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whumpflash · 11 months

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Can we see some cerus before his fall?

:) time for actual cringefail overlord?

Umbra: Beginning of the End

cw: war/death mention

Penumbra Masterlist

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"The rebels are gaining ground."

The scroll was small; brusque and to the point. In the last year alone, there had been dozens just like it, ill tidings scrawled across each one.

"The dissidents prevailed today."

"The rebellion has spread to the western end of Feyadel."

"The eleventh legion has fallen, sire."

Cerus tossed the small, curling piece of parchment into the fire, watched it smolder and redden and turn to ash. Defeat was closing in, like the sun setting over the course of the day, spreading slow shadow that would soon cloak the world in an all-consuming darkness.

The end was surely coming for him. It had started with his father's death. Sudden, a broken neck at the bottom of a staircase, leaving Cerus gripped more with fear than grief when he looked upon the corpse for the last time.

For what was he to do now?

He'd been the royal high mage, boosting his father's power with magical means. His father, who was supposed to live for many more years, who was supposed to grow old and hand over the throne gradually, giving Cerus time to learn and grow into the role. His father, who was now a body in the ground.

Most of King Hollowthorn's bannermen left before the grave was even filled in; the rest filed out one by one in the coming weeks. They knew the people of Feyadel were unhappy with the crown, only kept in line by the king's schemes and careful pressures. They knew Cerus had none of his father's experience, that he was weak. That the people would see his faults and find within them an opportunity. Cerus knew too, but now he was alone.

He'd gathered some meager support, elevating a handful of knights to generals and battalion leaders in preparation for the war that was sure to come.

He'd been lenient in his early months as king, conceding to the demands of a few villages for lessened taxes and a lift on the poaching ban. He'd even raised the damned dead in an attempt to cow his subjects into submission. But it wasn't enough.

It never would've been enough.

The first large-scale revolt was in a small town a hundred miles away, on the eve of his coronation, and more acts of rebellion were swift to follow.

No matter how many dead were raised, the spirit of the people outmatched the unfeeling relentlessness of his ghouls.

For six years, he'd sat anxious on the throne, lost sleep over lost loyalty, watched as his hold on his birthright was broken bit by bit.

And with it, his hopes of emerging victorious.

Soon his treacherous subjects would reach the capital city, and then there would be nothing left.

So he'd fortify it. Pull back forces and protect his last true stronghold. If he expended all his energy, he could summon enough undead that it would take all the rebel forces had to oppose them. Even if he was outmatched, his ghoulish soldiers didn't need food, nor rest, nor tending to their wounds, unlike the rebel armies. He'd wait. Let them drain their supplies before launching a counterattack. He still had a chance.

And then when the battle was won, and he stood triumphant over the bodies and the curling smoke, he'd be king of the nothing.

He'd heard some were calling him Shadow King, and whether it was a description or an insult, he didn't know. But if he won, that was all he'd ever be. King of the shadows, of the ruin that would remain of Feyadel.

How had things turned so foul? Hadn't there ever been a time where he thought he could be something more? A better king than his father? A mage that could deal in something other than death and decay?

It mattered little now, if there was ever a chance at all. Could've beens would change nothing. Cerus had to hold on to what he had, what little power remained.

And if he couldn't, he'd die fighting those who dared try and take it from him.

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@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chiswhumpcorner @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @pigeonwhumps , @itsmyworld23 , @andromeda-liske , @starlit-hopes-and-dreams , @haro-whumps , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpedydump , @mannerofwhump

#poor sad cerus #no friends #loser king #really he never had a chance #and while his methods of trying to stay in control *cough* mass slaughter *cough* are wrong i still feel for him #dont worry buddy it gets worse :)#penumbra: shadow king #villain whump #whump writing #fantasy whump #emotional whump #exhaustion #kira the whump enthusiast #thanks for the prompt c:

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grimalkinscribbles · 11 days

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Mhin with a feather chest (like falin from delicious in dungeon)

Pov: Mhin is very reluctantly showing you the birb floof 🐦‍⬛

#you may touch it o n c e #love this for them #thanks for dropping in again with a Mhin prompt 🫡💕#touchstarved #touchstarved game #touchstarved mhin #touchstarved fanart #my art #ask

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wigglebox · 14 days

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We’re soarin’, flyin’! ☀️🌈

[Instagram prompt: Cas relearning how to fly again with Dean’s help]

#destiel #dean Winchester #castiel #spn art #spn fanart #spnfanart #Destiel fanart #wiggleart #feels good to draw them again #thank y’all for the prompts once again and you can still send me some in my inbox #it’s hard getting back into drawing after not doing much for a couple months #but drawing these two are c cathartic

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aflyingsheepnamedrose · 15 days

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Part one "You're no fun..." Villain grumbled, slouching with their arms crossed against their broad chest as they watched the TV screen with a subtle frown. They couldn't tell whether to be relieved or distraught, now that their evil deeds were on halt, for the time being. But they were nearly robbed of their rights to coddle their Hero every Friday night, and that was worse than losing to an entire band of heroes. "If you weren't bragging to me about your 'grand scheme' every time you kidnapped me, then you probably would have gotten away with flooding the city. Sometimes I wonder if you make it easy for me on purpose. I'm not THAT short you know." Hero replied with a laugh, kneeling on the living room floor to grab a pile of blankets from their ottoman next to the couch Villain was currently pouting on. "And besides, I'm pretty sure this is a better alternative for this evening, and I know how much you loathe the idea of swimming." Villain let out an audible groan, not wanting to admit that their nefarious plan did go against their entire nature; Villain hated water.

"Whatever, I might as well just live with the fact that my entire year's worth of work has amounted to nothing. Woe is me." The criminal's attempts to guilt trip their rival were fruitless. Or so they thought. "You said six months."

"I lied."

"Sure you did..." They rolled their eyes, acting like they were annoyed when in reality, they were the happiest criminal in the world. They still had something to look forward to every week, now that they had given in to Hero's demands. It was the best decision of Villain's life. "Well, you better make this night last twice as long, if you want to walk away scot-free." Villain warned jokingly, finally finding the humor in their "situation". Hero chuckled to themselves, placing the blankets down on the couch before grabbing one and wrapping it over and around Villain's body. Villain would have pushed them away if they knew better. Hero did the same to themselves, swaddling themselves in the plush fabric of the blanket before plopping down beside their enemy.

The silence that followed was deafening, only for the Villain, who was busy getting in a comfortable position while the Hero was practically using them as a pillow. Their heart skipped a beat when Hero rested their head on their shoulder. As much as they never liked to admit it, they had fallen head over heels for their archnemesis. Hero absent-mindedly shuffled through the TV channels, finally stopping once they found their favorite network. The show that aired every Friday evening was some mediocre and obviously fake paranormal investigation, which both the Hero and the Villain agreed they enjoyed watching. They were an odd couple. After a few minutes of shuffling under the covers, the rivals could finally sit back and relax, letting the heat of the day dissipate from their mind. . . . The hero thought they could relax, but this night felt very different from the rest. On most occasions, it was a tie between both enemies and on some, Hero lost to Villain. But this time, Villain was terribly defeated. "Do you still like me?" The question hit Villain like a brick. They looked at the Hero, who was looking back at them with a troubled glint in their eyes. "...Why do you ask that?" Villain said slowly, feeling their face grow hot at the question. Villain knew Hero was very straightforward with their questions, which is one of the reasons why they were in a relationship in the first place. But one thing Villain never wanted their beloved Hero to ask them was this. Hero fiddled with their fingers, sitting up against the couch cushions as they carefully worded their reply. "Now that I think about it, having a whole six months of work thrown in the trash sounds like something to be very upset about, but at the same time, I'm a hero. It's my job to foil evil schemes and all but..." The hero paused for a brief moment to catch their breath. "I feel like a terrible friend." Villain felt their heartthrob, and not in a positive fashion. The evildoer would have died any moment, this was worse than having a whole decades of work destroyed. They let out a soft sigh, placing their arm around Hero to pull them closer. Villain's gentle gaze met theirs, not faltering for even a second. They were used to comforting Hero now. Villain took Hero by the hand, bringing the other to cup their left cheek. A single tear went down the hero's face, and they quickly wiped it away before Villain could. "I can't think of anything on this Earth that could make me hate you. It doesn't matter what it is, you'll always be my hero." This side of Villain was foreign to everyone but Hero, who was now hugging them as if their life meant it. The villain hugged them back, extending their blanket outward so the hero could join them in their little cocoon. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, basking in the warmth of one another, as all enemies should. "I love you." Hero murmured, graciously planting a kiss on the Villain's cheek. They blushed madly, looking down at the hero in awe. "I love you too." Villain couldn't have this night any other way.

#i might kill one of them later #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #hero and villain #heroxvillain prompt #fluff #h/c #hero x villain fluff #hero x villain h/c #Mmmm we love enemies cuddling each other #say “Thanks for the grub rose” /j #this might have a few typos T_T #I kinda rushed this sorry

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belatedbday69 · 2 years

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more otp dialogue prompts <3

as a follow up to this post

1. “Okay, maybe I have a crush on you! So what?”

2. “It’s not like this with them.”

3. “Tell me to leave and I’ll never bother you again.”

4. “This doesn’t change anything between us.”

5. “Just take me home.”

6. “I appreciate the effort but this is all wrong.”

7. “I don’t want anyone else.”

8. “What could you possibly be this stressed about?”

9. “You haven’t changed at all.”

10. “I never want to be without you again.”

11. “You tricked me.”

12. “You can’t tell anyone. Seriously. Even them.”

13. "You want me, don't you?"

14. “If you do that one more time I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.”

15. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

16. “You won’t believe me.” “Try me.”

17. “I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

18. “You shouldn’t be here.”

19. “I think about you all the time.”

20. “Why do you insist on misunderstanding me?”

21. “Then take me with you.”

22. “I think I missed you more than you missed me.”

23. “I thought I’d lost you.”

24. “Don’t say that to me. That’s not fair.”

25. “Well, since you asked nicely...Sure."

26. “You used to have feelings for me. Admit it.”

27. “So you don’t regret it at all?”

28. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

29. “Don’t lie to me. I was there.”

30. “Leave me alone.” “Is that really what you want?”

31. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

32. "I can't hide it anymore. I have to tell you how I feel."

33. “I don’t want them. I want you.”

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amethystcove · 9 months

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c!dnf cosplay swap !!

for the last two days of cdnfweek 2023, role swap and cc cosplay! thank u @suenitos and @demonstars for hosting :D

bonus doodle :)

#c!dnf #cdnfweek #dreamnotfound #dnf fanart #brave.art #THANK U NOV AND NUNKI !!! these prompts were so much fun

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elmhat · 2 months

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Have you ever written anything with cDream and cFoolish post-prison? Maybe to do with the murder deal they made?

// dsmp rp

It was midday before Foolish noticed Dream, perched on top of the hanging gardens like a misplaced bird. It was certainly more dramatic than his last entrance. “Y’know, I actually can see you up there,” Foolish called up to him.

Dream glanced around, probably for anyone else who might overhear. Foolish knew that he wouldn’t see anyone. The summer home rarely hosted visitors these days. With an elaborate flare, Dream dropped down to the ground, making his way over until he was a little too close for comfort.

It wasn’t that Foolish was scared of Dream, necessarily, but he was still wary. He was very conscious of the axe strapped to Dream’s back and the sword at his hip, just as he was conscious of the sword at his own hip.

“So?” said Foolish, all calm joviality. “How’s it going, Dream?”

“I’m okay, I’m— I’m doing okay,” Dream replied. “Have you, y’know. Got any info on Q?”

Foolish sighed deeply. “Oh, nothing really, nothing really. Not really much to report.”

“Nothing at all?” asked Dream.

“Nope, uh, not really. I’ve just been doing this, mostly.” Foolish gestured up at the gardens, at the flowers and vines entwined all the way around the rafters. “So that’s taking up a lot of time.”

Dream followed his gaze. “It looks good!” he commented.

“Thank you, thank you.”

When neither of them filled the silence, it dragged and twisted strangely. Foolish found himself staring into Dream’s smiling mask. In all honesty, it looked a little silly; not half as intimidating as Dream probably thought it was. But Foolish didn't have the heart to tell him that.

“Soo, is that it, then?” he asked. “Is that what you came to ask me?”

“Yeah, I— I guess it is.”

Dream didn’t continue. They were left with another strained silence, and this time, Foolish was beginning to sense that something wasn’t right.

“I saw you in Las Nevadas,” said Dream.

“Oh, really!” Foolish rubbed the back of his head, suddenly even more awkward. “Yeah, I mean, I used to go there quite a lot. It’s a busy place, y’know! Lots to do!”

“I saw you there yesterday.”

Foolish’s words died in his throat. He was very conscious of that sword at his hip.

“And, y’know,” Dream continued, “the funny thing is— you were actually talking to Quackity.”

“Oh!” said Foolish. This was horrible. Worst conversation ever. “Well, then, I guess you found him!”

Dream began to shuffle from foot to foot, making small circles in the sand. “Listen,” he said. “I don’t care about your alliances. I don’t. If you’re still loyal to him, or to yourself, or whatever. I mean, I think it’s dumb, and— I think you’re pretty stupid for it, but I get it, right? I just think that… y’know. Honesty is important. All I want is for you to be honest with me, for me to be honest with you. ‘Cause, like, all I’m trying to do is protect myself. I think that’s fair.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fair.” Actually, Foolish did feel like Dream was being honest. Call it a gut feeling. Bizarrely, it made him more comfortable about opening up himself. “I don’t know, Dream. If we’re being honest, I guess— I guess I haven’t really decided yet. There’s a whole lot of plotting going on right now, y’know, everyone’s being weird, and then you come along and ask me to kinda betray my country, and it’s… it’s just a lot. It’s a big decision, a big choice. And I’m just— still trying to figure out where I fit in in all of this, y’know?”

Dream nodded. “That’s fair,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. “But that means I can’t really talk to you anymore. If you might still be allied with Q, I mean— like, that’s not really safe for me here.”

“Yeah, I get that, for sure,” Foolish agreed.

“Yeah.” Dream turned his mask towards the pyramid, raising a hand as if to shield his already-shielded eyes. “Anyway. I guess I’d better be going, then.”

“See ya later,” said Foolish. Or maybe he wouldn’t see him later, actually, given everything Dream just said.

As Dream pearled into the desert, Foolish let go of the knife in his pocket.

#this was a really fun prompt! thank you!#dreblr #c!dream #c!foolish #drabbles #my writing #elm fics #elm asks

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nightxpining · 11 months

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Plans and confessions, part 2

Day 7/7 - Confessions

Bonus Reigen reaction I couldn't fit in to the main piece :^)

#serireiweek2023 #serirei #mp100 fanart #mp100 #serizawa katsuya #reigen arakata #serizawa x reigen #mob psycho 100 #night draws #AND WE'RE DONE #I would like to thank the mods for serirei week for putting this all together #its been an absolute BLAST #I hope this flows smoothly lol #Ended up being super rushed for this prompt because today wouldve been the last day i had to work on it for the next few weeks :C #maybe when i have time ill work on the additional panels i had in mind but for now! Thank you and goodnight

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givethispromptatry · 1 year

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“Ok, so gonna be honest, I understood about 3% of what they just said.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I am full of doubts and fears.”

#writing prompt #story prompt #dialogue prompt #'thank god I got about 75%.'#'so we have 78% between us! that's a C+!'

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apprentice-s · 9 months

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GODDDD IDEK like. kl cooking. domestic. kl dancing, whether formally or informally. kl inescapably entwined by destiny. anything u make is a whole fuckign meal so

domestic + cooking klance U say ?

#c-t art only #voltron #klance #they’re so precious to me #thank u for the prompt <33333 #thyere so cute

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ameiniateria · 1 month

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@sixteenth-day-event

Prompts: twisting the knife + a silent grave

(fic under the cut)

Sam is dead.

His corpse is propped up stiffly against the black wall, on the other side of the lava dividing them both. On one side, the prisoner, screaming and begging and bleeding out for the entertainment of a man with a gold toothed grin and a seemingly infinite amount of silky white dress shirts. On the other, his warden, not listening.

There's a knife stuck in his side as he lies there on his back with Quackity on top of him. His own sobs fall into background noise, mere set-dressing. The lava swirls and bubbles before him. Sam is on the other side. Suddenly that's all he can think about. Sam is on the other side, dead.

The warden's skin is pale and gray – he hasn't seen the sun in months, stalks the prison as a ghost does a haunted house – and his eye sockets are deep and dark as night. His hair is falling out. When he touches Dream, his hands are cold.

He never does anything at all.

"Who's gonna stop me?" Quackity taunts – twists the knife in one brutal jerk that rips a scream from Dream's hoarse throat. A tear rolls down his face. He can't breathe, for – "Who's gonna fucking stop me?"

The only man who could stop this monster of both of their creation is dead in the other room.

How long, Dream asks – the gods above, his own fate, whatever vague and unknowable thing men pray to when they can't think for themselves, when they are at their most hopeless and lost – will it take for this accursed cell to become his coffin as well?

It's not a question he would ever think, once. Back then in the sunlight, he had designed the prison as a safe harbor from the tumultuous, crashing waves of ever-present fear, the sea air clogging his lungs. He was desperate. It was his oasis, his escape route. His island of Calypso. The only place he could be safe – Sam wouldn't let anyone kill him. He had bet his life on that certainty.

The Sam he knew is dead on the other side of a wall of lava. Dream might be dead as well, or just barely clinging to the life that poured out of him with every slash of a blade or snap of rope against his skin. Every condescending sigh, every slap or hunger pang, or lies, a gentler form of torment that were crueler because of their subtlety. Unspeakable things had happened to him in that cell – and yet, he still lived?

No. He must be a ghost.

How many times had he thrown himself carelessly into lava? How many times had he passed out, bleeding profusely on the obsidian floor? How many times had he been told he should be dead?

He didn't remember much, now. He could have easily given up the Revival Book in some agonized, delirious haze. He would've died – he would no longer have been useful alive. He could no longer predict what Sam would or wouldn't do.

"You know how to make all of this stop, Dream."

Dream is silent.

He knows the game by now. He knows the lines, repeated over and over until they whisper in his ears even when he's completely alone. He knows they're just playacting. There is no paradise waiting for him. If Quackity gets his hands on the Book, then Dream will truly be dead, deader than he is already. He will go to Limbo. And he will never escape. Punz will not save him. Dream can't trust anyone. He can't trust even his oldest friends – did Sapnap not threaten to kill him? Has George ever even visited him, blessed Dream with some kinder presence? No. Everyone hates him, for he is a monster, the minotaur captured in a labyrinth of his own design –

Or perhaps this is already his limbo. He can't imagine a fate worse than this. It would be fitting, for his personal hell to be so like his living existence that he couldn't tell the difference between them.

He hates himself, too, in this cell. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, not even Sam who had seen so many of his vulnerable places. He hates the undead thing he is. He hates how dreamlike everything is – he's stopped even trying to count the days; he did, once, but then Sam started skipping meals, and Quackity started coming twice in one day every once in a while, and he didn't have a clock by then anyway. He lost count. Time died with him. But then, he spent both his days and nights screaming and bleeding and passed out on the floor, and there was nothing to look forward to, until the day that someone came to let him out and that he couldn't do anything about. What was the point of counting, anyway?

He hates that he's given up.

Sometimes, he puts his fingertips to his neck, just to feel his heart beating. He sleeps with one hand pressed to his chest to feel his breath rising and falling with each breath. He screams just to feel the vibrations in his throat. All of it could just be another lie – some charade made up by his subconscious mind to torture him further. Funny, that the man once best known by others for his mask and his web of lies and manipulations is now completely trapped by the lies of everyone around him. He's helpless, here. He knows nothing.

"You deserve this, you know that? You fucking deserve this."

He's lying.

"That's the only reason I'm here. Because you need to be fucking punished, Dream. You need someone to put you in your place."

He's lying.

But when he finally leaves, Dream doesn't complain to Sam. He doesn't say anything at all. He lays there, a silent body in a silent grave.

Sam's hands are as stiff and cold as ice despite the lava just behind him. You're not dead until you're warm and dead. Dream clings to that hope - that it's just the cold around them that has paralyzed them both. Someday they might see the warmth of the sun again, and then they could be friends again. The world could be perfect again.

Sam's breath smells like formaldehyde.

#sixteenthdayevent #dreblr #c!dream #c!sam #c!quackity #c!awesamdream #torture #my words #thanks so much for the prompts!#this was really fun even though I only came up with a good idea yesterday #<3

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blackjackkent · 3 months

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Suggestion for your fic prompt request :)

Jaheira and Karlach - "stories around the campfire" - Karlach is full of questions about the old days, and Jaheira tells her a story she may not have expected.

TYSM for this prompt! This one made me smile a lot. (I really love writing both Jaheira and Karlach, so writing both of them bonding is, as Karlach would say, aces. :D ) I really hope you enjoy it!

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Comrades and Lost Children

Pairing: Jaheira & Karlach Characters: Jaheira, Karlach Rating: G Warnings: None Word Count: 2.3k Setting: Several hours after the death of Ketheric Thorm Summary: Jaheira and Karlach share memories during a late night after the fall of Moonrise Towers. other bg3 one-shots | send me fic requests!

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A shadow among shadows, the black panther pads through the twisted forest outside Moonrise.

The curse is already beginning to fade with Ketheric’s death. The land is hardly yet safe, but the silent creature can step without pain in the milder patches of darkness. And it seems joyous in that freedom; a low purr rumbles in its throat as it darts repeatedly from the path to climb a gnarled tree trunk or roll in a struggling patch of grass, scenting out the places where nature’s strength is starting to recover within the broken landscape.

It’s a short journey north to Last Light, but the panther’s meandering route takes it past the moonlight-bathed building. Instead, it makes for the small camp where Hector and his companions have been lodging since their arrival in the shadowlands. Unsurprisingly, given it is nearly two in the morning, the camp is still and silent; only a lone tiefling figure sits up keeping guard by the slowly dying fire.

So softly does the huge cat move that Karlach does not at first notice its approach. It is almost within the circle of firelight before she registers it - but when she does, she moves fast, leaping to her feet with a startled cry and bringing her sword to bear on the beast. “Holy shit--”

For a moment the two of them stare at each other, unmoving. Then the panther's body begins to shift, magical energy flowing off it like a surge of dark water. Jaheira's lithe form uncurls within the burst of power into a standing position from the hunch in which the wildshape left her. “Is there a problem, Karlach?” she says, looking calmly into the point of the sword drawn on her.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Karlach says. She slumps with relief and lets the weapon drop to her side; a nervous smile bursts onto her face at once as she recognizes the other woman. “You scared the piss out of me.”

Read More on AO3

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 fic #jaheira #jaheira bg3 #karlach #karlach bg3 #karlach cliffgate #i enjoyed writing this so much; thank you for the prompt! <3 #i think i've decided these two are my favorite characters to write by far c:#(maybe tied with lae'zel)#also if i had a nickel for every time this week i posted something about jaheira getting wine-tipsy and opening up to someone #i'd have two nickels #which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice XD #no hector liveblog tonight bc i have gw2 raids in a little while but i offer this instead :D

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c-is-for-circinate · 10 months

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Ok so regarding the stranger things extended universe, i definitely want to know more about nancy and her storyline, like does this become her career ? investigating government conspiracies? And how does she feel about it? About not living a more peaceful life after everything?

After something like Hawkins, there are three ways to go if you want to keep sane, Nancy thinks. Or, well. As sane as any of them are, now.

Some of them went out into the world ready to grab life and joy with both hands and all their teeth, the memory of how close death came to devouring them enough to spur them on to devour life right back. (Eddie's playing Boston next week, wants to know if she'll go to his show; Max and El, last Nancy heard, are learning to surf.) Some of them went out into the world still full of combat reflexes they didn't mean to keep and tripped into a new fight, a slower quieter more mundane one. (She saw the photos Jonathan took last time he visited Steve and Robin in Chicago, the protests last month, the signs, the flags.) And some of them...well. Some of them left the lessons of Hawkins a little less behind than that.

They won in Hawkins, inasmuch as burned-out buildings and the town memorials and the deep scars cutting through a still-damaged downtown count as winning. That battle's fought and won and done. But Nancy hasn't forgotten who started it, and it wasn't Henry Creel.

(She'll argue with Dustin about it, over a mountain of fried shrimp and a pitcher of beer he's somehow old enough to legally buy, because Dustin's always cared more about the how than the why. He thinks the important lesson of Hawkins is that the laws of physics known by everybody across the global scientific community are wrong. They spend an hour and a half going back and forth about Oppenheimer and Eisenhower, Regan and Brezhnev and Martin Brenner, because one of the only differences between Vecna and a nuclear bomb is still the fact that nobody thinks Vecna could exist, but Dustin is wrong about why that's important.)

Science can do a thousand things nobody thinks it can do. Science can split an atom. Science can split dimensions. It doesn't matter why it's possible; it doesn't even really matter what's possible, beyond the fact that massive governments with thousands of soldiers and billions of dollars can always kill when they want to. Whether it's a bomb or a child experiment or a gas leak.

What matters, every time, is that people are dead. What matters is that the public needs to know.

Nancy makes her name in college breaking a story about illegal sewage dumping near a residential neighborhood before the Boston Globe even has it. She gets a professor fired for plagiarism. She almost gets expelled for libel when she tries to run a story about date rape on campus. (She almost gets caught slashing tires, after that one, but she learned from the best. Erica Sinclair taught her plenty about stealth, and Murray's been trying to drive in the idea of patience since the first time they met.)

It's not about monsters, it was never about monsters. There aren't any more monsters, Nancy thinks. (She keeps a licensed handgun in a shoebox in her apartment, because she ran out of ammo for the Makarov years ago, because monsters aren't the only things that like to threaten too-curious reporters in the middle of the night, and because you never know.) It's always been about the people the monsters destroy.

Nobody will ever believe the story of what destroyed Hawkins, probably. (Maybe someday they'll declassify. Nancy has a four-hundred-page memoir under lock and key in the safe where she doesn't store her gun, if the world ever gets there. Maybe she'll just pass it down to Mike's grandchildren.) But people know now that it was Hawkins National Lab. That some kind of government weapons research, right there on Indiana soil, broke a small town in half. That's something.

Nancy graduates college and interns anywhere she can get a foot in the door. The Globe. The Times. The Washington Post. The Post, finally, sticks. There's an editor there who loves to give new reporters just enough slack in their leashes to hang themselves with, so they can fill the back of the paper with issue-selling scandal and then have somebody to fire if the wrong person in power gets upset. Nancy does three months of research, jotting off puff pieces and human interest stories about charity work and bills with no opposition, quietly filling up file folders of photos and receipts and evidence that nobody can prove she didn't obtain legally. Her first headline runs on a Tuesday morning and gets a White House senior staffer fired by Thursday afternoon.

It could have gotten her clearing out her desk by the end of Friday, but Nancy was careful. Nancy was smart. It chafes from the inside out, like a blister on her soul, but she knows all about water it down. She could've implicated a dozen elected officials in this, and ten of them would have skated right by with no trouble, just plenty of cause to make Nancy trouble right back. (There are already people in Washington who know her name. Nancy knows there are files about her in the Pentagon.) So she's careful, she's delicate, and she implies nothing at all about anybody she can't demolish outright. She waters it down. It gets her a promotion.

Nancy doesn't drink icewater vodka, herself. She likes whiskey instead, in her coffee, in her tea. She talks on the phone with Murray Bauman at only the most irregular intervals, and he sneers at her in a way that Nancy's pretty sure translates, on Murray's tongue, to a colleague's respect. She tries not to lie. She's better at it, nowadays.

Nancy is hungry, has always been hungry. Has always been starving, one way or another, all the way back when she was twelve years old thirsting for adventure in the basement with her little brother, fifteen and ravenous for a challenge, an experience, the chance to grow up. She's choked on what she thought she wanted enough times that you'd think she'd learn by now. Mostly what it's done is toughen her teeth and teach her to chew.

She wants truth, and she can have it for herself, if she's good enough. If she doesn't try to force-feed it to the rest of the world too hard. She wants respect, she wants justice, she's selfish and selfless and hungry for all of it.

She wants to not be so afraid. She wants to not be so alone. She wants, sometimes, just once in a while, to be a little bit quiet and a little bit soft and rest.

It didn't work with Jonathan the same way it didn't work with Steve, or Liam, or Casey, or Diane. Nancy aches to be a little less alone, but she doesn't starve for it. Never once in her life has she been hungry for a person the way she's hungry for everything else. Never once in her life has she actually fallen in love back.

But Jonathan is at her front door again, because Jonathan is a yo-yo to all the people he's ever loved: backing off to give them time and space to grow, rocketing off into the world alone just for a little while, just as long as he can bear it, and then slinging himself back. Back to her again, this time.

Jonathan knows the score. Knows she loves him as much as she's ever loved anybody, other than Barb and Mike and her mother and Holly. And if it's not hunger -- if the closest Nancy has ever gotten to hunger for another person tends to happen in that oh-so-very, very discreet bar where Nancy can wear a perfectly-tailored suit and buy whiskey sours for girls in short skirts with no nightmares behind their eyes -- well, Nancy's never wanted most of them past the next morning anyway.

So sometimes Jonathan is on her couch and sometimes he's in her bed, and sometimes they fuck and sometimes all they do is sleep. When she needs a photojournalist, he's never once let her down. When she has nightmares, she wakes up just as terrified, but it's so much easier to pull herself together with someone to pull it together for. And Nancy Wheeler has never been in love, will never be in love, but she doesn't know what it could possibly have to offer that she could want more than that.

Does Nancy like her life? Wrong question. Stupid question. Better to ask if Nancy would have it any other way -- and well, yeah, she'd have a president who didn't sexually harass interns, a national defense budget that wasn't ten times the size of the department of education's, and a coffeemaker in the office that didn't get grounds in everything. She'd live in a world that didn't need her, find a new thing to be hungry about. Maybe she and Barb would both be on track for tenure by now.

In this world, she has half a dozen Pulitzer nominations and a Polk Award on her bookshelf. She has a locked filing cabinet full of other people's secrets and a locked safe full of her own. There's a file with her name on it somewhere in the Pentagon, although she hasn't managed to sneak in to read it yet. She's pretty sure the files on her desk about Pentagon staff are thicker.

#asked and answered #C writes stuff #the ST EU #Nancy Wheeler #yes this is part of one large extended universe #but I also stand by it as a general Nancy post-canon headcanon #let Nancy be aro and sort of gay and sort of ace and complicated about it #also let her choose to occasionally fuck boys about it anyway #:D #thank you for this prompt!#this was very much the push I needed

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forsty · 2 years

Photo

Whumptober 2022 - Head Trauma | “His mother never wanted him to fly, not after what happened to his father.”

#whumptober2022 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #fanart #forsty art #VAGUELY BASED ON THE PROMPT HAHA #i've actually.. had this idea for a long ass time #Rooster holding Goose's helmet and it's cracked up (because it is cracked in the OG movie) and I think about that alot #also the background cause I gotta mention it - it's nothing too fancy but one side is the forest where Mav and Rooster meet up after #being shot down #and the other side is the ocean.... cause Goose.... you know #shrugs #ALSO YEAH I KNOW GOOSE DIDNT DIE FROM HEAD TRAUMA i think it was a broken neck but this is my art and i make the rules!#it's finally released into the wild.... i can return to being a normal person now #until tuesday for the next whumptober drawing #thank you everyone for coming on this journey with me i hope i dont disappoint and that you all will like it :c <3

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everythingwasalreadypicked · 1 month

Text

The raid had been a catastrophic failure. Again, groaned Jason internally from where he laid on the metal floor of the warehouse Titan army used as a base.

From the corners of his eyes he could see Saturn's soldiers dragging his tied up cohort towards a corner. Cohort Four had been the ones that went first; and the ones the Fifth had to fight against as they had been puppeted by enemy forces via magic. Currently they were out cold, their slumbering bodies piled on top of eachother like broken marionettes.

Metallic clings drew his attention to his back, before he was ousted up by his magic bindings and came face to face with the smug shit-eating grin of Saturn's general.

Alabaster Torrington pushed Jason to his knees, raising his chin with two fingers.

"Well, hello Centurion," Alabaster hummed, cupping his face and turning it slowly from side to side, as if he was inspecting a prize.

Jason chose to curl his lip in greeting.

"You owe me a kiss, Grace," sharp nails dug into Jason's jaw, Alabaster's voice on an ecstatic high.

Jason blinked, "Right now? Here?"

Alabaster gripped his face tighter, his rings almost bruising Jason's skin, "If someone didn't stick his tail between his legs and run every time he tried to initiate it, there would be no need for this."

"All my cohort is watching, Alabaster." Jason hissed. Only for his breath to hitch as Alabaster drew a dagger with his free hand.

He watched with increasing nervousness and his skin burning up while Alabaster caressed Jason's cheek with the sharp edge of the blade, then went lower down his throat, to rest beneath his collarbone.

"Maybe I should give you a little parting gift," Alabaster mused, "so you will seek me out to patch you up later."

Jason glared.

"No, I love you too much for that."

Jason could never figure out if he had fallen in love with the most dramatic theatre nerd ever or if Alabaster just had a plain old mean streak.

"If I kiss you," Jason licked his lips, "will you let me and my cohort—mmh."

Alabaster's thumb was in his mouth. He leaned towards Jason's ear, sending blood rushing to his face.

"I'm not going to coerce you into anything you don't want, Jase," Alabaster whispered, "who do you take me for?"

Jason averted his eyes, nodded and glanced over the other's shoulder, his heart beating inside his ribcage. If he kissed Alabaster now... would they see it?

Jason swallowed, "Scoot over."

Alabaster gave him a triumphant smile, pulling away his thumb, and moved so he'd block Jason from the rest's vision. Jason leaned in, pressing a quick kiss against Alabaster's mouth, the other's lips burning his own like fire.

Alabaster stroked his cheekbone with his thumb, before shoving Jason to the ground. He gestured his army to retreat and shadow travelled away. Leaving Jason to cut apart his and his cohort's binds with Alabaster's knife and taste of raspberry chapstick on his mouth.

#alabaster torrington #pjo #jason grace #torringrace #my writing #thanks phoenix for the prompt #al is kind of an ass in this lmao #alabaster c torrington

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