#at this rate this fic will start posting in 2030 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cruelangelstheses · 5 years ago

Text

louder than the maker’s revolver (and twice as shiny) - chapter 1: look alive, sunshine

fandom: dragon age rating: M characters: isabela/f!hawke, bethany/merrill, anders/fenris/m!hawke words (total): 6.5k words (this chapter): 6.5k additional tags: fabulous killjoys au, post-apocalypse, twin hawkes, slow burn, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence description: in which an eight-person gang of rebels living in the desert pisses off the government, firefights are lost and won, homoerotic wound-dressing is commonplace, bonds are forged and broken and reforged, feelings are hard, fighting a powerful and corrupt institution is slightly less hard, and everyone is just trying to survive, to heal, to find their way. (or, “the da2 killjoy au nobody asked for”) a/n: ITS STILL 2019 OUT WEST I MADE IT!!! ok so. [cracks knuckles] this is an AU fic based on the universe created in my chemical romance's album “danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys” (and gerard way's subsequent comics) about rebels in the desert fighting a corrupt government post-apocalypse. the album starts/takes place in the year 2019 which is why i wanted to get this fic out before the year ends. while the general setting and terms are the same, no characters from the killjoy universe will appear and everything else is a more loose interpretation. you do not have to be familiar with my chem or the killjoy universe to read this. (for those who know the story, this fic takes place in the year 2030, so after the original “fab four” have died but before the events of the comics, during a sort of “lull” in the action you could say)

a key feature of the killjoy universe is the usage of “killjoy names,” usually one or two-word phrases that relate to the person, and often the person created the name themself - the original four are party poison, fun ghoul, jet star, and kobra kid. i've given each member of the crew a killjoy name (see below) that the other characters will usually use in dialogue (except for characters who knew each other before they became killjoys and got names), but i will use their real names for the most part in narration so you don't forget who's who

ANYWAY i've been planning this fic for a whole year now and it's gonna be a FUN RIDE !!!! i've left a guide at the end for the killjoy names (not all of them are mentioned in this chapter though). i tried my best to explain what certain terms mean in this chapter but they will all be expanded upon more throughout the fic!! ALSO some of characters might end up aged down a little bit because people in the zones tend not to live very long and someone in their early to mid 40s is considered like, ancient in the comics. bethany and carver are still 19 though, the others might just be adjusted in proportion

thank u for reading, i love ensemble casts and da2 and mcr and rebellion and also being gay. fic title and chapter title come from “look alive, sunshine” (by mcr of course lol)

read it on ao3

—

Bethany has never been one to complain, but she has to admit, her knee hurts like a bitch.

The rest of the Birds take down the remaining Draculoids fairly easily, so she doesn’t feel as bad about having to hide crouched behind a crate on the ground. If there were more of them, or if there was a Scarecrow, she’d probably try to keep fighting despite her injury, but this is just a small, unlucky group of Dracs, leaderless and mindless in their pursuit of one of the biggest gangs in the Zones. Perhaps a Scarecrow would have ordered them not to try to fight a group of eight fairly seasoned Killjoys.

When the guns stop firing and the Dracs lie dead in the desert sand, Isabela’s voice floats over. “You know, Blondie, a smoke bomb would’ve helped.”

Anders sighs. Bethany can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Those things don’t grow on trees, you know. And even if they did, it’s not like we have many trees out here. You think I want to waste them on a group like that? We got rid of them just fine.”

Bethany peers out from behind the crate just in time to see Isabela shrug and gesture to her. “Well, at the very least, it might’ve saved Sunshine from being shot.”

At that, Carver seems to snap to attention. “Bethany’s hurt?”

Now it’s Bethany’s turn to sigh. Gingerly stretching her leg out and trying not to wince, she says, “It’s not that bad, Carver.”

Marian huffs, shoving her red-and-black ray gun back into its holster. “‘Not that bad,’ my ass.” She sounds angry, but there’s an edge of worry to her voice that Bethany knows like the back of her hand. “A few more shots like that and you’d have been dusted for sure.”

“But I wasn’t,” Bethany replies. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Anders rummaging through their supplies for the first aid kit.

“But you could’ve been,” Carver adds, crossing his arms and glaring at Marian as if she had something to do with the injury.

Marian scowls defensively. “What are you looking at me for? I was killing Dracs! Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to show off at every opportunity, you could protect her better!” She sneers out the word protect.

“Maybe if you actually thought before you acted for once in your life—”

“Hey!”

Garrett’s voice rings out above everything else, so loud and firm that for a split second it feels like the whole world stops. These are the moments when Garrett Hawke is at his most serious and his most powerful: when he’s breaking up an argument between Carver and Marian.

“How about instead of blaming each other for Bethany’s injury,” he says, his hands held up in an appeasing manner, “we set up camp here and rest for the evening?”

Marian and Carver exchange glances. After a pause, it’s Marian that says, “Fine.”

The place in question is an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Zone Four, not so remote that it’s off the map, but remote enough that there aren’t a whole lot of Dracs crawling around (and even fewer now that they’ve taken care of this group). A few empty crates and barrels litter the ground surrounding it, some knocked over or zapped from previous firefights. Other than that, there are no recent signs of life—which means it’s a perfect place for the Birds of Passage to recuperate.

Bethany pushes herself to her feet, using the top of the crate to balance herself. Her knee hurts even more when she tries to stretch it out or place any weight on it, but she’ll be damned if she lets anyone help her.

“Are you alright?”

Well...almost anyone.

She lifts her head up at the sound of Merrill’s lilting voice. The girl’s black hair is plastered to her tattooed and sweat-covered face, not long enough to pull up into a ponytail like Bethany’s, but just long enough to get in the way. “I can help you get inside, if you want,” she says, holding her hand out. “Then we can take a look at it, get it all wrapped up.”

For a moment, Bethany just stares at her, searching her face for any signs of pity. Instead she finds only sincere concern for a companion, the same as it would be if any of the others were injured. With a nod, she lets Merrill wrap an arm around her shoulders and guide her slowly into the warehouse. She can feel the eyes of the rest of the group on them, some more subtle than others, but she knows deep down that they’re just making sure she’s okay. Like it or not, she and Carver are the youngest, and though he tries so obviously hard to act like he isn’t, there are still moments where the others look at him and remember that he’s only nineteen, too—moments like right now, as he paces agitatedly across the floor, looking like he’s never been more stressed in his life.

“Carver,” Bethany calls as Merrill helps her sit up against the wall, her legs stretched out. “I’ll be fine.” She laughs a little despite the stinging pain. “It’s not like we’ll have to amputate it or anything.”

Anders kneels down beside her, first aid kit in hand and a good-natured smile on his face. “We might.”

Merrill smacks his arm. “Don’t scare them!” she hisses as she sits down next to Bethany.

Garrett turns to Carver, cool and composed. “She’s fine,” he says matter-of-factly, a playful smirk on his face. “If it were really that bad, none of us would be joking.”

Carver snorts. “You might.”

Garrett puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Dear brother, you wound me.”

Merrill giggles as she watches them, her gaze soft. “Your siblings remind me of my family sometimes,” she says as Anders begins cleaning and dressing the wound. “Well-intentioned, but sometimes they need to be reminded that you’re an adult, same as them.”

Bethany nods. If there’s anyone that understands her, it’s Merrill. “To be fair,” she says quietly, “sometimes I need to be reminded of that, too.”

Merrill turns to look at her, pushing a few strands of hair out of her face. “Then I’ll remind you,” she says. “You’re a grown woman. You don’t have to always agree or go along with them. You can stand up for yourself like anyone else.”

Bethany nods again, unable to stop a faint smile from breaking through. Anders doesn’t say anything, but she can see the blush on his face, as if he’s just witnessed something he feels he wasn’t meant to see.

—

The Hawkes are only on the run for a month or two before they meet their first recruit (and fifth member).

Well, perhaps “on the run” isn’t the right phrase. All Killjoys are technically “on the run” from Better Living Industries—it comes with the whole “openly rebelling against your corrupt government” thing. But it doesn’t really feel like running. It feels like surviving. Every Killjoy knows it’s dangerous to stay in one place for too long.

Still, they’re traveling a lot more than they did when their parents were both still alive. Growing up in the Zones outside of Battery City, away from BLI brainwashing, the Hawke children learned how to thrive in the desert fairly quickly, which meant that their family was able to more easily live off the land for longer periods of time.

Now, though, after selling most of their belongings, they live out of their car, a black 1969 Chevy Camaro convertible, spray-painted with two red stripes down the sides and a red bird symbol on the hood (courtesy of Garrett). In honor of their surname as well as their living situation, they’ve christened themselves the Birds of Passage.

For obvious reasons, one of their most common pit stops is one of several Dead Pegasus gas stations littering the Zones. The siblings usually draw straws to determine which one of them has to pump the gas.

“Damn! Again?” Carver says, staring at the short straw between his fingers in disbelief. Frowning, he starts to open the left-side car door. “Just my luck.”

In the driver’s seat, Marian reaches into the back and pats Carver on the shoulder, a smirk on her face. “You’ll live. Now go.” With that, she gives him a light shove out the door. Carver snorts.

As he starts pumping the gas, Marian absentmindedly surveys the area, not really expecting to see anything out of the ordinary. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she spots someone she’s never seen before at one of the other fuel pumps: a petite girl filling up a black and forest green motorbike.

Bethany seems to notice her at the same time. “Who’s that?”

Garrett strokes his beard, like an asshole. “No idea.”

“Let’s find out.” Before anyone else can respond, Marian hops out of the car, popping the collar of her black leather jacket. She’s mostly tuned Garrett out at this point, but she thinks she can hear him warn her not to scare the poor girl. He underestimates her ability to be charming rather than terrifying.

The first thing Marian notices is that the girl dresses like a Killjoy. Her brown boots have flowers painted on the sides, and her acid-washed jeans are ripped and dirty. The back of her denim vest features a large daisy with white petals and a yellow center, and in the center is a radiation hazard symbol.

“Nice logo,” Marian says as she approaches.

The girl yelps in surprise, nearly dropping the gas pump in her hands. When she turns around, Marian sees that her face is adorned with branch- or root-like tattoos on her cheeks, forehead, and chin. “Oh!” she says, clearly taken aback. “Uh…thank you.”

Marian can practically hear Garrett’s “I told you so” from the Camaro. Holding a hand up, she says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Somehow, her voice still comes out sounding gruff and vaguely threatening.

“Oh, that’s alright,” the girl replies, leaning against her motorcycle and seeming to relax a little. “I was just filling up Feathers.”

Marian raises an eyebrow. “Strange name for a motorcycle.”

The girl blushes. “Well, I named it after a pet I had when I was younger.”

“Oh,” Marian says, nodding. That makes a bit more sense. “A bird?”

The girl laughs a little and shakes her head. “Oh, no, it was a lizard. I always wanted a bird so I could name it Feathers. But I grew up in the Zones, and there aren’t many birds out here. Lots of lizards, though.” She gives Marian a lopsided smile. “I took what I could get.”

Marian can’t help it; she laughs, though in the back of her mind, she wonders why she’s never seen this girl before, if she grew up in the Zones.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” the girl says, her green eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to ramble. I didn’t even introduce myself.” She holds out a hand, both of which are covered in long, fingerless fishnet gloves that end near her elbows. “Deadly Daisy. Daisy for short. Or you can just call me Merrill. I don’t mind.”

That explains the logo. “Kitty Hawke,” Marian replies, shaking Merrill’s hand firmly.

Merrill nods and starts to speak again, but something behind Marian makes her stop and narrow her eyes in confusion. “Who—?”

Marian glances over her shoulder and nearly jumps out of her shoes. Not one, not two, but all three of her siblings have decided to join the conversation.

“Firebird,” Garrett says, bowing dramatically—so dramatically, in fact, that it makes his stupid sunglasses fall off his face. Garrett has a habit of collecting weird sunglasses and goggles and such. This particular pair has bright orange lenses, which Marian is pretty sure do nothing to block out the sun, and flames sticking out on either side.

Marian rolls her eyes. “My twin brother,” she explains. “It seems I stole all his brain cells in the womb.”

Garrett blows a raspberry at her as he picks his sunglasses off the ground and uses his shirt to wipe off the sand and dirt.

Bethany steps forward, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears, one of her nervous habits. “Midnight Sun,” she says with a tiny smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh! You, too!” Merrill says. Gesturing to Carver, who has yet to say anything, she asks, “Who’s the grumpy one?”

“I’m not—” Carver starts, but he cuts himself off at the sound of his siblings’ snickering. “Fantom Fighter,” he says, his face heating up. “Two Fs.” He turns around and gestures to the two large black Fs painted on the back of his jean jacket. Then, gesturing to Bethany, he adds, “I’m her twin brother.”

Bethany chuckles. “And we’re all siblings.”

Merrill cups her hands over her face. “Oh, my goodness.”

Marian clears her throat. “Anyway,” she says, side-eyeing Garrett, “why are you guys even here?”

Garrett throws his hands up. “Don’t look at me! I am but a slave to the whims of our younger siblings!”

Bethany and Carver exchange embarrassed glances, then both turn to glare at Garrett. Marian sighs. They’re all a mess.

“Oh, well, I shouldn’t keep you,” Merrill says, patting the side of her motorcycle. “Feathers and I can get moving, if you all need to leave.”

That catches Marian’s attention. “Wait, you’re traveling alone?” She hadn’t seen anyone else around, but she’d assumed that Merrill had at least one companion somewhere, perhaps inside the shitty convenience store connected to the gas station.

Merrill nods. “I was raised by neutrals,” she says—people who live outside Battery City, but don’t openly rebel against BLI. “I didn’t become a Killjoy until just recently. I haven’t really found a group yet.”

That explains why Marian’s never seen her before. Neutrals tend to stay out of the way unless they run a business, like their friend Varric.

“That’s dangerous, you know,” Carver says, but he sounds less matter-of-fact and more concerned. “You’re a lot more likely to get ghosted by yourself.”

Merrill sighs. “I know. But what am I supposed to do? Invite myself to tag along with the next Killjoy gang I see?”

Garrett shrugs. “Why not? You could tag along with us.”

To be fair, Marian had been thinking that, too, in the back of her mind, but it still stuns her to actually hear it spoken.

Merrill’s eyes widen with hope. “That would be wonderful, but I wouldn’t want to impose…”

Instinctively, Marian and her siblings all turn to look at each other, none of them saying anything, just glancing back and forth with various facial expressions ranging from embarrassment to uncertainty to excitement. Finally, Marian turns back to Merrill and says, “You wouldn’t be imposing. We’d be glad to have you join us.”

Merrill gasps. “Oh, thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Bethany smiles. “Welcome to the Birds of Passage, Daisy.”

(At the use of Merrill’s Killjoy name, Marian briefly wonders just how long her siblings had been eavesdropping before Merrill noticed them.)

“We’re headed to one of the outer Zones for the evening,” Carver explains. “You could follow us on your bike until we find a place to set up camp.”

“Oh, perfect!” Merrill says. “I’ve been meaning to head that way. Too many Dracs this close to Bat City.”

When the Hawkes climb back into the Camaro, Marian steals a glance at Merrill in the rearview mirror, watches as their newfound companion unties a green bandana from her belt loop and wraps it around her head to keep her hair out of her face. When Marian steps on the gas pedal and tears out of the Dead Pegasus parking lot, the roar of the motorcycle lets her know that Deadly Daisy is right behind them.

—

Fenris doesn’t sleep well that night.

Granted, Fenris doesn’t sleep well most nights, but for some reason, the night after Bethany gets shot in the leg is particularly bad. Maybe it’s the hard concrete floor of the warehouse, which no amount of blankets or cushions can completely alleviate. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s lying only a few feet away from Garrett, who sleeps like a log and snores like a chainsaw. Maybe it’s the pain in his shoulder from an injury a few days prior.

Or maybe it’s the fact that tonight, his nightmares are worse than usual. Tonight, when he dreams, he is alone, but worse than that: the bodies of his fellow Killjoys lie dead at his feet, glassy eyes wide, their hands still on the triggers of their guns. Draculoids—more Dracs than he’s ever seen at one time—close in on him, zombielike in the way they reach for him, pull at him from every angle, pin him to the ground and snarl in his face. He’d fight if he could, fight with everything he has, but his body is stiff and frozen, and no amount of willpower can force even his mouth to move. For a man with an aversion to closeness and touching, and painful tattoos from BL/ind experimentation, the sensation of being trapped makes him feel like he’s about to vomit.

It’s when they pull out a Drac mask and shove it over his head that he wakes up gasping for breath.

It takes a few minutes for his body to relax and his heart to stop pounding in his ears. Fenris can see the faintest bit of morning light trickling through the windows—he’d guess that it’s around five o’clock—and concludes that attempting to get a decent amount of sleep will probably be a fruitless endeavor. Sighing and forcing himself to sit upright, he reaches into the small backpack beside him and pulls out a Killjoy-made magazine that they snagged at the last gas stop.

The zine is filled with artwork of desert landscape and rebels fighting BL/ind, accompanied by writing—a few short stories and poems, a few articles and essays, all about the highs and lows of revolution. It’s a perfect representation of life in the Zones, every copy made by hand, since few (if any) Killjoys have access to a working printer. However many were made, probably no more than twenty, the artists and authors must have had to redraw and rewrite their work. Two Polaroid photos are taped to the inside cover, one of a Dead Pegasus gas station at sunset, the other of two female Killjoys kissing, with their names listed at the bottom. There are probably different photos in every copy, likely taken from the same photographer, someone lucky enough to have access to a working Polaroid camera (though Fenris concedes that it’s actually not too difficult to find batteries out here, though they might be half-empty).

He’s so focused on flipping through the zine that he doesn’t realize anyone else is awake—at least, not until the sound of someone sitting down next to him nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“Sorry,” Anders whispers, holding a hand up. Behind him, the orange light of the sunrise creates a halo around his blond head. “I assume you couldn’t sleep, either?”

Fenris makes a noncommittal grunt, enough to give Anders his answer, but curt enough to hopefully get his I don’t want to talk about it message across. He’d rather not have to even think about the nightmares that his subconscious assaults him with, let alone explain them.

“Alright,” Anders says with an understanding nod. He glances over at the zine, skimming the page Fenris has it open to with clear interest.

Fenris holds it out for him to take. “You can look through it.”

Anders hesitates for a moment before obliging. Fenris watches his face as he flips through the pages. The brilliant poetry and detailed artwork seem to fill him with awe, similar to what Fenris felt browsing the zine’s contents, but there’s something else, too, something deeper—something like longing.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Anders says finally, slowly closing the booklet. “I just remembered, and I think you deserve to know.” He glances over at the windows, and the sun shines on his pale face, reflecting off of his gold earring. Without looking at Fenris, he says, “You have a sister, named Varania.”

Fenris blinks in surprise. A sister? Anders apparently knew him when they both lived in Battery City, before BLI wiped Fenris’s mind—or reprogrammed him, as they like to call it. It’s times like these that make him feel like Anders knows him better than he himself does. “And you’re just now telling me this?” Fenris says in an attempt to mask his bewilderment. A sister. He has a sister.

“You only mentioned her once or twice,” Anders says. “It was the last thing on my mind. But something reminded me of it this morning, so I figured I’d tell you.” He shrugs. “I don’t know much else about her. But I know she’s still alive, or she was by the time I left Bat City.”

Sister. Sister. Sister. His brain repeats it so often that it no longer really feels like a word. He knows he’d be angry if Anders had kept this hidden from him, but at the same time, he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do with the information. She’s probably still in Battery City, which means it’s too late and far too dangerous to go back and search for her, or even attempt to write a letter to her.

Still, he feels like he has to say something. “Well,” he mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Thank you. For telling me.” Then, tilting his head to the side, he adds, “May I ask what reminded you?”

Anders sighs and pushes a few loose strands of hair out of his face. “She appeared in a dream last night.”

Fenris doesn’t expect it to hurt, but it does, just a little. To think that he doesn’t even know what his own sister looks like, while a man who barely knows anything about her sees her in his dreams.

Abruptly, Anders hands the zine back to him and stands up, covering his eyes with a hand to block out the sun. Fenris glances down at the page he left open: a poem written in an angry hand, calling for revolution, calling for justice.

—

Varric Tethras is what people in the Zones call a “neutral.” He doesn’t wear the flashy clothes, he goes by his real name, and he tends to stay in one spot minding his own business rather than get into fights with Draculoids. He has his own little gas station convenience store in Zone Three and is an expert at aiding Killjoys without giving BLI a reason to go after him. In short, he’s the perfect person to go to when there’s trouble, and there’s always trouble.

The trouble this time has nothing to do with BL/ind, for once; about five miles away from Varric’s shop, the Camaro broke down, so Marian had to jump start it using Merrill’s motorcycle, and now they’re hanging out in the store while she tries to fix the car.

Garrett frowns as he glances out the window at the setting sun. “We might have to camp out here for the night, Varric.” It’s not the first time, and he knows Varric doesn’t mind, but he still feels bad about it.

Varric waves a hand nonchalantly. “Yeah, I figured,” he says from behind the store counter, where he seems to be digging through some junk he’s stored underneath. Varric is a whopping four-foot-eight, so the chair he uses to reach the counter makes most other people who sit in it look like giants. Merrill finds a particular delight in this, and she’s so sweet that anyone would feel terrible asking her to get off of it, even Marian, which has been an especially interesting phenomenon to witness.

As if on cue, the front door swings open, and there stands Marian, covered in grease and wearing nothing but a sports bra and ripped black shorts. “I’m turning in for the night,” she says as she waltzes into the shop, letting the door slam shut behind her. “Round two starts in the morning.”

Garrett watches as she heads into the bathroom to wash herself off. Carver came in from practicing his shooting about a half hour ago (and is currently sitting on the floor eating potato chips), so now they’re all inside for the evening. Bethany’s been drawing quietly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sits on the worn couch in one of the back rooms, and Garrett and Merrill have been making their own fun out front. The store is Varric’s home, so he had to get creative with the few extra rooms.

Garrett is wandering aimlessly through the little aisles, examining various snacks, all stamped with the BLI logo, when he hears the front door open, and in walks possibly the most gorgeous Killjoy Garrett has ever seen.

The first thing he notices is the shock of silver-white hair, the way the undercut contrasts against the man’s brown skin. The dim light of the store reflects against his leather jacket and his surprisingly wide eyes. When he takes a few steps forward, a chain hanging from his black jeans—yes, jeans, in the desert—makes a jangling sound, and his heavy footsteps suggest combat boots. He looks like he just walked out of a mosh pit, but that’s not what intrigues Garrett the most. No, what really catches his attention is the pale white tattoos that stretch from the man’s bottom lip down into his chest and out to the tips of his fingers—they almost seem to glow. “Varric?” the man calls in a deep voice as he surveys the area.

Varric pops his head out from the back of the store. “Oh-ho! Long time no see, Wolfy!”

The man rolls his eyes at the nickname and leans awkwardly against one of the snack aisles. “I see you are having a sleepover,” he says slowly as he eyes each of the Birds suspiciously (save for Marian, who is still washing up, thankfully). Bethany walks out into the store to see him better, and Garrett flashes him his best good-natured smile, causing the man to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Their car broke down not far from here,” Varric explains as he walks out from behind the store counter. “And because I’m just so charitable, I let them stay for the night.” That’s his way of saying that they’re friends.

“Hm.” The man makes his way through the store, seemingly on edge, like he’s keenly aware of the way the Birds glance his way out of the corners of their eyes, pretending that they’re not looking at him. Eventually, Garrett gives up on trying to be inconspicuous and plops down in a chair pushed up against one wall, allowing himself to stare openly. He’s never been good with subtlety.

Suddenly Marian’s voice rings out through the shop. “Who’s this?”

Varric clears his throat. “Birds of Passage, allow me to formally introduce you to the Painted Wolf. He’s kind of new, doesn’t have a gang to roll with yet.”

The Painted Wolf looks away, not making eye contact as he wanders into another aisle where he can’t as easily be seen. “I think I would prefer to keep it that way. No offense.”

After a few beats of silence, Merrill says from her place on top of the chair behind the store counter, “You have tattoos, like me.”

Instinctively, almost as if he was expecting it, the Wolf replies, “But you received yours willingly, I’ll wager.”

Merrill blinks in surprise. “Well. Yes, I did. You mean you didn’t?”

The Painted Wolf does not respond, just runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath through his nose.

Garrett frowns a little and stands back up, making his way over to where Marian is still standing in front of the bathroom door, her arms crossed. “Don’t tell me,” she says quietly. “You think we should let him come with us.”

Garrett shrugs. “Well, why not? He doesn’t have anyone. And he’s…intriguing.”

Marian rolls her eyes. “You’re just saying that because you think he’s hot.”

“I do not,” Garrett lies, but his face heats up, giving him away. “Okay, well, maybe I do, but that’s not the only reason.”

Marian shakes her head. “He doesn’t seem too keen on making friends. I mean, he just said he’d rather be alone. Also, what you call ‘intriguing’ I call ‘suspicious.’ The man’s got secrets.”

“So do we,” Garrett says, though at the moment he can’t think of anything particularly damning. If nothing else, he’s sure Carver’s got something embarrassing.

“You being gay doesn’t count as a secret when you gawk at any man that isn’t related to us,” Marian says, a tiny smirk forming on her face.

“That’s not what I meant!” Garrett says. He can feel his face turning even redder. He needs to find a way to get Marian on his side, and if he can’t do it with emotion, then maybe he can do it with logic. “Seriously, I think we should talk to him. He’s a new Killjoy, but he looks way more experienced than most newbies. He might even be older than us. I’d be willing to bet he knows something about BL/ind. I just think he’d be good to have on our side. And it’s not like he has to stay with us forever.”

Marian seems to think it over for a long time. It’s different than it was with Merrill. Unlike the Wolf, Merrill had expressed a clear interest in finding a group to fall in with, and the Birds just happened to be the first ones to click with her. Also, Marian is a lesbian and about ten times more suspicious of men than she is of women as a general rule, which is fair, but it makes these things difficult sometimes. Finally, she says, “Fine. If you can convince him, then I’m game. I can go tell the others.” She cracks her knuckles. “At the very least, he looks like he knows something worth knowing.”

Garrett holds his hands up. “Well, hopefully you won’t have to beat it out of him, so you can stop with the threatening looks.”

Marian snorts. “Just asserting my dominance, my dear little brother.” She reaches forward and musses his hair.

Garrett shakes his head as he starts to head over to the other side of the store, where the Wolf is standing. He doesn’t bother pointing out that she’s only older than him by nine minutes, because she’ll hang those nine minutes over his head until the day they die.

The Painted Wolf looks up from the magazine he’s been flipping through. “Let me guess,” he says. “You want me to join your gang.”

Garrett smiles sheepishly. “What can I say? We think you’d be a good addition to the team.”

The Wolf frowns and puts the magazine back on the rack. “You barely know anything about me.”

“I know you’re a Killjoy traveling alone, and that’s enough for me,” Garrett says, and it’s the truth. Killjoys stick together. It’s the law of the desert. It’s how they survive.

The Wolf narrows his eyes. “I already said I prefer to be alone.”

Garrett folds his arms over his chest, allowing his knowledge of the Zones to give him confidence. “That’s how I can tell you’re new,” he says. “Rule number one of making it as a Killjoy: find a gang. Hordes of Dracs are less likely to target larger groups, and even if they do, you have a better chance of making it out alive when you’re not alone. If you watch our backs, we’ll watch yours.”

The Wolf nods slowly, as if this just confirmed something he already suspected. “You watch our backs, we’ll watch yours,” he repeats to himself. “It’s...a sentiment I am not entirely familiar with.”

“I figured you were from Bat City,” Garrett says, stroking his beard thoughtfully. (Carver and Marian like to make fun of him when he does that. Marian says it makes him look like an asshole.)

The Wolf nods again. “The sense of camaraderie was one of the things that drew me to the Zones, and to the Killjoy lifestyle specifically. But until now, I suppose I have been too wary to actively engage in it.”

Garrett raises an eyebrow, careful not to show too much excitement. “Until now, you say?”

The Wolf gives the softest chuckle, his mouth curving briefly upward. “Perhaps you have a point about me traveling alone. BL/ind knows that I left Battery City; no doubt they’re looking for me. It...would be prudent to join a larger group, at least for a little while.”

Garrett allows himself the beginnings of a grin. “It definitely would.”

The Wolf clears his throat. “I...never got your name,” he says, fingers playing mindlessly with the hem of his jacket.

“Firebird,” Garrett replies, holding a hand out for him to shake.

The Wolf looks at it for a moment before responding. “Well, then, Firebird,” he says slowly, “if you’ll have me, I would like to travel with you and your gang.”

“I certainly would love to have you,” Garrett replies, only realizing how strange it sounds once the words are out of his mouth. His face heats up. “I...I didn’t mean it like—”

Across the room, Marian calls, “Real smooth.” Garrett flips her off.

An awkward little smile forms on the Wolf’s face. “I know what you meant,” he says, but if Garrett isn’t mistaken, he’s blushing, too.

—

A few days later, Varric, whose talents include knowing everything that’s happening in the Zones, says, “So I got a tip that there’s someone after you guys.”

Isabela rolls her eyes and leans against the counter, conscious of the way her ripped white jean shorts ride up her ass—she’s doing it on purpose, and she peers over her shoulder to make sure Marian’s watching. “Someone’s always after us, Varric. This isn’t new.”

“No, like a major someone,” Varric replies. “Does the name Meredith Stannard mean anything to any of you?”

The Birds exchange glances from their various positions throughout the shop. They’ve all heard the name, but only Fenris and Anders seem to know who she is. Makes sense, since they’re the only ones who have actually lived in Battery City and seen BL/ind’s inner workings up close.

“She’s a Scarecrow, right?” Marian says from behind Isabela. She steps forward and takes a large sip out of her Neptune Pop can. “Isn’t that all we need to know?”

“She isn’t just any old Scarecrow,” Fenris says as he examines the shelves for more food. “She is one of the Director’s favorites—very high-ranking, always flanked by six or more Draculoids and sometimes other Scarecrows. I have known a few BL/ind workers who do not wish to kill, but do so because they fear the consequences of disobeying.” He shakes his head, speaking calmly but severely. “Meredith is not one of them. She kills out of hate and nothing less. She views it as her duty, a mission she will carry out until the day she dies. I suggest taking her seriously. She has slaughtered many of you.”

The way he refers to Killjoys isn’t lost on Isabela. It’s been a little less than a year, she thinks, since he left Battery City and joined the rebels in the Zones, but he still seems hesitant to identify himself as one of them. He still refers to them as you instead of us.

His words send a brief chill down Isabela’s spine, but she shakes it off and looks up at Marian to gauge her reaction. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t seem fazed.

“It doesn’t matter how many of us she’s killed,” she says. The piercings in her left ear gleam in the light from the windows. “She bleeds just like the rest of us, and she’ll die just like the rest of us.”

Varric holds a hand up. “Fair point, I suppose. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. My source says Meredith considers you guys one of the most dangerous gangs in the Zones. That means one of her biggest priorities is wiping you out. Just...be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Marian says as she finishes her Neptune Pop, crushes the can in one hand, and launches it across the store, causing Anders to duck because of his ridiculously long bird legs. The can lands in the garbage bin with a loud crash.

Marian grins. It’s lopsided, and her teeth are crooked and stained with soda, but it just makes Isabela want to kiss that alluring, imperfect mouth even more.

“I thought your middle name was Selene,” Merrill says from her designated spot in Varric’s chair. They call it the Tallening Chair.

Marian’s face softens, and her cheeks turn pink as she gently explains to Merrill that it’s a figure of speech. Isabela watches in silence until Marian suddenly turns to her, lightly smacks her ass, and says with a playful glint in her eyes, “Well, back to business.”

Isabela smirks. Works every time.

—

It only takes half an hour for Marian’s nonchalance about Meredith Stannard to come back and bite her in the ass.

“Guys!”

Garrett bursts through the front door of Varric’s shop, his eyes wide and panicked. He’d been outside restocking the trunk with supplies. “I think we’ve got company.”

Marian peers outside, and the rest of the Birds do the same. Sure enough, veering into the parking lot are two white vans with the Better Living Industries symbol emblazoned on their doors.

Shit.

In a flash, they all whip out their ray guns and rush outside just in time to see a horde of Dracs pouring out of the vans. Then, from the passenger seat of one of the vans, a woman climbs out. She’s tall, blonde, and middle-aged, and her eyes seem to pierce right through them.

“Ah,” she says as the Dracs line up behind her, brandishing their plain white ray guns. “The notorious Birds of Passage, or so you call yourselves.” As she speaks, she pulls out her own weapon and seems to aim it straight at Marian. “It looks as though you’ve been expecting me.”

For a moment, the two groups just stand there silently, revolvers pointed at one another, a classic example of a Mexican standoff. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the atmosphere, like the atoms themselves have stopped moving completely. Then Meredith snaps her fingers with her free hand, and the desert explodes in gunfire.

——

killjoy names: garrett - firebird marian - kitty hawke bethany - midnight sun carver - fantom fighter merrill - deadly daisy anders - nuclear blonde isabela - storm chaser fenris - the painted wolf

#SORRY FOR THE LONG AS FUCK AUTHORS NOTE THE REST WILL NOT BE THAT LONG #dragon age 2 #da2 #hawkebela #fenhanders #bethmerrill #hawke #isabela #fenris #anders #bethany hawke #merrill #f!hawkebela #m!fenhanders #male hawke #female hawke #garrett hawke #marian hawke #my fics

4 notes · View notes

tenroseforeverandever · 7 years ago

Text

Dear Father Christmas... Chapter 19: December 24, 2034

MASTERPOST

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble; OC Therin Thomson; Javic Thane

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love; gun violence; violence resulting in death; life-threatening injury; life threatening situations

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Jackie creates a new charitable event to support the needs of some young women in the London area secondary schools.

Notes: Oh, gosh… I think this is it. I have a funny feeling I won’t be able to post tomorrow, as Chapter 20 is long and has just been submitted to my brilliant betas. Still, not a bad run! I will get the remaining stories out as quickly as I can, and hopefully still get them all posted by New Year’s Eve!

The idea for the event Jackie creates is based on a real event that my kids’ high school holds every year.

All the thanks to the incredible aforementioned betas, @rose–nebula and mrsbertucci Thank-you, my darlings.

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. The prompt I used today was Joy.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2034

Dear Father Christmas,

I never had a prom. We didn’t have them back home. We just had these naff dances in the school gymnasium. The most memorable thing about them was sneaking out back with Keisha and Shareen to get sloshed, smoke a few cheeky fags, and to snog the fit blokes from the rugby team. I didn’t go very often, to be honest, and then I fell in with Jimmy Stone and that was the end of that for school dances… for school, period.

But proms are big business here: they have them twice a year to celebrate the end of each term. My kids have never gone because they were never enrolled in the secondary school system. They all went directly from Primary to University. Charlie just completed a couple of degrees in atomic and molecular physics, and engineering physics. Now she’s off studying at a university on some distant Earth colony, thousands of light years away and about three hundred and twenty centuries in the future.

Needless to say, I still get moments when I just can’t wrap my head around it all, even after all I’ve seen and done in my barmy life. Even Charlie’s Hand in Hand charity (left in very good hands while she is away studying,) is so huge and over-the-top in so many ways, it’s just mind-boggling. It was kind of nice when, this Christmas season, I was able to help in a much smaller way, closer to home.

Mum has taken to counselling like a fish to water. I’ll never regret pushing her to take those classes with me all those years ago. The Big Yellow Truck and the women it supports have only benefited from her knowledge, and her certification has given herself and the charity better credibility.

A few months back, I was over at hers for a cuppa. The Doctor and Wilfred were off in the TARDIS, who knows where, for a few days. I hadn’t been able to go with them. There’d been some trouble in the north of Scotland with a UFO sighting: legitimate, for once. An alien spacecraft had crash landed, much of it burning up in the atmosphere upon descent. Unfortunately, no one had survived, but there had been several human witnesses who were extremely distressed and frightened. I needed to stay for a few days to coordinate the clean-up of the site, and the ongoing counselling for the witnesses.

Anyway, by the time I got back, it was just me rattling around in the little blue house, and feeling lonely, so I went to see Mum. That’s when she got started talking about proms. One of the women she counsels has a daughter that goes to one of the local secondary schools. Like me and Mum when I was growing up, they sometimes had a tough time making ends meet, never mind being able to afford to buy a gown for a prom. She’d been awful sad. Her daughter’s prom was the Friday before Christmas, the day term was over and the kids were out for the winter break.

Even with the aid from Hand in Hand, there were still loads of people who had to watch their pennies. But at least they now had decent homes and medical care, and access to good food and training for employment. But that didn’t always mean they could afford a dress for the prom.

“Maybe I should just buy her one. Make it a Christmas gift yeah. What’dya think?”

I told her she couldn’t just go around buying prom dresses for every young girl who couldn’t afford them.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I wasn’t really going to do it. I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

Therin strolled into the kitchen, where we were sitting. “Prom is a really big deal. When I was in Sixth form, some of the posh girls would get a bit uppish, make the girls who couldn’t afford to go feel like shite. Blimey, I’m glad I don’t have to listen to that rubbish anymore.”

“Enjoying Uni, then, are you?”

He just grinned at me and proceeded to tell me how great it was. He was studying economics and business management, so he could continue to help Charlie run Hand in Hand. Dad was also sizing him up to take over Vitex once he retired. It turned out his extensive hands-on experience with the charity had been more valuable than he could have possibly imagined, and he was sailing through his courses. He’d come a long way from the little homeless orphan Charlie had taken under her wing seven years ago.

He pulled up a chair and a mug and poured himself some tea. “Aunt Jackie,” (he’d started calling her this from early on, and Mum’d been right chuffed) “you don’t need to buy the girl a dress, yeah.” He turned back to our earlier conversation. “You could just give her one of your old ones. Or Rose’s. You both have so many you wear to all those functions and galas and whatnot.”

Mum just stared at him like he’d grown an extra head.

Therin seemed a little put out and got up to leave us to our tea. “Well, sorry I brought it up. I didn’t think you would be so attached. You only ever wear them the once”

Mum screeched, practically leaped out of her chair, and rushed over to him, giving him a huge hug and planting big wet kisses on his cheeks. (Poor Therin. At least he knew he was loved.) Then she started shouting something about “…the answer to everything!”

--ooOoo--

All fall, mum was relentless, absolutely driven, unstoppable. She was on a mission and nothing was going to stand in her way. She approached all the secondary schools around London, asking them to discreetly identify any students they felt would be unable to afford to go to prom because of financial concerns. She wrote a letter, as Founder of the Big Yellow Truck, to be given to each identified student.

Then she approached the schools’ parent committee members, the employees at both Vitex and Torchwood, her friends, and of course, the staff at both the Big Yellow Truck and Hand in Hand. She asked them to consider donating their gently used formal dresses and shoes.

Her idea was simple: most women (at least the ones she knew) bought a gown for an occasion and rarely wore it again; Mum asked that they donate them so that young women without the means to buy a dress would be able to choose one of the donated ones and attend prom in style. Further to that, she offered to provide free hair styling to the girls. She had tried very hard to get suits donated for the boys, but men tended to reuse their formal-wear, so not many suits were available. She did convince the tuxedo rental stores around town to donate a couple of rentals each, so the few boys that needed support were able to get it.

Most of the winter proms around the city landed on the Friday before Christmas. A few were on the Saturday. The weekend prior, buses collected the students and brought them to The Big Yellow Truck’s head office and warehouse, where the dresses were stored. Me, Mum, and a whole load of volunteers were on hand to help the girls find the right dress for them. Mum even found a couple of seamstresses willing to donate their time to do minor alterations on the gowns. The gowns were all labelled with the girls’ names. They would all come back the day of the prom to pick up their dresses and get their hair, nails, and make-up done.

Prom day eventually arrived. All the girls were bouncing off the walls with excitement, squealing and giggling and generally having the time of their lives. Me, Mum, and Hope (who was able to make it home for Christmas this year) and loads of other volunteers set to work preparing the girls for their big night. It was hard work, but so rewarding to see the joy on their faces as one by one they left us looking utterly glamorous, and confident enough to take on the world. The young lady, whose mum had originally planted the seed in Jackie Tyler’s brain to create this event, gave her a huge hug, eyes shining. She said she could never thank her enough. Mum practically glowed with pride.

As we waved good-bye to the last girl, Mum dropped into a chair. “Blimey, I’m knackered, I am. And you lot! You were marvelous today, bleedin’ marvelous! I could murder a cuppa, though. Whatd’ya say?”

I was so proud of Jackie Tyler that day. I am every day, to be honest. She’s my Mum. She made a difference in the lives of every single one of those girls (and boys.) She makes a difference in the lives of vulnerable women every day. And she made a difference in my life too, teaching me to stand up for what I believed in; supporting me through the very hardest times of my life; and loving me even when I made some very questionable and regrettable life choices. She’s a very special woman, and I told her so.

“Don’t take the mick, Rose. There’s nothing special about me. I may live in a big mansion and wear all them pretty frocks now, but I’m still Jackie Tyler from Bucknall House, yeah, and I always will be. Nothing remotely special.”

Santa, I just looked her in the eye and I told her: “Yeah, Mum, you are though. You understand what all these poor women you help are going through every day, how it feels to be the girl at the prom who couldn’t afford the dress. And you always tried to make a difference. And now, even though you’ve been given a life of luxury, you’re still you: you don’t flaunt your money. Instead you use it to help others, the way you wished you always could.”

She hugged me so tight, tears in her eyes. I could tell she still didn’t believe me; she probably never would. But I’ll keep reminding her every day and maybe eventually it’ll stick.

Happy Christmas, Santa. I hope you and Mrs. Claus, and the elves and reindeer always realize how special you are, too, for everything you do each year.

love, Rose

#doctorroseprompts #kid fic #tentoo x rose #jackie tyler #christmas #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #romance #love #ficandchips #tenroseforeverandever's fic

6 notes · View notes

gradencetrickortreat · 7 years ago

Photo

The Gradence Trick or Treat Halloween Fest prompts are out! See the ‘Trick’ prompts under the cut (and read the claiming guidelines here):

Anonymous prompters submitted:

Prompt: With the Obscurus somehow removed, Credence is slowly finding his footing in the wizarding world thanks to the help of the Goldsteins and/or Newt. He’s harboring an intense curiosity and fascination for the man whose face and life Grindelwald stole, but the most he can do is watch from a distance and quietly gather what bits of information he can from conversations and rumors. It’s not until MACUSA holds a masquerade ball on Halloween that a masked and costumed Credence is able to bring himself to actually hold an actual conversation with the real Mr. Graves, but instead of sating his curiosity the encounter only makes it worse.

Squicks: No victim-blaming of the real Mr. Graves from Seraphina or the rest of MACUSA please. Also Credence is no longer under threat from the Aurors because the Obscurus is gone.

Maximum Rating: Any rating up to Explicit

Claim number to submit: Trick 1 (2 claims)

Mod note: we now have two claims for fic for this prompt. One more claim for another medium will be accepted, but no more fic claims will be allowed. Thank-you!

Prompt: A newly-rescued Credence is employed at the MACUSA as a consultant - due to his still strong connection with dark powers and his new ability to perceive black magic interferences. On Halloween, he’s sent with a recovering Percival to investigate strange occurrences in a small, suitably creepy town. While there, the boys face fears and feelings.

Squicks: porn, sub!Credence

Maximum Rating: R

Claim number to submit: Trick 2 (1 claim)

Prompt: Aphrodisiac candy. Who makes it? Who (wittingly or unwittingly) eats it? What happens next?

Squicks: Painplay, abuse within the pairing

Maximum Rating: NC-17

Claim number to submit: Trick 3 (1 claim)

@almost-annette submitted:

Prompt: Credence is desperate enough to try a supposedly magical ritual he’s heard of (a bit like those “stand in front of the mirror and chant Bloody Mary three times”-rituals) and on Hallowe'en, he does the ritual and asks for help. He’s very surprised when the ritual works and summons a magical being in the form of a very handsome man!

Squicks: De-Aging, Mpreg

Maximum Rating: E

Claim number to submit: Trick 4 (1 claim)

@bundigadi submitted:

Prompt: Dystopian Zombie Apocalypse. Takes place in the future, maybe 2030. Graves lost his daughter when the Virus took over because he failed to make the right decision in time. Bitter and hopeless he fights his way through dystopian Pittsburgh filled with groups of violent survivors and zombies who try to kill him. He is a lone fighter. Suspicious of everyone who comes too close he nearly loses himself in order to survive. He does not share, nor does he help someone. He tries his best to survive but he is in such a bad place that he wouldn’t mind for it all to end. One day after barely escaping a group of zombies, he finds a wounded and malnourished Credence hiding between the debris. He can’t walk (due to a banister rail which pierced his leg) and in panic begs Percival not to leave him alone with the zombies.

Not wanting to leave an other soul who relies on him to die, Percival picks Credence up and brings him to his makeshift shelter in the outskirts of the city. At first he regrets his decision, snaps easily and feels angry that he needs to feed two people now. As they carry on to make their way to Colorado, he warms up to Credence’s childlike awe for the world. Whereas he has been feeling dead inside for years, Credence still finds joy in life which sets off all of Percival’s protective instincts. The plot twist happens when Credence saves Percival’s life when he is heavily wounded in a shooting. Credence never leaves his side and goes hunting himself until Percival is on his feet again. Before Percival even realises it, he grew too fond of Credence to let him fend for himself and subconsciously sees it is his responsibility to guarantee for Credence’s survival.

Add. them finding out the virus was let loose on purpose

Squicks: No underage, no verbal- physical- or emotional abuse between Percival and Credence, no penetrative sex

Maximum Rating: R

Claim number to submit: Trick 5 (0 claims)

@clockhearted-crocodile submitted:

Prompt: The VVitch AU. Credence as the teenage son of Mary Lou’s Barebone’s witch-fearing Puritan family and Graves as the Devil / a black goat animagus?

Squicks: Er, not much I don’t think. I’m not big on body modification but other than that.

Maximum Rating: Any rating is fine.

Claim number to submit: Trick 6 (3 claims)

Mod note: all spots for this prompt now filled! We won’t be accepting any further claims on this prompt. Thank-you. :)

Prompt: The first signs of obscurial activity start around Halloween. Graves has enough paperwork to deal with, what with all the heightened magical activity in the city thanks to kids home from Ilvermorny overdoing it on the trick-or-treating. At first he thinks the obscurial sightings are just some trick gone mad, until he meets the one responsible.

Squicks: Nothing in particular.

Maximum Rating: Any rating you want, go crazy.

Claim number to submit: Trick 7 (0 claims)

@dailandin submitted:

Prompt: True Blood!AU Credence, a member of the anti-vampire hate group Sons of Salem, unwittingly catches the eye of Percival Graves, the vampire sheriff of Manhattan.

Basically, use this image post as inspiration, although it doesn’t need to be as specific: https://dailandin.tumblr.com/post/157836719085/true-bloodau-the-one-in-which-credence-a-member

Squicks: Underage, water sports

Maximum Rating: Anything goes ;)

Claim number to submit: Trick 8 (1 claim)

@gaskells submitted:

Prompt: Rocky Horror/Fantastic Beasts fusion; It’s a cold and rainy night when newly engaged couple Jacob and Queen find themselves with a flat tire. At around the same time, a leather jacket wearing biker Percival is trying to get a tap dancing Credence out of Dr. Grindelwald’s castle. (preferably with a happy ending, rest of the characters’ counterparts are up to the writer)

Squicks: Anything goes

Maximum Rating: G to NC-17 / Explicit.

Claim number to submit: Trick 9 (1 claim)

@johnnythirteenguns submitted:

Prompt: Credence has been suffering from headaches that keep worsening. Graves is the barber who’s been bleeding him every so often to try and treat them. When all of the available treatments fail to have any long-standing positive effect Mary Lou becomes convinced that Credence’s debilitating headaches are being caused by a demon. Credence is maybe also convinced of this.

Squicks: I’d prefer not to have really obvious, really awful and annoying power play between Graves and Credence, and no D/s

Maximum Rating: Honestly, if it’s gore and horror, there’s no upper limit. If it’s sex, unless it’s like… there’s only one writer whose sex scenes I like. Just keep sexual activity to a G or PG description.

Claim number to submit: Trick 10 (0 claims)

@meremeduse submitted:

Prompt: Percival Graves is a serial killer who picks up “teenage” runaway Credence Barebone thinking of him as an easy pickings. But Credence isn’t a teen and he’s not running from his family — he’s running from the law after killing his mother, his sister, and maybe a couple other people who got in his way.

Squicks: n/a — go nuts if you want!

Maximum Rating: NC-17

Claim number to submit: Trick 11 (2 claims)

Mod note: we now have two claims for fic for this prompt. One more claim for another medium will be accepted, but no more fic claims will be allowed. Thank-you!

Prompt: Credence and Graves meet at a masquerade party and though neither recognizes the other with their masks in place, they feel drawn together — even connected.

Squicks: Please don’t make Credence under the age of 20 and don’t make him cry or bleed (more than a papercut). And please no Grindelwald!

Maximum Rating: You can go full NC-17 if you want.

Claim number to submit: Trick 12 (2 claims)

Mod note: we now have two claims for fic for this prompt. One more claim for another medium will be accepted, but no more fic claims will be allowed. Thank-you!

Prompt: Credence Barebone is a cursed man. He only has a human form during Samhain, when the season shifts into dark times, and spends the rest of his days as a horrible monster made of darkness and smoke. But this year, while he has a man’s body, Credence meets someone: Percival Graves.

Squicks: Man, don’t let me hold you back.

Maximum Rating: Go as explicit as you want.

Claim number to submit: Trick 13 (1 claim)

@nettlekettle submitted:

Prompt: Credence dresses up as someone entirely different to himself for Hallowe'en (drag optional). The freedom of being someone else allows him to finally act on his desires for Graves - but Graves just wants Credence as Credence.

Squicks: Any case of mistaken identity? I’d like Graves to know that it’s Credence in a costume who’s approaching him. Any acts of physical violence, that kinda thing…Credence under 21.

Maximum Rating: G to NC-17.

Claim number to submit: Trick 14 (1 claim)

Prompt: Following the events of Fantastic Beasts, one of the pair is dead (Graves or Credence - it’s up to you!) and one is alive, slowly recovering & readjusting to the world (again, up to you who!). The living wizard (Credence or Graves) and the ghost (Credence or Graves) meet and fall in love with each other. (Tingly ghostly kisses encouraged! <3) On Hallowe'en - when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thinnest - the ghost becomes corporeal again for one night…

Squicks: Suicide/suicidal thoughts, self-harm, Credence under 20 years of age, ABO dynamics, incest, pregnancy, toys, ZOMBIES (no zombies or rotting bodies plz!)

Maximum Rating: G to NC-17.

Claim number to submit: Trick 15 (2 claims)

Mod note: we now have two claims for fic for this prompt. One more claim for another medium will be accepted, but no more fic claims will be allowed. Thank-you!

@pineapplebread submitted:

Prompt: Southwestern Gothic AU. Witchboy!Credence and Preacher!Graves

Graves is a small town preacher who doesn’t believe in God anymore after a demon wore his face and massacred his congregation. The only thing that keeps him going is the thought of revenge and salvation when he goes on a cross-country hunt to find and slay the demon that took everything away from him. Somewhere along the borders of Mississippi and Louisiana, he finds a boy whose family was slaughtered by that same demon, the only survivor of his small town. Graves doesn’t know why the demon spared Credence, nor does he know why Credence now bears the marks of the creature on his skin, but there’s clearly more to the boy than meets the eye.

Squicks: watersports, scat, BDSM, dubcon, bottom Graves

Maximum Rating: NC-17. Go crazy! I’m all here for gore and porn (please!!!)

Claim number to submit: Trick 16 (1 claim)

@soughs submitted:

Prompt: Modern AU. Credence moves into a house in the province (with or w/o his family). He likes how peaceful the place is, but something seems to be off about the yew tree outside his window. Step by step, through old letters and photographs and some research in the local library, he gets to know the story of the man who lived there before. The day he finds out the name of the previous house owner, Percival’s ghost appears in his room. They fall for each other even though they both know it’s an impossible love.

Squicks: -

Maximum Rating: NC-17/Explicit

Claim number to submit: Trick 17 (1 claim)

@sozdanie-gryazi-eternal submitted:

Prompt: Stranger Things AU

however you may like it, but there could easily be an ensemble version with the main 4 as Tina, Queenie, Percy, Newt, and our ‘11′ Credence. Jacob owns the diner with the waffles, and the sheriff is Dumbledore. The scientists are Grindelwald and Piquery is the director of the experiments, with the sheriff having a past history with Grindelwald, naturally, anything could happen. the kids stick together and protect their own, and there’s all sorts of shenanigans.

Squicks: violence/gore (and your mods gently remind no characters under 16 in sexual situations)

Maximum rating: T probably

Claim number to submit: Trick 18 (0 claims)

Prompt: Professor Graves and Undergrad Credence, meet (outside the classroom, and sparks fly) at a Halloween party which Cre’s reluctantly snuck into, on a dare. Professor Graves is not a costume person, so he went with the minimal effort, fake fangs and a smudge of ketchup on his chin for blood. Cre has to wear a mask. everything else up to the writer!

Squicks: the usual.

Maximum Rating: NC-17

Claim number to submit: Trick 19 (1 claim)

Prompt: San Junipero Halloween Party AU

Credence has been attending parties through the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, before he spots the handsome man playing DJ at the 80’s disco club, dressed like a stuffy businessman. He’s not usually one to approach anyone, but he’s also never spoken to anyone since his wife died ten years back (in the real world). when they finally make contact, its a magical night, and he doesn’t see Graves again for about 5 weeks. In the real world, Graves has been paralyzed since being shot in the line of duty (as a cop) and was given the option to join San Junipero upon recommendation as an award for services rendered. whereas Credence got married out of law school, and ended up retiring and choosing it, since he’d not gotten a chance to go with his wife, angst and hes sad until he’d met Graves. etc, eventually Credence has to propose, to save Graves from losing out, when the funding for his ‘retirement’ runs out. his medical care is also part of whats so expensive. etc etc happy ending!

Squicks: knifeplay/violence

Maximum Rating: NC-17

Claim number to submit: Trick 20 (0 claims)

Prompt: after seeing some amazing gifs from the upcoming movie, and remembering it takes place in the fall, I’d love to see a wrinkle in time AU, maybe with the whole gang around the same age, up to things, with the 3 witches anyone who would work.

Squicks: n/a

Maximum Rating: T likely

Claim number to submit: Trick 21 (0 claims)

Prompt: Crimson Peak AU w/a twist

Lord Barebone is quiet, shy and of a gentle demeanor, but writes dark horror mysteries in his spare time. Hoping to get a publisher for his book and a chance at escaping his awful home, he accepts a spur of the moment offer to wed the mysterious Mr. Graves, who lives in a home perched atop blood red clay, and is rumored to have killed his wife.

Squicks: actual bloodplay/knifeplay, violence/gore

Maximum Rating: NC-17 (this is me, c'mon hah)

Claim number to submit: Trick 22a (0 claims)

Coincidentally, an Anonymous prompter also submitted:

Prompt: a Crimson Peak AU (I know it’s not really a halloween movie but it has halloween vibes & aesthetic) where Graves is Thomas Sharpe and Credence is Edith, and the plot is basiclly like in the movie, and Grindenwald is Lucille Sharpe. Of course you can adapt the plot and everything to suit the characters, you can do whatever you like with this prompt :)

Squicks: please don’t focus too much on the grindenwald/graves part, I’d like to keep it only as a past relationship (or only implied, like in the film) since the main focus is graves/credence. Or if you like you can decide not to include it at all, it’s up to you

Maximum rating: anything from G to M

Claim number to submit: Trick 22b (0 claims)

Mods would accept fillers amalgamating these prompts! Please specify in your submission form if you are/aren’t!

@unicornmagic submitted:

Prompt: What if Credence didn’t survive the Aurors’ attack at the end of the film, but comes back as a ghost due to “unfinished business”? And Graves, now freed from Grindelwald’s captivity, finds himself literally haunted? (“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”)

Squicks: Noncon, painplay, abuse within the main pairing.

Maximum Rating: NC-17. By all means do what feels right for the work.

Claim number to submit: Trick 23 (0 claims)

@wanderingnork submitted:

Prompt: For a “trick”, a thoughtless wizard sets a boggart loose at the MACUSA Halloween Masquerade. It’s almost impossible to catch as it changes its shape amid the nightmarish costumes thronging the halls. Though the task of hunting it down falls to Graves, Credence is not just going to let him run off alone. But both men have an awful lot of fears in their past, and if there’s one thing that lays such secrets bare, it’s a boggart…

Squicks: None.

Maximum Rating: M.

Claim number to submit: Trick 24 (1 claim)

Prompt: Cursed supernatural artifacts–mirrors, dolls, videotapes, and so on–are staples of horror fiction. The leading men encounter one such object and suffer the consequences.

Squicks: None.

Maximum Rating: M.

Claim number to submit: Trick 25 (1 claim)

@wintergravebone submitted:

Prompt: Credence is a troubled highschool student trying to fit in with the alt kids by tagging along on Halloween, terrorizing the neighborhood and getting trashed. They have the misfortune of targeting Graves’ house, get caught, and bail–leaving Credence behind, intoxicated and terribly vulnerable/obnoxiously uninhibited. Graves is not great with teenagers.

Squicks: watersports, bottom Graves

Maximum Rating: NC-17

Claim number to submit: Trick 26 (0 claims)

Prompt: anonymous sex at a Halloween masquerade party. Surprise incest optional.

Squicks: bottom Percival Graves

Maximum Rating: NC17

Claim number to submit: Trick 27 (0 claims)

Prompt: Credence goes to a rave on Halloween and runs into Graves, a dealer. Shortly after, Credence is rolling hard (on whatever) and everything feels good and Graves is the kindest, funniest, most beautiful person he has ever met and he cant get enough of his big hands or his mouth or his teeth. Credence gets a little sloppy and dehydrated and overheated while dancing and the costumes start to freak him out; Graves finds him after making his rounds, they go home, and Graves very sweetly helps him come down, feeding him ice chips, letting him chew them and suck them from his fingers, pushing them in his hole one after the other, and touches every inch of his body he can reach, inside and out. Technically dubcon for altered state vs ability to consent.

Squicks: none

Maximum Rating: NC17

Claim number to submit: Trick 28 (1 claim)

Prompt: Graves and Credence can only see each other on Halloween each year, when the portal between the world of the living and the dead opens for one night and ghosts can move freely back and forth. They’ve had an ongoing date in the years since they joined different worlds and each year, one gets older, changing in increments, while the other stays the same. Why do they keep doing this? What is there to do about it? When will it stop (because it must eventually)?

Squick: none

Max rating: M

Claim number to submit: Trick 29 (0 claims)

Prompt: Graves rents out his pet once a year, letting men with masks queue up to fuck him bareback in every hole. After they’re done, he clears the room and fucks their cum out of him, reclaiming his precious little pet, telling him he did so well and watching mesmerized as Credence’s sloppy gaping hole gets semen all over his dick.

Squick: none

Max rating: NC17

Claim number to submit: Trick 30 (1 claim)

Your mod @gothyringwald would humbly like to add:

Prompt: spending the night in a haunted house

Squicks: daddy kink, feminisation, watersports/scat, ABO, mpreg, underage, bottom Graves, incest, unhappy endings

Maximum Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Claim number to submit: Trick 31 (1 claim)

Prompt: Victorian AU. Credence is a medium/spiritualist. Graves is a sceptic.

Squicks: daddy kink, feminisation, watersports/scat, ABO, mpreg, underage, bottom Graves, incest, unhappy endings

Maximum Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Claim number to submit: Trick 32 (2 claims)

#gradence #gravebone #fantastic beasts and where to find them #credence barebone #percival graves #prompts #mod post

31 notes · View notes