New Clothes

It was early in the morning when Ed awoke, and pried himself gently out of bed. Stede was sprawled across the mattress snoring softly, but he’d always been an early riser - especially now, when beating the sun was a good way to get a few rabbits and a start on the roof work before the heat of the day settled in.

Not for the first time though, as he slipped into his boots and tugged on his jacket, Ed found himself lingering on the sight of his own reflection in the mirror. It hadn’t seemed that big of a deal at the time, putting the leathers back on. They were easier and more comfortable to fight in, and probably safer too, than that stupid sackcloth, that was all. And after Izzy had - well - he’d just wanted to get out of that navy uniform drenched in his blood as quickly as possible. It hadn’t mattered that the leathers were all he had left to change into. If anything, it was a positive; the last thing he had left of them, of Blackbeard, of this thing they’d built together. But the longer he wore them the more it played on his mind, that Blackbeard was the thing that had nearly destroyed them. That Izzy passing had given him permission - all but begged him, even - to let go.

Ed wasn’t used to changing things just because they made him a bit uncomfortable. Fuck, everything in his life was a bit uncomfortable. Izzy. His knee. His ships, which had somehow never quite felt like home. Now, his leathers. It was silly, really. Clothes were clothes were clothes. He didn’t have many. They served a purpose. But he’d thrown them into the sea for a reason, and he’d meant what he’d said. It had felt fucking great.

Maybe you should listen to it.

“Ed?” Stede’s voice interrupted from behind him, still muffled by drowsiness. He lifted his head off the pillow with a frown. “Everything alright?”

“Shit, man, sorry.” Ed shook his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

But awake he was, and he’d be damned if he was going to leave Ed adrift alone in this darkly pensive moment. Ed was glad for it, really; especially in the absence of a cozy blanket fort to comfort him while he was feeling adrift, there was something to be said for the way that Stede sidled up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist, and rested his cheek against his shoulder blade.

“It’s the leathers, isn’t it?” Stede guessed. “They don’t fit like they used to.”

Insightful bastard.

“It’s not important,” Ed reiterated.

“Of course it is,” Stede insisted. “They’re Blackbeard’s. You’re Edward. Believe it or not, I went through something similar. Why d’you think I wear necklines lower than Lucius now?”

In spite of himself, Ed chuckled. “I wasn’t going to mention it.”

Stede was smiling when he pulled away, and turned Ed to the side to face him. He looked him up and down, his knowledge of Ed and sartorial prowess weaving something together into a plan.

“Well,” he said, “we can head into town and pick something up-”

“Nah, there’s too much to do. Maybe later.”

“Then I have something for you.”

“You do?”

“Wait there,” Stede said, as if Ed was ever going to do anything else. He scarpered into the other room and dug around for a minute in the belongings they were still unpacking from the ship. Ed watched the doorway and listened to the rummaging, and found himself grinning back when Stede stuck his head back into the room, apparently victorious.

“Now,” Stede instructed. “You’ll have to borrow one of my tops, for now. We’ll order some more if you like it.”

Like what? Ed almost asked, but the question evaporated from his lips in sweet anticipation. In one of Stede’s hands he carried a lightly frilled, black peasant top; In the other, a long, flat box tied with a ribbon. A gift. For him.

He couldn’t get the leathers off fast enough, let alone his ratty old shirt. Stede’s shirt was soft and light - almost too much so, at least for his regular wardrobe. He was more comfortable in things more heavy and tight. But then Stede held out the box, and let him pull the ribbons off and lift away the lid. His jaw dropped. Words competed to make their way out of his mouth in a jumble until eventually one fell out:

“Stede.”

What he meant was something like it’s stunning, I can’t believe you did this.

Folded neatly in the box between them was a handsome waistcoat in a rich purple colour - or rather, a black waistcoat so finely embroidered with purple it was hard to tell the difference. The pattern was slightly floral - perhaps paisley, or ivy. It danced beneath his fingers as he held it up to admire it better.

“Holy shit, Stede,” he breathed. “When did you-”

“When we were shopping for Calypso’s birthday.” Stede blushed. “I know it’s nothing fancy. Only brass buttons. But technically, it is a silk-blend brocade, so-”

Suddenly he found his words cut off in a kiss so passionate and deep it almost made his knees drop out from under him. Fine fabric be damned. All his fancy words about it flittered out the cracks in the walls until all that was left were Ed’s big brown eyes, shining with overwhelming gratitude.

“I take it you like it, then,” Stede rasped, not bothering to move more than an inch from Ed’s lips.

“I love it,” Ed vowed. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

#blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ed teach #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #clara's fic tag #the petrified orange inn verse

20 notes · View notes