#fusion's fics

[fatherfigurefusion]

Summary:

Even though Whit put up that goofy front again, David couldn’t find it in himself to be irritated. Instead, he only felt a strange yet calming feeling stirring around in his stomach, before extending to the rest of his person.

Eh. He’s probably just hungry. Hadn’t eaten anything all day after this whole chain of events.

[fatherfigurefusion]

Just so you know, I have TEN WIPs. But, otherwise, lay them on me!

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on you WIP(s)

I am also procrastinating actually writing. If you’ve multiple works in progress you can give a different answer every time!

🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”  

🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

⚠️Which wip your most likely to finish or update next?

💾What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

Enjoy!

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[habken]

part of me feels a bit guilty about sharing the fusion au stuff cause it’s not really just my idea, it was an au I built up with my friend :’) we were gonna write a fic and everything, but obviously that never happened lol

We had so much plotted out for it though and I’m trying to find our old 2020 messages 😭

[threebea]

I'm sure someone has made this joke before but:

Fox: welcome to my brother my brother my brother my brother my brother my brother and me an advice show for the modern clone. I'm your oldest brother CC-1010, Fox.

Wolffe: What up Wolffe-Verse!? It's the leader of the pack ow ow awooo! CC-3636, Woooooolffe!

Cody: Hi Wolffe-Verse, it's me, your highest ranking clone brother, and Marshal Commander of 7th Sky Corps, CC-2224, Cody.

Fox: ..........you know we did discuss how we were going to do the intro. I made notes. Cody you're the second oldest you should be second. Wolffe... I don't even know where to start.

Wolffe: I told my Jedi about the holo-cast and he asked me if I'm an influencer. I decided to go with it. Hi General.

Cody: Hi General Koon. Wait so you've just decided you're an influencer?

Fox: What are you influencing? This was supposed to be a general advice show about armour maintenance and regulations soldiers are unclear about!

Wolffe: I'm making waves.

Fox: what waves? No one is even going to listen to this!

Cody: 7th Sky is. Because it's an order. Influence away Wolffe.

Wolffe: Cody gets it.

Fox: I don't think he does!

Cody: How about our first question, Fox?

Fox: Fine. Hello Brothers, long time listener first time writer-- this is our first episode.

Wolffe: it's the influence.

Fox: (gritting teeth) I'm a commander and I've gotten close with my Jedi. Really close. Like. Really really close. The Regs say you can't fraternize with civis, but is it cool to fraternize with your Jedi--what the--Bly is this you!?

Cody: Absolutely fine, next question.

Fox: No it isn't! It's a significant power imbalance!

Cody: Listen to Mr. doesn't have his own Jedi over here--

Fox: (voice drops) oh no. I have one now. And if you're listening Vos, I will find you. Mark my words. You can't hide forever.

Wolffe: wait, does that guy want to sleep with his Jedi? They're like our dads.

Cody: not everyone has the same relationship you have to your Jedi, Wolffe... And some of us are into dads.

Fox: I quit the show!

[ronnierosest]

Zakkura "So he never initiates, never asks, and waits." - inspired by a fanfiction we're friends, right? (very adult) by totosheadset

[5ueckers]

pretty girls

pairing : azzi fudd x reader

warnings : smut.

notes : azzi 😍💞💓🌸💗💗🪷💖🥰💝💘🌼🌺🌺❣️💞💞💞 thats all.

words : 1898

you and azzi collapse onto the couch in the dorm, exhausted. drunk. annoyed.

tonight was a dud, to say the least. you’ve barely had any time to go out and have fun, like you should as college students, because of basketball and junior year being the absolute worst when it comes to your workload. and then, on the one night you do have off, free of practice for the next couple days and all your homework turned in, both the guys you planned on spending it with turned out to be absolute dicks.

yours had seemed nice enough, in the beginning. he’d been the one ask you out after over a week of staring you down in your shared econ class, take you, azzi, and the football player she’s been talking to out to some club in hartford, and then back to his place after a couple hours of dancing and taking shots. but just as he’d gotten you back to his dorm and out of your clothes, he’d said something so boyishly disgusting, it’d taken real reserve for you to not to slap him before pushing him off of you, re–dressing, collecting your things, and getting the hell out of there.

it’d been pure coincidence that azzi texted asking if you could meet with her as you’d stumbled out of werth tower, phone in one hand and your heels in clutched in the other. you’re not sure what happened with her and her football player— it couldn’t have been good, judging by how her makeup was running. you’d felt bad, and held her hand the whole uber ride back to the dorm, the pad of your thumb caressing the back of her hand.

“want a water?” you ask the girl, tiredly. you’re still very much inebriated and standing could result in a pretty embarrassing fall.

she nods, though, and so you decide to risk it, stumbling into the kitchen and at one point using the wall for support. you grab two bottled waters and pad back into the living room, handing one to azzi and sighing as you sit back down next to her, close. you can feel the heat from her body radiating onto you.

“that fucking sucked,” you gripe, recalling the night, earning a weak, drunken laugh from azzi.

“dudes…” she says, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her water, eliciting giggles from yourself. a single word is enough to get her point across; men fucking suck.

“ugh, and i’m still wet,” you murmur to yourself, the alcohol in your system removing any filter you’d have otherwise. you and azzi are close, so this is probably the least provocative thing you’ve said to her tonight; you both laugh at the statement. you shift uncomfortably and tug at the end of your dress. you need to get out of this chiffon and take a long, hot shower.

azzi turns to look at you, one of her curls falling out of place. she still looks so pretty, even though her makeup had gotten messy. her big brown eyes and perfect, clear skin and full lips. how could anyone fumble her and live with themselves?

“what?” she giggles at how long you’ve been looking at her.

“nothin’,” you smile back. “you’re just too pretty to be crying over some guy.”

then, azzi leans in and kisses you. she pulls back to assess your reaction, before kissing you again when you don’t look petrified or disgusted. you let her slip her tongue into your mouth this time, and surprise yourself with the little moan that comes with it, eyes fluttering closed. your back naturally arches to push up against her.

you lose track of how long you make out before azzi’s hand finds it way to your knee, resting there gingerly, “can i…?”

“like, finger me?” you ask dumbly, because fingering is definitely a step above kissing. plenty of girls that are straight and just friends kiss each other, even make out. but you and azzi are crossing into the territory of actually having sex.

seeing as you play basketball, the conversation of sexuality has obviously come up before, often. every other morning, actually, as paige feels the need to recount her sexcapades to you all. you hadn’t really thought about yours until you got to uconn, and then decided to quietly give yourself the title of unlabeled, while still just hooking up with guys because that’s all you knew. you didn’t think azzi…

“it doesn’t have to mean anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she assures you, her tone surprisingly casual, like she’s trying to convince you to try a new drink at the bar or attempt a shot you haven’t tried before at practice, not breach the basis of your close but purely platonic relationship. “we’re just having fun.”

you consider your position— on the couch, in the dorm, basically out in the open. the other girls had gone out, too, to ted’s, of course. but knowing them, with a schedule this clear, they won’t be home any time soon. and wet is an understatement; you’re practically aching down there, you need to be touched so bad. what could it possibly hurt?

“okay,” you say, finally, a smile slowly spreading over your features. azzi pecks your lips once more before sliding her hand further up your leg.

never having done this before, you’re nervous as you part your thighs, just slightly, still confined by the tight dress, but then her hand is there, warm palms caressing your skin and inching closer and closer towards your core. you gasp when her fingers finally graze the thong you’d put on, feeling a rush of wetness between your folds at the small contact.

“is this still okay?” your friend asks, voice barely above a whisper, and you nod, almost embarrassingly quickly. so she keeps going, experimentally rubbing you through your underwear and you keep gasping, bordering on whimpering with every touch.

“here,” azzi climbs off of the couch and positions herself between your knees, encourages you to push yourself forward by grabbing onto your hips and finally pushing up that dress. when she finally gets you out of your thong, carelessly tossing the garment aside, it’s less like she’s actually trying to get you off and more like curious touching, unknowingly sending you closer and closer to the edge as she spreads your lips open, drags her index finger up from your slit to your clit. “you are really wet,” she muses, pulling her hand away, bringing her thumb and index finger together just to pull them apart and watch as a thin string of your arousal connects them. you blush, suddenly embarrassed, thighs twitching. “it’s okay, just relax for me.”

she smiles up at you so sweetly, and you’re trying to, throwing your head back and closing your eyes and trying to even out your breathing, but then she’s bringing her face toward your cunt, flattening her tongue against you and licking upward, sending shockwaves up your spine, and you can’t help but squirm and whine. “open your legs a little wider, y/n… good girl,” she instructs, and your head practically feels like it’s swimming at the words, unbelievably sexy in her voice.

“a–az,” you want desperately to grasp at her hair, but know how long it took for her to style her curls, so you opt to just fist your hands into the sofa and cry out when she sucks your clit into her mouth.

the way azzi’s using her mouth so well and holding your legs open with a firm grip on your thighs makes you wonder if this is her first time with another girl, too. she doesn’t look grossed out by the taste or confused on how to make you feel good. if anything, when she drags her tongue down from your clit to your entrance, licking into you, she seems all too happy to responsible for the long, drawn out moan it elicits from you, and repeats the motion until you’re practically crying. when you feel your heart start to hammer against your chest, you know you’re not going to last much longer.

azzi removes her mouth from your pussy, but quickly replaces it with a pair of fingers, working over your clit at high speed while she presses wet kisses to your thighs. all it takes is a few more flicks of her wrist to make you cum, thighs trembling and toes curling into the carpet. she doesn’t stop playing with your clit until your moans turn into winces, signaling that you’re being overstimulated.

you feel almost delirious as azzi climbs into your lap, arms looping around your neck. it feels almost natural for you to place your hands on her waist, looking up at her like she hung the moon. “was i good?”

“i can’t feel my legs, i think,” you rasp in response, earning laughter from the girl, before she leans down to kiss you, the taste of your own cum potent on her lips and tongue.

as the kiss intensifies, you just go with the flow, letting your hands slip past the hem of the crop top azzi had worn. you push the fabric up until its bunched up at her chest, glad to find she went braless, and, tentatively, take her breasts into your hands, fondling them gently. azzi chuckles at your obvious nervousness and lack of experience, but her laughter quickly melts into soft moans as you take one into your mouth, sucking firmly— you don’t think you’ve ever heard a prettier sound. you don’t think you’re going to be able to just go without ever hearing that sound again.

releasing her nipple, you let your free hand travel down to the button on azzi’s shorts, popping it open, and pulling down the zipper with haste. despite the constricting denim, your hand still fits into the opening, past the hem of her panties. you figure it can’t be much different than getting yourself off with your own fingers, so you just go by what you’d do if you were on your own, rubbing slow circles into azzi’s clit to work her up before quickening the pace.

she buries her face into your neck, moans muffled as her hold on you tightens— you take that, and how wet she is, as a sign that you’re doing it right, and continue until you feel her physically shaking in your arms. “fuck, y/n, i’m gonna—” she cuts herself off with a high–pitched moan, and you continue to rub her clit through her orgasm until she stops grinding down against your hand. you rub her back, also, feeling that you’re actually kind of good at this. that you could get used to it.

the exhaustion from the night seems to hit you both like a brick, all of a sudden, and you both just sort of slump over in that position, limbs tangled and all.

[pines4thetwin]

As promised, here's that fusion post for the three people that asked for it (drops it and runs).

Ford thinks of himself and Stan as one, an extension of each other, and lowkey hates that its not true nor possible.

And Mabel really shouldn't have shown him Steven Universe because now he's obsessing over the concept of fusions and his desire to be one with stan.

Now lets say this is Pre-Weird and everything is still tense between them and they aren't exactly talking but despite that ford still wants to be close and he knows stan does too.

He can see it in the broken resigned looks Stan keeps throwing his way. And listen, Ford isn't the best at communication but he can fix this. He may still be angry and self righteous and an asshole but he can fix them.

So now he spends an even more absurd amount of time in the lab trying to making it his reality and entirely disregards his base needs to the point even dipper is concerned.

He has a journal dedicated to this idea where he keeps all his notes and theories on how to make it possible. Would he have to alter their DNA for it to work or could it be possible for them as they are?

While doing the tests and research for his fixation he remembers a dimension he briefly travelled to back when he was younger and fresh through the portal. One where this concept, his desire, his fantasy, his wish was real. A dimension where it was was their culture, their way of life. And while he did think it was interesting then, he was young and angry and raw with unrestrained hurt. Too emotional to stop and study the practice the way he should have.

He beats himself up over it now. If only he had been thinking more logically him and stan could be one already. They wouldn't have to be so... apart.

He doesn't have time to dwell on his shortcomings though. He has to figure this out. He doesn't know exactly why but he feels like he's running out of time. Like he has to do this now or he'll never have the chance again.

Eventually he has his prototype and it functions well... enough. He just has one more trial to run. Except Stan comes down to check on him. 'Worried ford isn't taking care of himself properly.' or something like that.

And honestly, Stan in his space is the last thing he expects because they have an unspoken agreement. Stan roams above and Ford stays down here. And when they cross paths they both look the other way.

But stan is here and yes Ford is annoyed at first but this also means he doesn't have to go seek stan out.

"I told you to stay- wait actually this is perfect. We'll do it now," Ford fiddles with his device, turning it on and he really isn't thinking right anymore. He know the device works and that's all that matters.

"Do what now? Stanford, what is that," And Stan is kinda terrified because Ford looks... well he looks kinda like how he did decades ago when he had sent that postcard and Stan had come running because well, its Ford.

Ford looks insane, primal and unhinged, like he hasn't seen the light of day in weeks. And Dipper had told Stan, had been worried but Stan brushed it off because Ford locking himself in the lab and avoiding everybody, avoiding him wasn't a new development.

But now Stan’s worried because that wild-eyed look is directed at him again and the cowardly little animal in him is screaming at him to run.

It’s like Ford knows what he's thinking because before Stan has a chance to decide if he's going to shut down or entertain that scared little animal, Ford is grasping at him and pulling him deeper into the dingy little basement.

Stan trips and he fully expects his back to hit the floor but fords got and arm wrapped low on his back that keeps him from falling fully. And stan's hand is also tangled in fords sweater so even if Ford had let him fall, well they would have gone down together.

But then he catches sight of that thing again and it looks vaguely like a gun and why did he have to get saddled with the insane twin? He doesn't even have time to flinch because a bright light floods his vision and he blanks.

For a second, Stan's mind goes black and there's a strange humming in his ears. But then he hears a laugh he hasn't heard in forever. Soft and joyous and for a moment stan smiles. It's Ford's laugh.

Because he and Stan become one. And everything is warm and bright and as it should be. For a moment everything is right. It feels like coming home.

His-Their eyes open and Ford's confused? No, Stans confused.

"Sixer? Lee?" Their voice says, soft and bewildered. They look around, searching for each other. Stan? Ford? Where did they go? They look down and their vision swims. Four hands, five fingers? Six? It all blurs together.

Is this me, they think as one. Finally as one. Four hands run up the sides of their one body then stretch out for their wide eyes to view. Ford can feel his giddiness rising unbidden. And a whisper from Stan, rising to meet Ford. Uncertain but matching nonetheless.

Finally

Finally together... Finally fixed... Finally right.

They spin slowly, as if that will give them a better view of what they are now, and they catch their reflection in some dim glass. Ford wants to smile but their face drops, eyes horrified.

"What did you do," Stan says, voice a cutting accusation. Nausea erupts in their stomach. And that isn't right. Why isn't it right?

Something is wrong. Everything is so very wrong. Ford's head hurts. Or is it Stans. He doesn't know. They can't tell.

"I fixed it. I fixed us," Ford says and it isn't right either. Why is it still so wrong? Stan is angry. But why is he angry? Why aren't they happy? They're together. After all this time they're finally together again.

Ford can feel Stan pulling away. It's like their mind is splitting in two. Hot searing pain shoots through their head, four eyes closing when the world starts to spin.

Ford grasps ahold of stan and refuses to let go. He can't let Stan ruin this, ruin them. He will not let Stan destroy everything he's worked towards again. They've been apart for so long- too long but not anymore. Besides, this is for them. Stan will just have to understand. They are one now. Broken and wrong but one nonetheless.

"Let me go," They yell, tugging apart furiously. Their shape shifts and distorts but doesn't split. Ford won't let them. They snap back together painfully, stumbling on two bulky legs, one that branches into two feet. Wrong.

"No! This is what we wanted right," their voice bellows, loud and angry and wrong. So very wrong. "For us to be together. Always together."

They grip at their hair as if trying to pull themselves back apart. Stan.

"Not like this. I never asked for this." they shout back, voice sharp and hurt and why aren't they happy now. They should be happy. This is right. This is how they are meant to be.

Even as the anger and hurt courses through their entire being, Ford knows he wouldn't want to be any other way. Stan's angry and scared but at least they're one. They're shattered and hurting but even then some small part burns in them, it's a tiny little ember but it's both of them and it says yes.

Another set of hands reach for the ones in their hair, pulling them out and restraining them. Betrayal spikes, scorching and increasing rapidly even after years of dormancy. Ford.

"Stop being so ungrateful! You're always so-." angry tears spill from their eyes. Decades of hurt and anger and resentment spill forth to mix into a sense numbing cocktail but most of all they feel alone. So very alone. Them.

They grapple and struggle and Ford's device glints from the corner of their eyes. Ford can feel Stan's intent before their body even moves. Being one now, it's like their minds have melded which means Stan knows the device's purpose. And he intends to separate them.

"NO!" Ford bellows, voice priggish and angry, hurt tinting the singular word so strongly that their body stalls. Why would stan- Why doesn't he want them to be together?

"Grunkle Stan?" Their head whips to the left, eyes locking with a confused and tired Mabel’s. Their focus splits, body jerking in an awkward aborted movement as Stan tries to move forward and Ford holds him back.

“Pumpkin grab that- Mabel don't-” And why can they never agree on anything. When did everything go so wrong? 

Flashes of being in this very lab, so long ago- but no, it was before that even.

Mabel stares at them, scared and confused and stan has never wanted her to look at him like that ever. But Ford doesn't register it because for a moment, one split second, Stan stops fighting him. 

They don't hesitate to rush forward, very much intent on destroying their creation before it has a chance to be used against them. To hurt them.

Two small hands wrap around it before they can get ahold of it. Mabel clutches it to her chest, watching them with something too close to fear. They freeze in place, hands raising in surrender.

"Sweetie," Falls from their lips, pleading. For what though, they aren't quite sure. Because their mind, it should be one yet it isn't. It's at odds, fragmented by a fear and necessity that clash so strongly it could tear universes apart.

“Press the green- Don't you dare-” They speak at once, words and thoughts overlapping. Large hands cover their mouth, two others gripping uselessly at wrist that refuse to budge, because regardless of whatever insanity that has plagued Fords mind to make them act this way, Stan will not let their voice- their words even hint at a threat towards Mabel.

Mabel's head bobs, looking from them down to the thing in her hands, unsure of what to do. Stan nods, eyes pleading.

Ford lashes out, angry and hurt and thrashing like a wild dog. 'Stanley please no. Why don't you want us to be-' Stan is retreating, silent and distant. 'Lee. LEE!'

Everything goes dark.

Ford rises slowly, head spinning and ears ringing. He has the worst headache he has ever experienced. He stares at his hands, splayed on the floor. Two hands, six fingers. Wrong.

His head whips up and his gaze finds Stan's crumpled form across from him on the floor. Stan's glaring at him, thick angry tears spilling down red cheeks.

No. No!

His head turns slowly and his eyes fall on Mabel. Mabel who is standing with his prototype in shaky hands looking between a separated Ford and Stan. He... failed. And now they're...

Apart.

Broken.

Wrong.

[scrimblyscrorblo]

My Poe/Lucy ((NOT a ship)) fusion because I love fusing these people TT ❤️💜

I envision this as a plot point w a fusion based ability - being used to strengthen abilities and completely baffle foes by forcing them to become entirely new people

So I used Lucy’s post-guild-fall outfit mostly and some of her og fit combined. The hair bandana is absolutely meant to mimic cat ears, they’re cat coded

I imagine their combined ability is Cask Of Amontillado inspired! Anne, the puppet, would look more like a jester -> like in the story. Combined with Poe’s world-making ability, Anne’s room becomes a massive labyrinth that traps its captors within the walls

Ideally, they’d be able to summon more than one Anne to chase people through the labyrinth.

She’s nervous and easily a bit agitated but above all very dedicated to his work and his loved ones

I imagine she jumps back n forth with pronouns

Also these two learning they’re both orphaned would be neat and they both have like tears in their clothes for some reason TT e.g. Lucy’s skirt and Poe’s suit jacket

Bonus Pre-Guild outfit combo sketch!!

[fatherfigurefusion]

Little headcanon that's gonna serve as a sneak peak towards a Polyneed fic I'll end up publishing today:

All of the Leo/Need members still believe in Santa, so Shizuku and Tsukasa take it upon themselves to be only the BEST Santa Clauses possible.

[wangxianficrecs]

Devil Flute Upon Graves, Wei Ying by cloudyrobinwrites (jwyoomi)

Devil Flute Upon Graves, Wei Ying

by cloudyrobinwrites (jwyoomi) (@chirpycloudyrobin)

M, WIP, Series, 47k, Wangxian & Hualian

Summary: Wei Wuxian received the news of his first death a little bit too late. Kay's comments: I think this series was a Follower Rec during the last WIP Rec Week and I picked it up there, because it sounded absolutely delightful and it sure didn't disappoint! Here, Wei Wuxian died earlier, but he didn't notice! He only noticed when he was staying in the Burial Mounds with the Wens and that changed a lot. For one, he's a ghost, so when he "dies" again, he actually goes full TGCF and even meets Hua Cheng and Xie Lian. Really interesting world-building. The current and ongoing part of the series is a canon retelling of how Wei Wuxian being a death changed his resurrection. Also! Xuanli as Gods! And Jin Ling growing up under their proctection! So much good stuff. Excerpt: “I would know if you’re dead, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing tells him. “I’m your doctor.” Wei Wuxian sputters, “W- Well, look again!” He shoves his wrists at Wen Qing, his face just a tad bit hysterical. Okay, maybe he’s not taking this ‘I’ve actually been dead the entire time’ debacle as well as he thought. Wen Qing gives him a look that is half-exasperated and half-concerned and checks his pulse anyways. Maybe she’s thinking that all that demonic cultivation is chipping away at what remains of his sanity. Maybe she’s right. A few moments pass. Wen Qing slowly lets go of Wei Wuxian’s wrists and looks him dead in the eyes. “Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says, slowly and deliberately. “What did you do?”

pov alternating, canon divergence, tian guan ci fu fusion, hua cheng/xie lian, ghost wei wuxian, hurt/comfort, burial mounds settlement dwys, post-first siege on the burial mounds, mo xuanyu lives, immortal jiang yanli, immortal jin zixuan, fix-it of sorts, somebody lives/not everybody dies

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[rayan12sworld]

💠Besotted Beast

By:retired (misbehavingvigilante)

Summary:

Lan Wangji has laid claim on Wei Wuxian’s soul to devour it in return for services rendered for revenge, and time is up.

Or, a beast in love is most dangerous towards their beloved.

Chapter:1/1

Words :11,882

Status:completed

[demon Lan Zhan] [human to demon wei ying]

After their meeting? If another demon had tried to claim Wei Wuxian? Lan Wangji would have killed them without hesitation. He does not share. No one else may have what is his.

~~

A shame really that there will be none like Wei Wuxian once he is gone. Other demons have questioned Lan Wangji as why he is willing to leash himself to a human without even understanding what it is that he is after. It is not his fault their minds are too small to grasp that he is running the long game. He would not be foolish enough to fall in love with a human.

~~

at the idea of Wei Wuxian viewing Wen Qng in such a light, as a potential bride, it makes any affection he has for her sour immediately.

~~

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian tried again. “Lan Zhan. What is going on?” Lan Wangji does not answer, or in a way he does by claiming Wei Wuxian’s lips. He is a fool that has fallen in love with a human. He is, he is, he is. How oblivious could he have been?

~~

“What? Are you going to take my soul now?” Wei Wuxian’s voice does not waver, he has made peace with his fate and had always known he was living on borrowed time gifted by Lan Wangji’s grace. “Your soul is already mine to do whatever I wish with, but I want more.” Puzzlement comes to Wei Wuxian’s eyes next. “My body also already belongs to you, so what more could you possibly want from me?” “Everything and eternity.”

~~

Lan Wangji doesn’t care about what he is supposed to do, all he cares about keeping Wei Wuxian alive. Even if he forfeited the claim on Wei Wuxian’s soul until the other died of natural causes, that wouldn’t be enough. He wants Wei Wuxian, he wants Wei Wuxian so much that everything else pales in comparison.

~~

There is a sting in his flesh where there was not where Wei Wuxian’s nails have turned into talons, and when Wei Wuxian looks up it’s with matching silver eyes. “You cannot have a wife, you can only be my wife.” “Yes, yes…” Wei Wuxian agreed although his voice is a little hoarse from the screaming. “A beautiful bride and a beautiful demon.” Lan Wangji dotes several kisses onto Wei Wuxian’s face .

~~

[robonerd69]

Paid my roommate to draw my Aus skitter design!

[threebea]

Refering to MBMBAM au Inspired by This

Fox: ... Ja na na jana na na.

Cody: What's happening?

Fox: ja na na jana na na 🎶

Wolffe: oh?

Fox (reving up on air guitar) Ja na na na Na na na na Ja na na na na Na na na jananananana 🎶🎸 I WANNA SHOCK (self echoing) TROOP ✊ ja na na na na na Naa Naa 🎸 I WANT TO SHOCK 🎶

Wolffe/Cody (into it): TROOP ✊

Fox: ja na na na na na Naa Naa Naaaaa 🎸-- welcome to Shock Troop a holo-cast within a holo-cast about the latest and greatest in Senatorial Briefings--

Cody: no wait you need to explain--

Fox (ignoring him) Senator Stonk released the following statement yesterday that he will be proposing a bill that would have Clone Troopers forage for food on planet to bring down military budget expenses.

Wolffe: wait what?

Fox (carrying on): when asked to clarify how that would work, Stonk had this to say: Our spending is out of control and we must come up with imaginative solutions. Many of the planets they are sent to have an abundance of flora and fauna. We should have them use the resources available. If they can destroy droids surely they should be able to find food sources.

Cody (blue screen of death face audible even in an audio format): wh..........

Fox: in response to the bill, Master of the Jedi Order Mace Windu had this to say: No.

He then gestured in tired exasperation to Clone Commander CC-411 who explained in great detail the pitfalls of having to feed an army of millions with this method. Windu's initial response has become a reaction 'gram on the holonet that has been shared three billion times and has sparked numerous mocking posts towards the proposed bill on SX (The stream formerly known as space twitter). I'll put the 'gram in the show notes.

Many of the bill's initial supporters loudly insisted they were never going to vote it through if it came up in session. Senator Stonk's press secretary claims that this is all a joke taken out of context and the Senator had no intention to actually propose such a bill.

Wolffe: that's too bad. I like the idea of hunting.

Cody: yes, but to feed your entire battalion?

Wolffe: oh no, I meant the senators. I would hunt them.

[just-a-dinosaur-i-guess]

from the deck of a sinking ship

It is a week into the fog when John Steinbeck appears at Mark Twain’s doorstep, reminding him the apocalypse has come and there's no time to write a biography right now.

-

short little stories about how my randomized bsd fusions happened, from an au where the dragon's breath went worldwide with devastating consequences

24 chapters, dead apple centric, heed the warnings in each chapter, mcd warning

aka: the fog causes the apocalypse and creates humanity anew

[trexrecs]

JOHNLOCK FIC REC

Drift Compatible by @jbaillier

Sherlock (TV): Sherlock/ John, 130k, E, Pacific Rim Fusion

Neurodiverse characters, Social & internalized homophobia

I am a huge fan of Pacific Rim fusions (crossovers? I still don't know which is which). Gimme that drift compatibility, those broken characters who are perfect for each other, giant robots (obvs), and the inherent but never acknowledged ridiculousness of aforementioned giant robots. Chef's kiss.

This has got to be my favorite Pacific Rim fusion fic: John meandering around the base, trying not to feel useless, and then suddenly being caught in Sherlock's wake. Sherlock fighting, endlessly, to survive as himself, and all that set against a backdrop of the Azores and the politics of the Jaeger core.

The whole thing has this atmospheric quality to it, this tension that I can't really describe. It definitely lingered with me long, long after I finished it, it was so remarkable.

There’s also an amazing podfic available for those who love to listen.