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inamindfarfaraway · 3 years

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Some OC and Canon Character Relationships for my Peter Pan/Ever After High AU

Peter is an irrepressible extrovert. Why do you think he periodically left his island to make new friends and bring them over before the legacy system? He will be friends with anyone who doesn’t rub him the wrong way first, and even them if they say sorry and he thinks they mean it. (Prejudices like sexism and the bias against villains’ children are just more silly grownup nonsense to him. You should only dislike people for perfectly logical reasons, like if they hurt puppies for fun or won’t give totally deserving immortal boys chocolate they totally deserve. But he’s never properly got the ‘sins of the parent’ thing. Yeah, he fought every Hook from the cycle’s start, but that’s ‘cause every Hook was themselves bad and wanted to fight him first! Right? …Isn’t that how it went?) His arc of maturing is very, very New and Hard and Scary, and he develops a deep fear of losing his nerve on it after coming so far, aware that he’s had a consistent habit of forgetting any emotional growth he made in the past. His personal affections are fickle and impulsive day to day, especially in the beginning. His strongest bonds are undoubtedly with Scarlet and Fire Lily. Peter’s beloved or at least admired and appreciated by the masses for his innumerable daring feats, generally nice disposition and of course keeping the cycle of destiny in Neverland turning all this time. However, it can be difficult for him to discern between his friends and mere fans. At first, he doesn’t care. What matters is that people think he’s cool. The more attuned to how bad the status quo is and how important others’ needs and feelings are he becomes, the more he favours Rebels like Raven, Maddie, Kitty, Darling, Cerise, Ramona, Ginger (if you give him good food, he is your friend for life) and Melody. He still loves plenty of Royals as people and slowly learns how to see the world in less black-and-white terms to maintain his friendships with them. Some will find him annoying or bratty, but it’s difficult to truly hate him because, well, if you have an ounce of self-awareness as the Hooks are famously lacking, it seems absurd to hate a child who probably neither knows why you do nor is bothered that you do. Hating people is Not Fun, so he’s reluctant to commit to it, so it’ll tend to be an unsatisfyingly one-sided animosity on your part.

Blondie is eager to interview the illustrious Peter Pan. Always glad to talk about himself, he doesn’t see much problem with her nosiness, pickiness and lack of respect for privacy and appreciates her ability to put an entertaining spin on anything. He sometimes assists her in collecting gossip.

Duchess is one of the few to actually hate Peter. She cannot stand that she’s doomed to a tragic end of loneliness and heartbreak, while his life is an endless procession of fun, freedom and friendship. Plus, he’s a loud, tactless nuisance. He mistakes this for a tongue-in-cheek rivalry and accordingly enjoys teasing her for a long while. Eventually he does figure out Duchess is in real pain, regretfully dropping it, but his usual tactics to make people feel better don’t work with her. Left no other options, he confesses that he was kinda attracted to the first Wendy Darling and it hurt him deeply to say goodbye to her forever, so he can’t imagine how awful her destiny would feel. This makes her realize that his life hasn't been entirely pleasant, and furthermore that she doesn't really enjoy watching a child feel bad. They reach an understanding and peace.

Sparrow, Scarlet and Peter get along great. Scarlet would be dishonourable if she didn’t support a fellow thief. She actually likes Sparrow’s music, and teaches him to play sea shanties. Peter is happy to be a diversion or nimble accomplice pickpocket in Sparrow’s thefts. He might want to keep one or two shiny things in exchange, but often the look of revelation on the victim’s face is payment enough. This friendship mildly strains Sparrow and Duchess’s relationship before she and Peter reach their common ground.

Scarlet and Faybelle are instant BFFAs. They both noticed they were the most genuinely enthusiastic and cheerful students in the first General Villainy lesson and struck up a conversation. Now when Scarlet needs a truly understanding ear (well, it’s more that Faybelle lets her vent and then changes the subject to something else, usually herself, but talking to her still always makes her feel better) or just wants some no-questions-asked, no-strings-attached mischief, she knows the Faybelle has her back. Faybelle cheers her on during her sports matches. They help each other in their several shared subjects.

Scarlet: I mean, I’m honoured to inherit my father’s role and all, but I don’t want to be just another Captain Hook, you know? I want to be that Captain Hook.

Faybelle: Right? And the Evil Queen stole my mother’s part, so I’m stuck in the shadow of two villains! I can enjoy being evil and still want to be special.

Scarlet: That’s exactly it! You are so much better than the fairies in Neverland.

Faybelle: Of course I am. I’m better than everyone.

Scarlet: Except at piracy!

[They laugh and high five.]

Faybelle isn’t impressed by Peter at first, but after he tells the story of the original Tinkerbell trying to kill Wendy as a funny anecdote in an interview with a very underprepared Blondie, she realizes his moral code is also pretty flexible. So she allows him to tag along with her and his sister a few times, and warms up to him. As long as she stays nice to him and Scarlet he’s cool with all her villainous… quirks and he has many lifetimes’ experience in troublemaking. He has no idea why more people don’t like her. She seems similar to him and almost everyone at school likes him. Having real friends who trust and accept her helps Faybelle a lot, not that she’ll admit it. The chaotic trio confide in each other their respective gradual turns toward morals and the worries and insecurities they give them, like Faybelle’s dissipating hostility to her classmates and crush on Briar, Scarlet’s interest in and protectiveness of her identity besides villainy and piracy and Peter finally catching up on the remorse and empathy he’s been delaying.

Scarlet also befriends Darling (her favourite fencing partner) and Ramona (she’s just building a crew of delinquents, let’s be honest).

Meghan is friends with Ashlynn, who shares her kindness, romantic side and love of nature; Blondie, who shares her curiosity and secretly wanting more out of her destiny; and Briar, who shares a pack of younger siblings and knows a lot of ways to have the carefree fun Meghan secretly craves. Since she can plan all those parties so flawlessly and keep up with her work while having narcolepsy, Briar must have hextremely efficient organization and time management skills. She’s a mentor of sorts to Meghan.

Fire Lily has never needed a lot of friends, he’s most comfortable with just a few people who understand him and he can come to when he needs to. So he only has a couple friends other than Peter - a childhood friend he’d lost touch with and now becomes a responsible big brother to - Scarlet - a childhood rival annoyingly good at antagonizing him and getting his flawless facade to crack, who he comes to see as a sister through association with Peter - and Meghan - who he has seamless platonic chemistry with on his first day. He bonds with Cedar over their love of art. Her honesty is refreshing and forces him to face and resolve his mistakes and problems; it isn’t always fun, but he knows there’s more to life than fun unlike certain people, and doesn’t back down from the challenge. Ashlynn and Hunter are his allies in environmental activism. Neverland has much better harmony with nature than Ever After, so seeing the mainland’s level of harmful industrialization is quite a culture clash.

#I cannot think about peter without it turning into existential angst #he’s meant to be a really fun character!#instead he just gets the worst of both canons and needs All The Therapy #he’s like the embodiment of eah’s ‘fun and immature on the surface and then turns out to be a NIGHTMARE DYSTOPIA’ thing #btw sorry meghan and fire lily for giving you so much less content than the other two #i am not immune to oc favouritism #i do love you all though!#peter pan #peter pan and wendy #peter pan au #ever after high #eah #ever after high au #eah au #ever after high ocs #eah ocs #my ocs

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

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GF - How A Star Is Born ch.IX

Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.VIII - ch.X

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel never thought the day would come when Grunkle Ford would ask her to go down to Earth. Sure, she was allowed to go visit as long as she was hidden and back at Olympus at a certain time, but she never thought she would be standing before her father-figure and be asked to specifically go down to Earth, but here she was.

“I… I want you to check on Stanley.” Grunkle Ford asked solemnly. “And Mason, too, for that matter. See if they’re alright.”

“Um… okay.” Mabel was a bit unsure if she dared believe his instructions. “You want me to go down there and pay them a visit?”

“No.” Grunkle Ford said. “I’m sorry, but no. I want to project yourself onto the art of Thebes and see if they’re alright. Bill says Stanley isn’t… with him, but he is very busy thanks to a small war in the Middle East. Do not make yourself known, simply see if they’re both okay.”

Mabel smiled slyly at him. “You want me to spy on our mortal family members?”

Grunkle Ford sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

“YES!” Mabel cheered and punched the air. “Finally, a chance to use my sneaky peaky spy skills!” And she ran out of the temple, tripping and breaking a vase along the way.

And so Mabel went down to Earth, traveling from statue to statue, painting to painting, floor art to floor art, all throughout Thebes. She had never been to the Big Olive and was excited to see the new place and to find Dipper and Stan’s home.

It was well into the night at this point. The stars twinkled and the night air was warm and soothing. Mabel thought he heard a familiar voice filled with laughter, and she looked down the street and grinned widely from the stem of a birdbath. She was ecstatic to see her brother on a date with a beautiful young lady; she decided to follow them and listen carefully. This was also good reassurance that Stan was okay; Dipper wouldn’t have left his side otherwise.

“Wow, what a day.” Dipper sighed. “Dinner by the ocean, that play… oh boy, I thought I had problems.”

Pacifica and Dipper both laughed, but one was having to force it more than the other. Slowly, steadily, Pacifica could feel herself becoming distracted. She had to focus. Her freedom was on the line. Still, as much of a nerd Wonderboy may be, able to tell the measurement of an item by glancing at it and solve impossible equations in his head in a second, he was actually a really nice guy. Getting tired of pretending, she decided to try a bit harder to find Dipper’s weakness so this whole thing could end.

Walking down some steps, Pacifica faked a trip at the last step. Dipper caught her swiftly and Pacifica winced. “Ugh, I think I stepped funny, landed on my ankle wrong.”

“Ouch,” Dipper sympathized. While he may have super god-like strength, that didn’t mean he never twisted an ankle or bent a wrist wrong, a small pain but no damage or hardly an injury. “Here, we can sit for a sec.” And he scooped her up gently and carried her to sit on the edge of a giant water fountain, the same water fountain Mabel was projecting herself into the heart of the small wall, eagerly hoping her twin would at least get a kiss.

“Oh. Thanks.” Pacifica was a bit taken back by his extra effort in manners, but quickly reminded herself that with strength like his picking up a girl was nothing. So she moved on with her plan. “So, do you have any issues with weak ankles?”

“Hm? Oh. No, not really.” Dipper chuckled.

Pacifica giggled alongside him and sat closer. “Really? No trick knee?” She asked slyly. “No bad shoulder?”

Dipper was blushing heavily, a bit uncomfortable with the praise and trying to remain humble as he gave an honest answer. “No, I’m… I’m pretty healthy…” And his smile dropped at remembering that the same couldn’t be said for Stan.

Pacifica rolled her eyes, ready to give up on her quest. Bill would just have to find some other way to kill him. She then noticed how down Dipper appeared, much more so than he had been all night, and before she realized what she was doing, she asked, “Hey, you okay?” Pacifica instantly bit her lip. Why did she say that? And why did she actually care?

Dipper looked at her with heavy eyes and sighed tiredly. “It’s Stan. He’s… He’s not well.”

Pacifica softened a little. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Dipper looked up at the stars to make it easier to talk. “It’s just… he… I dunno. I was raised in an orphanage until I was twelve and went looking for him. Stan’s looked after me ever since, and… and he feels like family. I’ve never had one, and… it sometimes feels like he’s all I got.” Dipper was being very careful not to talk about the fact that he had a family waiting for him, but after only talking to Mabel here and there for so long, having never met them in the flesh or been at home, it sometimes felt like Stan was truly the only one there for him.

Pacifica scoffed and stood up to make some distance. “Family isn’t that great.”

Dipper blinked and stood to follow her down the street. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno, people just make such a big deal over families or whatever.” Pacifica complained. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. They’re just a bunch of people who would turn their backs on you just as quickly as anyone else.”

Dipper was a bit taken back by the harshness of her tone, but he shook it off to try to comfort someone who was clearly hurt. “That’s not true. Some families, sure, maybe. But not all families are like that.”

Pacifica gave him a sharp look. “How would you know?”

Dipper was a bit hurt by that, but it only made him more determined to change her mind. He took her hand as they were at the doorstep of his home, and he said firmly, “My family might be really small, and kinda broken, but it’s still an amazing family. We look after each other. We care for one another. And… And you could be a part of that.” Dipper bit his lip. Why did he say that? And why did he actually mean it?

It was Pacifica’s turn to be dumbstruck. She shook her clear to try to clear it and said, “I gotta go. Goodnight, hero.” And she kissed his hand, let go, and hurried down the street.

Dipper’s mouth was open so wide a fly nearly threw in, but luckily he coughed it out before he accidentally swallowed it. He brought his lucky hand up shakingly to smile at it, swearing he would never use it for anything ever again. Okay, maybe for one thing.

Mabel, meanwhile, knew that Pacifica liked Dipper and hurried after her, ready to perform a musical number to convince her to admit it and follow her heart and say she was in love, but as Pacifica hurried into the outdoor museum full of art, Mabel felt a chill go down her spine. She stopped at a brick wall-art of the sun and hid herself behind a bush, remembering her grunkle’s orders to stay hidden, just in case.

A small pyramid glowed yellow and with a small poof the triangle with a black toga appeared, smiling (as much as one can without a mouth) at Pacifica. Mabel stared, a little confused; this must be Grunkle Ford’s friend, the one Uncle Fiddleford didn’t seem to like very much. Instantly she could understand why Uncle Fiddleford didn’t like him, but so far Bill hasn’t done anything to learn Mabel’s dislike, so she kept an open-mind and listened.

“Hey-o, Llama, so whatcha got?”

“Nothing.” Pacifica said coldly, her arms crossed.

“Nothing?” Bill repeated.

“Nothing. No weak spot, no bad nerves, no tricks. Nothing. He has no weaknesses.”

Bill growled in his throat, floating back and forth in a pacing kind of way, his black hands behind his back. “No! Everybody’s got a weakness! We just gotta find it!” The demon stopped as he looked at a statue of a couple in love. “Maybe… Ugh, if only Sixer wasn’t so overprotective of Shooting Star. We could use her as bait.”

Pacifica snorted. “Yeah, good luck getting your hands on her.”

“But maybe…” Bill held his… well, he doesn’t have a chin, but he did put a hand to the front of his body in that type of manner. “... there’s someone we can get our hands on.”

“What?” Pacifica asked, not seeming bored for the first time in this entire conversation. “You mean Stan? I guess… Dipper did say he was like family.”

Bill cackled. “Oh, if only he knew.” The triangle gasped and punched his hand with the side of his fist in thought. “Hey! We can use that! Great work, Blondie. Now c’mon, we got a whole galaxy to conquer!” And he swooped himself and Pacifica away in a burst of blue fire.

Mabel had both hands over her mouth to keep herself quiet. She had so many questions and was confused on a few things, but she did know this: Bill wanted to hurt Dipper. Bill wanted to take over the galaxy. And he was lying to Grunkle Ford.

Without another thought, Mabel dashed as fast as she could for home. She accidentally gave herself such bad tunnel vision out of fear and desperation that she didn’t hesitate until she was at the entrance of her shared temple with her great-uncle. The young lady peered his office to find him hunched over his work, finding it hard to concentrate with the fate of his brother on his mind. Mabel didn’t know much about Bill, despite being a fellow god, but she did know that Ford considered him a friend, so this would be difficult news to deliver.

Mabel gently knocked on the column beside her to alert her guardian of her entrance. He turned and smiled genuinely at her. “Mabel, I’m happy to see you’re home safe. How… How is Stanley?”

Mabel winced; she had completely forgotten to check on her long-distance uncle in the excitement of her brother’s date and the harsh discovery. “Grunkle Ford, I need to tell you something.”

Immediately Ford feared the worst. It was too late. He would never see Stan again, and it was all his fault. Mabel sat on the desk and took his six-fingered hands. He bit his lip and braced himself as Mabel looked down, trying to find her words. After a moment or two that nearly killed the immortal god, the young muse asked carefully, “Bill… Is he your friend?”

Ford felt the wind being kicked out of him from the shock. He could have cried, he was so relieved, but instead he laughed and nodded. “Yes! Yes, my dear, Bill is an old friend of mine. If it wasn’t for him, the world would still be in complete chaos. My leadership position, and really the existence of you and your brother, is all thanks to him. He helped me save the world.” He praised.

Mabel looked even more nervous; Ford had hoped that this answer would assure any worry she had, but clearly this wasn’t the case. Before the god could ask what was wrong, the muse said quietly, “I think he only helped you save it so he could have it someday.”

Ford blinked like a confused owl at her. “What… What are you talking about?”

“I… I think… no, I’m sure that…”

“STANFOOOOOOOOORD!”

Mabel and Ford turned to the direction of the call and ran for the exit of their temple. They watched Fiddleford use his super speed to dash to them, pale and stuttering with fear. “HONEY FOGELIN’, SALT-LICKIN’ SKULLDUGGERY! OH, WE’RE IN TROUBLE! OH!”

“Fiddleford, buddy, calm down.” Ford gripped him by the shoulders to give him a chance to breathe and adjust his small glasses. “What’s the matter?”

“We’ve got an army o’ monsters that are practically at our gates!” Fiddleford informed. “There’s only a few minutes until Olympus is overrun!”

“What?! Alert the other gods! Prepare for a counter attack! Go, go!”

“Gone, babe.” Fiddleford said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes and ran as fast as possible as he blew his trumpet loudly throughout Olympus.

“Mabel, sweetie, I want you to go keep an eye on your brother.”

“But…”

Ford whistled loudly and the giant goat, Gompers, came trotting toward. Ford lifted her like a child and ignored her kicking and squirming. “Grunkle Ford!”

“I’m not asking!” Ford growled and gave her a firm look. “I can’t lose you! I just can’t! Now I’m ordering you to go check on M-... on Dipper. Now go!” And he smacked Gompers to make him gallop off the mountain and down to the mortal world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Just a few minutes after Dipper arrived back home, thinking about his amazing date with Pacifica, he decided to check on Stan. After making sure he was nowhere else in the luxurious house, Dipper gently knocked on his teacher’s bedroom door. “Stan? You okay?”

Praying the old man was at least wearing a toga, he carefully opened the door, but was a little surprised to find the bed empty. After a quick look around the lavish bedroom, Dipper concluded that Stan wasn’t here. He closed the door and turned away, wondering if Stan had gone outside for some fresh air, but was suddenly greeted by a high-pitched laughter and the lit torches made of stone were now blue. Dipper looked all over and was startled to find a huge golden triangle with one eye staring at him.

“Hey there, kid, name’s Bill, big guy of the Underworld, nice to meet you.” Bill said, a smooth-fast talker like a chariot salesman.

“Uh, hi.” Dipper greeted with a small, hesitant wave. There was no way the Ruler of the Underworld, the most mysterious god of them all, would be paying him a visit unless it was important or he wanted something.

“So, listen, Pinetree,” Bill said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and floating alongside him, walking like they were old friends catching up. “I’m an old friend of your great-uncle, Stanford. He’s a fun guy, great god, you’re a lot like him, you know that? Anyway, so, as a friend of the family, I need a favor from you.”

Dipper wasn’t sure what to make of this. This was his first time meeting a god apart from Mabel, and now to be needed by one was a bit confusing. Why now? Was it possible he was on his way to becoming a true hero? Was he almost a god again? Was this a test? He smiled nervously and shrugged. “Uh, sure, what do you need?”

“Oh, boy, look at this guy! A real trooper he is! You’re alright, Sixer Jr!” Bill laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Now, I would be eternally grateful if you took a day off from this hero gig. I mean, c’mon, monsters, natural disasters…”

All hope that this visit was a good thing died. Dipper scowled and shook his head, shoving Bill’s hand off his shoulder. There was one reason and one reason only someone would want him to stop being a hero, even if it was only for a short time. “No way…”

“Not so fast,” Bill said coolly and he locked his own fingers cunningly. “Cuz I have something that might change your mind.” And he snapped his fingers.

Out of thin air an old man appeared in chains, on his knees. “Stan!” Dipper gasped.

“Dipper, what the h-...” And more chains covered his mouth.

Dipper ran for his teacher but Stan was gone before the young hero could help. “Let him go!” He dove for Bill, but only fell through him, like the demon was made of mist.

“Here’s the deal: you give up your strength for the next twenty-four hours,” And Bill snapped his fingers again and Stan reappeared, gagged and trapped. “And Knucklehead here is as free as a bird and safe, we dance, we kiss, we schmooze, we go home happy. Whatcha say, c’mon?”

Dipper stared at Stan, who was shaking his head. The young man looked away and then back at Bill. “People are gonna get hurt, aren’t they?”

“Nah,” Bill dragged, flicking his wrists downward and then instantly shrugging with his hands behind his back. “I mean, maybe, there’s a possibility, it happens cuz, y’know, life sucks. So what?” The triangle joined Stan and cupped his face teasingly. “Isn’t your great uncle more important than they are?”

Dipper opened his mouth to order him to stop, but his jaw fell and his voice was stolen from him. Bill smiled excitingly and asked, “Oo, struck a nerve, did I?” He laughed maliciously. “You seriously didn’t know he’s Sixer’s brother?! Oh, man! This is sad! Ever wondered why he had a grudge against Fordsie? Ever wondered why he even gave a worthless orphan the time of day to begin with? It’s cuz he only barely cared cuz you’re blood. Duh.”

“You’re lying.” Dipper said firmly. “Stan, he’s making it up, isn’t he?” He begged, his brown eyes on Stan, the same eyes that matched his own. “Because… you would have told me if it’s true… wouldn’t you?”

Stan looked away.

“Daw, don’t blame him, kid. It’s not his fault you didn’t inherit Mr. Lightning Bolt’s brains. Now, c’mon, you really wanna lose another pwecious famwy member?”

“OKAY!” Dipper yelled to get Bill to fall silent. There was a moment of pause and Stan stared at his nephew. “Okay… okay… But you gotta swear Stan won’t get hurt.”

“Fine, whatever. Stan won’t get hurt.” Bill said and walked towards the birthmarked hero, leaving Stan alone for a moment. “Otherwise you’ll get your strength right back, fine print, blah blah blah. It’s a deal?” And he held out a hand encased in blue fire.

Dipper hesitated, looking down at it, and that made Bill a little irritated, a dangerous game to play. Bill withdrew his hand. “Y’know I really don’t have time to bat this around, I got places to be, people to see, I need an answer, like, now. Going once, going twice…”

"It's a deal!" And Dipper ceased Bill's hand.

At once, the demon's thumb sharpened, cutting into Dipper's hand and seemed to be sucking the strength out of him. The young man sagged and Stan fought harder than ever to break free, but it was too late. Bill let Dipper go and he fell to his knees like a puppet with his strings cut off. One could say Dipper should have made sure he agreed to only give away his "god-like" strength, rather simply "strength," for this loophole left Dipper far weaker than any man, arguably weaker than an infant.

Bill cackled as he held his three-sided body and wiggled his legs in joy. "Thanks for the favor, Pinetree! Now if you'll excuse me, there's an entire cosmos out there with my name on it! Oh! Right, can't forget." Bill snapped his fingers and Stan was set free from his chains. "The guy ashamed to be your family is all yours, hero."

He instantly ran to Dipper's hunched-over body and rubbed his back. "Easy, buddy boy, I got you. It's okay."

Dipper swatted his hands away and groaned from the effort. "Stan… why… why didn't you say…"

Stan was hurt, but pushed it aside to focus on how hurt his nephew was. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I… I wanted to. Believe me, kid, I wanted to, but… I couldn't."

"Oh, and one more thing. Lil'Llama, thanks for the info." Bill sneered, curling a finger from the shadows to himself, and his slave emerged with her head down in shame. "A deal's a deal, you're free to go."

Dipper stared, heartbroken more so than ever. "Pacifica?"

"Hey, that's the blonde damsel from the river." Stan growled. "Tramp. C'mon, Dipper, let's get you to…"

"Don't." Dipper snapped as he steadily got to his own feet. "I… I can take care of myself…"

Stan withdrew his hand and took a step back, letting Dipper hold himself up by leaning on a column, catching his breath. The proud uncle bit his lip and was distracted from his misery and shame when a big bang could be heard outside.

He stood outside his home and his mouth was open as the sky was an unnatural sea of colors and the ocean was raging with waves that seemed to make everything it touched weird. Bushes were coming to life and eating ghosts. Old women were being turned into furniture. Men were going delusional and eating their togas. Stan cringed at the weirdness, and it only got worse when some big goblin-looking monster with Eight Ball eyes was bringing havoc to Thebes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The planets aligning created a weak spot in the dimension, and in the depths of the sea, Bill peered down and could practically see his old minions in the Nightmare Realm. “My friends!” He called, pointing a finger at the weak spot and tearing a whole in space-time. “We finally have a new home, boys! But one guy stands in our way. An obnoxious poindexter with six fingers. So, since I’ve given you guys a stable home, whatcha gonna do about it?”

“DESTROY HIM!”

“Good answer.”

And so, when Fiddleford was disturbed from his nightly slumber on a low cloud outside of Olympus, he screamed and ran as fast as he could to alter his friend and the leader of the gods. Huge monsters scaled the mountain. Flying eyeballs flew like bats and screeched, turning fighting gods into stone and flying them away.

With Mabel gone and no longer terrified for her safety, Ford stood on a tall cloud just inside the gates of his home and shot down bolts of lightning with his golden crossbow. The monsters were sturdy, and while the attacks did slow them down, the battle was not looking good for the gods. Ford caught his breath and was very disturbed when a giant gray-blue loaf of bread with arms and legs but no face broke down the gates.

“What’s our status?!” Ford asked his best friend.

“Everyone’s bein’ turned t’stone!” Fiddleford yelled as an eyebat shined a beam down at him. “Even me!”

“NO!” Ford threw his last bolt at the eyebat, but it swerved out of the way and scooped up Fiddleford’s frozen body.

Ford looked left and right, waiting for an idea to come to him, but he was too clouded with anxiety and worry that he failed to notice the huge, now three-dimensional demon behind him. “Fordsie, I’m home.” A shrill voice sang.

“Bill?” Ford breathed, his eyes narrowing in anger and he shook with rage. He should have listened to Mabel and knew he was behind this. He growled like an angry bulldog and tried to throw a punch, but with a lift of a finger Bill had total control over Ford’s body and made him float lifelessly in front of him.

“Well well, looks like you truly are as dumb as you look. Tell me, did you really think such a powerful being would ever be friends with a six-fingered monster?” Bill laughed evilly and moved two arms close, creating lava and ice to work together to encase Ford in a stony prison. “This dimension is mine, Sixer, and it’s all thanks to you.” He said as Ford climbed and crawled to try to escape, but was steadily being encased, like quicksand. “Now all I need to do is make sure those brats stay out of my way.”

“NO! NO!” Ford screamed. “NOT MY KIDS, YOU CA-...” And he was completely covered.

“I’m the one giving orders now, Freak.” Bill sneered and sat in his new throne the eyebats had made for him, made entirely out of gods and goddesses. “And I think I’m gonna like it here.”

#GF #gravity falls #gravity falls au #gift #fanfiction

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im-totally-not-an-alien · 4 years

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Final Fantasy 7 prompts No.20

1. "You'll never be more than a puppet!" Sephiroth sneered,

"Oh no, I'm off my strings."

"...What?"

"What atrocities will I commit?" Cloud muttered darkly, raising his sword.

2. Cloud goes back in time and fixes everything without even realizing that he time traveled until everything is already over.

3. Cloud pops back in time to Zacks final battle and helps kill the army, saving Zack

4. 400 year into the future immortal Cloud casually uses his SOLDIER strength for everyday tasks and freaks out the locals of whatever town he's in.

5. Immortal Cloud au where he takes joy in subtly revealing he's not a myth. The dawning look of horror always fills him with a wicked sense of joy.

6. Upon realizing the original Cloud died in Nabilhaim, Cloud comes to Vincent and reveals the truth, asking for his help in faking his death so he can escape his life in the real Clouds shadow and start over as his own person

7. Cloud gains the ability to use magic without materia.

8. Sephiroth discovered that if anyone eats his feathers they turn into monsters and become completely loyal to him. He tried it on Cloud, and...results vary.

9. Everything is on fire, Cloud is wearing a dress and holding the toddler remnants next to Sephiroth, who seems completely calm and sane. Blondie looked up at his dumbstruck friends, "I can explain."

"You have twenty seconds." Yuffie growled.

Aerith cackled in the distance.

10. Cloud knows how to forge weapons and gear. He decided he should make things for his kids. It doesn't end well.

11. Cloud flying through the cosmos on his one white wing

12. Roche finally getting a dinner date.

13. The team goes with a different idea of a diversion.

Cloud has to ask someone out and it quickly becomes the hardest mission he's ever done.

It doesn't help that there are so many jealous suitors willing to take the security officers place, but the in-fighting makes for a wonderful diversion. He didn't even have to draw his sword.

Cloud is honestly a little scared by the end of it. Jesse keeps saying sappy romance crap, and he just wants to crawl into a hole and never come out

14. Clouds arm got injured and he can't fight for a while. He becomes a waiter at Seventh Heaven to make up for lost wages. Unfortunately this attracts the attention of Roche, the Turks, and a few other people who he'd rather not see.

15. Roche keeps showing up at Clouds door with flowers and chocolate until he finally gets Cloud to agree to race him once a month.

Cloud doesn't get why he keeps bringing gifts after that though. Didn't he already get what he wanted?

#sephiroth #ff7 #ff7 story prompts #ff7 prompts #final fantasy story prompts #final fantasy prompts #final fantasy 7 #cloud strife #Roche #roche ff7r #speed demon #aerith #zack fair #clone cloud

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taizi · 4 years

Note

Congrats on finishing your paper! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧ Could I request Prompto-centric stuff? If you're up for AU thoughts, I recently had an idea flash of Versus13!Prompto (from early trailers) and canon!Prom being brothers/twins and got very excited - it'd be lovely to read your take on that! Your writing is such a rich, heartwarming experience. I'm ace & a Found Family lover too so it just resonates with me so much. Thank you!

Prompto shows up to the Crow’s Nest looking hunted. Gladio is already sliding over to make room for him on his side of the booth, and Prompto crashes into the waiting seat without ceremony. He shoulders off a ratty backpack, letting it fall to the floor at his feet, which would imply that he literally just got back.

“Hey, guys,” Prompto says without inflection.

“Oof,” Noct says. He leans forward across the table on his elbows, and gives Prompto’s hair a friendly ruffle. “Missed you too, loser.”

It’s an understatement. Noctis and Prompto have been comfortably attached at the hip since they were fifteen, and this past week was probably the longest they’d ever spent apart. Gladio’s had to listen to the crown prince whine for the last five days, and if it wasn’t his actual job to make sure Noctis didn’t get his ass kicked, Gladio would have kicked his ass.

Prompto makes a face and waves Noct’s hand away, but already his demeanor is thawing. “Of course I missed you. We only Facetimed like every five seconds. Sorry, it was a long drive.”

Gladio scrutinizes him on the low, taking in what Ignis probably already has. He’s wrinkled and red-eyed and jittery, something tight in the lines of his body that speaks of frustration.

“I take it you didn’t enjoy your trip?” Ignis asks. He pushes Gladio’s basket of fries under Prompto’s nose, more or less a command to eat something.

Prompto picks up a fry and worries it apart in his fingers.

“‘Course I didn’t. Driving all the way to Duscae in a gross car with a sleazy reporter to get your idiot brother out of jail isn’t exactly a vacation. I can’t believe I had to miss Iris’ birthday.”

“Hey, don’t let your head go there,” Gladio tells him firmly. “She told you it was fine, and she loved that stupid Moogle jacket you got her.”

“There’s, like, a whole fleet of not-gross cars at the Citadel that you could have borrowed,” Noct says for the nth time. “You have the same clearance level as Ignis, and Ignis can do whatever he wants.”

“Uh, I think that’s just ‘cause he’s Ignis.”

“Either way, I would have been happy to arrange alternate transportation,” says Ignis calmly. “Threatening Mr. Ghiranze with what I would do to him if he made you uncomfortable in any way wasn’t nearly as reassuring.”

Prompto chokes on a bite of Noct’s salmon and Gladio thumps him on the back until he gets it down.

“You what?” he finally manages. “Oh, no wonder he was so weird! He wouldn’t even look at me. Iggy, you’re the best.”

He’s breathless, and bright with the beginning of laughter, and Gladio thinks, Nice one, Specs.

It felt weird to be three instead of four, even only for a week. He won’t come out and say it, but Gladio is relieved to have Blondie back where he belongs.

He’ll be with Gladio heading up Basic Training for the next two months, and Gladio is more than looking forward to it. The new recruits are a bunch of pains in the ass, and they deserve to have Cor the Immortal’s ‘Quicksilver’ protege whip them into terrified appreciation for Gladio’s less manic approach.

The bell above the door rings merrily, and a familiar someone shouts, “Hey, birdbrain!”

The hard-won good cheer drains out of Prompto’s face like water from a leaky faucet. He doesn’t have time to turn around before Peregrine is upon him, pouncing like a hungry coeurl upon an injured anak.

“You left before I could say thanks,” Peregrine says with vicious glee, grabbing Prompto in a probably-affectionate headlock. His barcode is stark and bold under the fluorescent lights of the diner, hidden in plain sight by a geometric half-sleeve tattoo. “Sick of your big bro, is that it?”

“For sure,” Prompto wheezes, trying to peel him off. “Definitely, one-hundred percent.”

To this day, Gladio isn’t sure what to make of Peregrine. He showed up in Insomnia a few weeks after Prompto’s televised swearing-in ceremony, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a shock-rifle strapped to his shoulder. Given what they are, they’re physically identical, but Prompto’s friends have never had any trouble telling them apart.

“Whatever.” Peregrine lets Prompto go with a toothy grin. He’s causing a whole scene in the quiet diner, but he’s been a Hunter all his life and very little seems to phase him. “You gonna be home tonight?”

“If I say no, are you going to get arrested again?” Prompto asks his brother suspiciously.

“I’ll probably have my hands full with Dino, since one of your boyfriends here traumatized mine. He needs a little TLC, if you know what I–”

“Nope!” Prompto says loudly. “Bye, Pere!“

Peregrine laughs, and it manages to be more affectionate than antagonistic. This time, when he leans down to hug Prompto, it actually looks like a hug instead of a cheerful mugging.

“Thanks for coming for me, birdie,” Peregrine says, cheek propped on Prompto’s messy hair. It’s one of those unexpected moments of sincerity that occasionally pops up between the two of them like a buoy. “I know it sucked.”

“It did suck,” Prompto mutters. But he’s leaning into his brother’s arms instead of away, and the harassed, stressed out lines of his body are relenting. “But I was actually glad you called me.”

Peregrine’s hands go tight in Prompto’s jacket for a second. Sometimes, he looks as though he’d like to grab onto Prompto and never let him go.

The two of them spent so much of their lives alone– one in an empty house, and one in the wild countryside– and they both managed to find their own people, build their own homes. They don’t know how to be family, but they’re figuring it out. They want to figure it out. They’re learning their way around each other.

Peregrine ruins the mood by squeezing Prompto so tight he squeaks.

“I’ll quote you on that next time,” he chirps, and leans over to swipe Gladio’s basket of fries, and takes off as abruptly as he arrived in the first place. “See you, Prom! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“No!” Prompto yells after him, leaning out of the booth. “No ‘next time’!”

“Text me, byeeeeeee!”

“Could you imagine being stuck in a car with him for six hours?” Noct says, with what looks like a new appreciation for Prompto’s plight.

Prompto whirls to face him, vindicated. “It was the worst!”

Ignis soothes him with promises of green curry soup for dinner– a handy excuse for what he already had planned, the chickatrice thigh and coconut milk sitting in Noctis’ apartment for Prompto’s return– and Gladio drops a heavy arm around Prompto’s shoulders to try to absorb some of his nervous energy.

Prom’s phone chimes while Noctis is getting the check, flashing Peregrine’s silly contact I.D. Gladio isn’t nosy enough to read over Prompto’s shoulder, but he watches the expressions parade across his friend’s freckled face. Surprise, good humor, the automatic joy of an inside joke.

As Prompto types out a reply, he’s grinning– the lighter, brighter half of a new dynamic duo– and Gladio thinks it’s a good look on him.

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #chocobros #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #ffxv fic #my writing #prompt #mugurahokori

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jknerd · 5 years

Text

FOP AU: Blonda

Name: Blonda Fairywinkle Age: Immortal Occupation(s): Celebrity, Film & TV series actress Aliases: Un-Zappy Dumb Blonde, Blondie Friend(s): Juandissimo Magnifico (love interest), Luthor Lex (ex-boyfriend), Billy Crystal Ball (fling), Simon Sparklefield (fling), Cupid, Tooth Fairy Interest(s): Acting, fashion, fame, party, shopping, being center of attention Relative(s): Big Daddy (father), Mrs. Fairywinkle (mother), Wanda Fairywinkle-Cosma (twin sister), Cosmo Cosma (brother in-law), Poof (nephew) Character Blonda is Wanda's "identical yet somewhat hotter" twin sister who, according to Wanda, chose an easy life of becoming an actress. Blonda stars in films and TV series as most well-known is a soap opera in Fairy World known as "All My Biceps", which is Jorgen's favorite show. She have been favored by her mother than Wanda ever since they were young, however she easily got jealous of Wanda when Big Daddy spoiled her than he did to Blonda. She also had romantic feelings for Juandissimo. Background Blonda has been dreaming of life as actress ever since she was young. She competed with her twin sister Wanda with almost everything including the grades in school, being who's more fashionable or popular, etc. Blonda had always been favored by her mother, enjoying further when their mother scolded Wanda. However, Blonda had inferiority complex as Wanda got more than just looks as she was smart, talented and athletic while acting and looks were only thing Blonda had. During days in Fairy high school, Blonda fell in love with Juandissimo and dumped Luthor, but was envious when he loves her sister Wanda. To get him, Blonda dressed up as Wanda and seduced Juandissimo in her room. However, this was discovered by Wanda, causing the heartbroken and upset pink-haired fairy teen to break up with Juandissimo. Being ignored by her sister and her crush, Blonda left home and dropped out of school, debuted as an actress. However, life as a celebrity wasn't very happy as she ended up dumped by ex-boyfriends she meet in her career such as Billy Crystal Ball, Simon Sparklefield, etc. When learning of her existence by Wanda, Timmy decided to make up a plan for them to reconcile by suggesting them to switch their roles to understand the other's life and job. Blonda realized how difficult Wanda's job as child's fairy godmother was, beginning to understand her and vice versa. However, Blonda's scandals from high school to current life was exposed by Remy Buxaplenty (who eavesdropped Juandissimo and Cupid about Blonda's scheme and breakup with Wanda), endangering her reputation. However, Blonda decided to "take break" from Fairywood, often visiting Timmy and her fairies, becoming a role of a "fairy god-auntie" and also lives in disguise of a human as a model in Dimmsdale. Blonda and Wanda reconciled, but they often bicker with small things.

#fop #Fairly Oddparents #blonda #FOP fanarts #Blonda Fairywinkle

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takaraphoenix · 5 years

Note

Natasha Romanoff, Isabelle Lightwood, Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano, Felicity Smoak, Okoye, Clarisse La Rue, Moana, Janet Van Dyne, Peggy Carter, Morgana.

Thanks for playing! Let’s see how to pair up this all female line-up! *^*

Natasha/Okoye - listen. Infinity War/Endgame made me really ship them, so I have to put them together when they’re in the same ask because this is a god-tier ship!

Isabelle/Morgana - Morgana being the Morgana because warlocks are immortal? Oh! Blondie with the royal Herondale blood is Arthur’s reincarnation!! And Morgana came to see her brother now that his soul has returned and then falls for Isabelle? Also, along the way Jace brings world peace and unites some kingdoms and all that jazz

Reyna/Moana - mh, okay so this is mainly a “left-over” pitch because I can’t seem to match them with anyone else, but head-strong daughter of Neptune, who finds Reyna and Hylla after the sisters escape Circe’s island? Maybe while Moana and her family are traveling with their ship?

Clarisse/Peggy - mmmh soldier AU? Where Clarisse is a super soldier (because come on, you gotta translate that blood of Ares!)??

Janet/Felicity - hot scientists being badasses? Maybe Ray Palmer also took his mother’s maiden name and Ray and Janet are siblings in this to translate the Atom/Ant-Man dynamic?? And when it’s believed Ray is dead, Janet comes to investigate and that’s how they meet?

Put 10 Characters in my Ask Box and I’ll match them up!

#Shipping Ask Game #send me asks #Anonymous

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soysauceharry · 6 years

Text

sit back (and watch the world go by); an immortals AU

There should have been some kind of pretense to it. A caution sign, a warning label, something screaming at them to realize what everything was spiraling toward. Though when you’ve existed as long as they have, it gets a bit difficult to keep all the ancient rules straight.

It’s probably for the better—that they get hit with reality now before everything goes to shit. Before they kill each other for real.

Harry and Winnie have lived and died by each other’s hands. Most of the time it works out; one time it doesn’t.

one: tighten up (6k)

1862

Front Royal, Virginia, Confederate States of America

“I outta knock ole’ Stonewall into a cocked hat. What’s he thinkin’ letting a pretty thing like you peacock about in our ends?”

The five men are arranged in a messy semi-circle, but all of their eyes are trained on the woman in front of them. Her dress, which was a number she was quite proud of making all by herself, is now torn and tattered with bits of leaves and pine needles nestled throughout. Her petticoats are nearly shredded, her hair’s a right mess, pulled out of its delicate bun, and her face is smeared with dirt from when she fell just before they caught her.

But her eyes—the dark hazel irises that are always swimming with something dangerous—are ever resilient.

She’s been in situations like this before—knew what she was getting into when they started this whole mess—but, then again, she’s never been completely alone before. Normally, she’s got a little help in weaseling her way out, but her ally is gone and now it seems like she’s going to have to figure this one out for herself.

She eyes the men carefully, making sure not to give anything away in her face. A calm façade clouds her features, but she lets a bit of false apprehension peek through. Three of them look identical with matted dirty-blonde hair and unappealing, dead eyes that are narrowed at her like she’s a piece of meat. Then again, she doesn’t blame them; her corset does wonders for her boobs and it’s probably the first time they’ve seen a woman since they were drafted.

The man closest to her on her right actually has the audacity to lick his lips and give her a once over. She has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. “Them Johnny Rebs can surely pick ‘em, seems like.”

They all snicker like little schoolboys with a secret, regarding her with hungry eyes and even hungrier, recharged sex drives. In an imperfect world, she knows that these are supposed to be her last few moments of life, that they’ll soon have their way with her and leave her for dead. She’s a Confederate spy, after all, and captured female spies endure the same fate.

“Got a name, Princess?”

She eyes the fourth man, the one who spoke. He’s a blonde fellow with crooked teeth and a shitty shaving job. She holds back a grimace when he smiles wickedly, taking a step closer to her.

“You pie eaters won’t get anythin’ from me, so it’s best you stop trying now,” she snaps, holding her ground. She knows exactly what she has to do—rile them up a bit, let them know she’s got some fight in her. They’ll try to spark her up, play nice for a bit before launching themselves at her, but she’ll have time to make her escape.

“And why’s that, Princess? You seem pretty high-falutin’ for runnin’ around in this neck of the woods,” Blondie says again. This time he struts toward her with his hands clasped behind his back, regarding her coolly. “Why don’t we figure out what’s under all this, eh?” He gestures to her torn garments, stepping close enough so he can fiddle with part of her sleeve with his grimy fingers.

Winnie nearly growls at him, fully ready to rip those fingers straight out of their sockets when the fifth and final man clears his throat.

“At ease, Gutheridge. Don’t want this one to sing, do you?”

She makes eye contact with the one who spoke—he’s looking at her calmly, his stance relaxed as he stands directly before her. The low light from the lamps burning the last of their oil makes his eyes practically glow as he appraises her, very similar to how Blondie just was. But Winnie’s skin doesn’t crawl under his gaze.

Those green eyes pierce into her soul in just the right way every time.

She has to catch herself because she very nearly giggles at his concentrated gaze, knowing all too well what’s about to happen. The anticipation of it all always gets to her—she’ll argue that she just gets lost in the adrenaline, or she’ll blame it on the underlying currents of testificor still running through her veins after she woke up from the last time. And he’ll just laugh and shake his head, agreeing with her just to avoid an argument.

They work well in that way—lots of give and take and whatnot. It’s a mutualistic relationship that they’ve developed, and that’s definitely a good thing. There’s no way they could do this and get away with it every time if they hated each other.

But this time’s a little different. Winnie almost wants to test him because they’re on opposing sides, to long this one out until he’s visibly annoyed and he gets that little divot between his eyebrows that she likes to smooth out with her fingers. It would serve him right, considering he basically left her for dead after the carnage of Antietam. It took a lot of convincing Stonewall to let her back into the Yank’s camps after that disaster.

General Jackson trusts her to get the secrets that they needed, and so far she’s been doing a good job. She’s little Winnie Holliday to him, the widowed lass from Peachtree Creek, Georgia. Her husband had been killed in the First Manassas and now she’s determined to get revenge on those damn Yanks, each and every single one filling her with a pure, rampant hatred that she needs to act upon. It was her intelligence of the location of Fremont’s defense that led to Stonewall’s win at Cross Keys. He couldn’t afford to lose her.

Which is why, in his eyes, this would be a pretty bad situation. She’s face-to-face with a Union camp, these men with their leering eyes and their twitching fingers, and that one tall, lean, and brooding lieutenant. A lady like herself in front of a man like him? It just screams trouble.

But they’ve been keeping up this charade since the two separated at Harpers Ferry back in ’59.

“Lieutenant, with all due respect—you know those damn traitors are snakes. And we caught one right here!” Gutheridge gestures toward Winnie again. “S’no harm in havin’ a little fun with this fast trick—”

“Lay a hand on her and you’ll be joinin’ the lower ranks boy. At ease.” His voice is stern, edging on scolding the other man. Winnie can feel his gritty rasp rattling her bones. “Didn’t your time with the fresh fish teach you how to take orders?”

The other men chuckle at his words, but it’s clear that this man has a tight hold over them by the way they fall silent when he steps forward. He’s taller than the rest, delicate short brown hair framing his face in soft curls. His uniform coat is unbuttoned, revealing the plain white shirt worn underneath. Winnie can just make out the band of his belt, knowing he’s probably got a weapon or two stashed away.

She has to think on her feet now. His soldiers are getting antsy.

“Better corral your men before they lash out, Lieutenant,” Winnie says lowly, her voice teasing. The man locks his eyes on hers, green irises teeming with amusement though his face gives nothing away. “A unit full of muggins, ain’t it? Shame to waste your time with such… promisin’ young gentlemen.”

“I hope you’re not suggestin’ I turn my back on my men, ma’am,” the man says with a smirk. He takes a step closer—Winnie inhales, suddenly aware of his proximity to her. She’s never trusted herself to keep her hands to herself when it comes to him. He’d better get on with it, she thinks. “They’re no big fighters, but I’d never let them sit out here like targets.”

It’s been nearly five months since she’s seen him last, and he still looks the same. Same build, same hair, same lips. Same glint in his eye when he sees something he likes. Same hands that can drive her to the edge, same curl of his lips that pulls at her belly and starts a fire in her chest. Winnie feels an overwhelming sensation of longing—she hasn’t had him in so long. She’s starting to feel as impatient as his men are probably feeling.

She’s got to get a move on.

Bringing her hands behind her back, she sashays forward with her hips swinging just so all the eyes in the room land on them. They’re entranced by her (or so she thinks—she likes to flatter herself from time to time) and she’s absolutely going to use it to her advantage.

Winnie makes careful note of the quickest way to get to the knife stashed in her boot before composing herself once again. She lets a secretive smirk curl onto her lips, her eyes drifting up and down the man’s body once again. Tilting her head back so she can look him directly in the eyes, she asks, “Got a name, Lieutenant?”

Her voice is clearly mocking the question from before, as the man named Gutheridge snarls and spits while casting her a sharp glare. The child in Winnie wants to stick her tongue out at him and cross her eyes just to egg him on just a little bit more, but she knows she has to stay in character. Just a little bit longer, she tells herself. Then she can get the hell out of there and get on with her time.

That’s been the process for as long as she can remember. Which is everything, of course—but things become redundant and repetitive after a while. That’s why they started this whole thing, after they left Ternaem. That was a gigantic step in itself, so why not make things interesting?

The philosophy proved to be effective thus far.

“Styles.”

Winnie bites her lip to fight off a smile. “Full name, Lieutenant. We don’t do things halfway in my camp, so you might best follow my example, don’t you reckon?”

“I can see how that lip caught you in our diggings,” he notes. He crosses his arms and all of a sudden he’s bigger, broader, towering over her with an inviting sort of authority. Right then and there she nearly caves. “Might be wise not to encroach, don’t you reckon?”

But she takes a deep breath. Steady.

“A name, Lieutenant.”

They hold eye contact for a few more seconds, playing out the tension just a bit longer. The soldiers behind them are entirely frozen, only their eyes moving between Winnie and the lieutenant as they stand there immobile.

Finally, his eyes glimmer. And, ever so slightly—almost as if she’d imagined it—he nods.

Showtime.

“Lieutenant Colonel Henry Styles, 13th Regiment of the Pennsylvania Cavalry. Harry to my superiors and homefolk.” He leans down and invades her space—she could move two more inches and their foreheads would be touching. When he speaks again, she shivers at the lowness of his voice. “Thorough enough for you, ma’am?”

“I do believe so, Lieutenant.”

“And may I get a name in return?”

“Me? Why, I’m no one special,” she says with a little flip of her hair and a light, airy giggle that makes the lieutenant raise a brow at her. “Just little ol’ Winnie Holliday from Georgia.”

“A Georgia gal. Must be sweet as the peaches that fall from all them tall, shady trees. Though I can say… the peaches in South Caroline are much sweeter than those of your kind,” Harry says cheekily in that slow, Northern drawl.

Winnie scowls. “If you’re so pressed then you can make a home for those South Carolina peaches where no one but your mama has seen, Lieutenant.”

Harry’s eyes widen at her words—she knows she’s starting to pluck the annoyance right out of him. “Tell me, Winnie,” he says now, and there’s a bit of an edge to his voice, “were you expectin’ to accomplish much by jawin’ about the weather in a camp full of Yanks?”

The bite in his words has her on her toes. She takes another step toward Harry so their toes are touching and she can see the way his pupils focus on her face. “Well, I ain’t no bluff, Lieutenant. I do believe a hard case like yourself should know what’s about to occur.”

“Care to enlighten me—?”

He cuts himself off with a choked gasp, hissing in pain as he doubles over.

The feeling of her knife lodging itself into the meat of the Lieutenant’s side isn’t satisfying at all, but Winnie immediately knows it’s effective. Everyone is frozen, it seems—none of the men have comprehended how much their situation has changed.

Winnie leans down until she’s level with Harry in his hunched form. “Was that okay?” she whispers quickly.

“You were—brilliant,” he gasps, his breaths coming out ragged. “Be quick, yeah?”

She nods—and then the first knife is drawn.

Harry collapses to the ground and Winnie steps around him, pulling her own knife from his body as she comes face-to-face with Gutheridge. “Surely a fancy girl like you won’t take too kindly to dyin’ at the hands of a Yank,” he sneers, twirling his weapon in his hand skillfully.

“You think I can’t handle a few parlor soldiers like yourselves?” Winnie scoffs, steeling herself for the first swing of his knife. “Let ‘er rip, you old skunk.”

The glint of silver is all she sees before she springs into action, easily ducking away from Gutheridge’s first jab. She blocks his arm and lands a kick to his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. Once he’s momentarily halted, it’s on to the next dirty blonde soldier.

Winnie spars with him for a few seconds, ducking as he swings his arm around with a rusty old knife. It’s clear that these boys are better behind their rifles with their blind attempts at trying to land a hit on her. She’s quick on her feet, much quicker than them—they’re tiring. She’s got the advantage.

She entertains him for a bit longer before deciding to put him out of his misery. With a swift slice in the air that leaves a narrow gash along his cheek, the boy is startled. But he doesn’t even have a chance to process the pain before Winnie sweeps her leg across the ground and catches his calves, flipping him onto his back and plunging her blade deep into his side.

“You— you bitch,” he snarls, a trail of blood leaving his mouth. “You gray backs are scum.”

Winnie shrugs. “Been called worse, Mister.”

She stands and there are two more ready for her. Gutheridge is struggling to get back on his feet as she goes for the first one, sidestepping a punch before landing a fist to his jaw. “Fuck,” she hisses, shaking out her hand. She usually left the punching to Harry; she was much better with a knife.

“You’re mine,” he sneers. Winnie almost rolls her eyes when he misses her by a foot. She’s able to grab his arm and maneuver herself so she’s behind him, twisting his arm in the most uncomfortable manner. He squawks with pain when she pulls on it harder, nearly dislodging the joint from its socket.

“I’m no one’s,” she tells him lowly, only sparing him another half-hearted attempt to get loose from her hold before she slices his carotid artery. He goes limp in her arms as he begins to bleed out, the sickening sounds of him choking on his own blood filling the space in the tent.

Winnie frowns. She didn’t mean to make that much of a mess. Now she’s got blood all over her nice dress.

It’s not long before Gutheridge and the last standing soldier are barreling toward her, Gutheridge’s teeth bared as he lets out an animalistic growl. It’s a full-blown knife fight, and for the first time that evening Winnie feels tested. There’s a reason Gutheridge is Harry’s second-in-command; the boy can move with a blade. But Winnie can move faster.

She tries to immobilize the nameless man first, knowing full well that Gutheridge will want her all to himself. They go back and forth—he manages to land a solid punch to her stomach after she knocks his knife out of his hand. She’s winded and the blow only makes things worse. The man manages to get another knee to her belly that has her seeing black at the edges of her vision.

Things are starting to go downhill, she thinks. But she’s pretty satisfied with the way they went—at least she killed three of them.

Eventually Winnie’s enthusiasm for the fight dies down, so she lets herself get pulled into the nameless man’s grip—but not before socking Gutheridge in the jaw. Her knuckles scream in pain but it’s mostly masked by the satisfaction of hearing him howl in pain. She has no idea how Harry dealt with this prick.

Maybe she can wriggle her way out of this chokehold. It’s not too tight, all she has to do is step on his foot and get one of her arms loose, and then she can go for his nose and jab and elbow to his side—

A distinct clicking sound draws Winnie from her frantic strategizing. And then she freezes.

“S’matter, Princess?” Gutheridge spits out some blood—and what looks like a tooth—before shooting her a smarmy grin. Winnie’s stomach lurches at the sight of his outstretched arm with a pistol in his hand. “I don’t reckon you can use your little toothpick in a gun fight.”

“I don’t sup—suppose I can,” Winnie stammers. Her eyes zero in on the chamber of the gun. She’s been shot twice before—once just a few weeks ago by an idiot of a soldier who wasn’t paying attention in the field, and another time about a year ago when she was nearly caught by another group of Union soldiers. Neither of them were pleasant experiences, but, then again, neither of them were potentially fatal wounds.

This would be quite the opposite.

“I knew that ol’ Styles was soft,” Gutheridge says, his lips curling in disgust as he speaks about Harry, who was still lying facedown in the dirt off to the side, just waiting for the queue from Winnie. “That blowhard was good for nothin’ but chasin’ gals in his britches. An uppity ass like his don’t belong in the war.”

Winnie stores away that piece of information—chasing gals in his britches? She and Harry were going to have words. “And a mudsill like yourself does?” she counters. She struggles a bit in her captor’s arms, but the gun never wavers and his grip only tightens. “You’d lose in a sham fight.”

“Careful, Princess. I’m the one with the pistol.”

Winnie makes deliberate eye contact, ensuring that he sees the whites of her eyes before he shoots the life out of her. She likes to toy with her murderers—play to their emotions, see how weak they can get before their animalistic killing senses take over. She doesn’t think she’ll get very far with Gutheridge, but it’s fun to see how long she’ll last. Sometimes she and Harry even bet on it.

“Do you plan on offin’ a gal like me just for your petty, superiority complex?” Winnie questions, her voice going all high and quiet that makes the men more intrigued. “If I can say so, Mister Gutheridge, I am mighty disappointed.”

Winnie sees the contemplation in his eyes, but it’s gone in seconds.

“Anything to preserve the Union, Princess,” he says lowly. And then he fires.

One. Two. Three.

Winnie feels the bullets rip through her skin and even though the pain is dulled, it’s still there. She can’t help but scream, the shock of the impact thrumming through her body as she immediately collapses to her knees, her hands flying to her stomach. She chokes on her next few breaths, her lungs feelings like they’re being filled with rusty nails with every feeble attempt to get air as she pushes against herself to clot the bleeding. But it’s no use. The cloth under her fingertips is already turning red under her fingertips—it’s her blood, and it’s everywhere.

If anyone had looked closer, they’d see the tiny flecks of gold in the crimson liquid.

Winnie falls to the ground face first, her body making a loud thump from the impact. She convulses for a few more seconds as her lungs finally stop working, her heart pumping blood until it stops receiving anymore. And then she’s dead.

Gutheridge and the other man disappear in haste. In no time, they’re shouting to the other men, telling them of a hunting incident gone horribly wrong and how they have to pack up and move out, men! There ain’t no time for your lip!

The sounds of more men shouting, boots running across dirt and various items being packed up and stowed away fill the air as Winnie begins to feel the familiar warmth teeming in her chest. The feeling of testificor replenishing her body back to its natural state is unfathomable. She swears she can feel every single molecule of her body vibrating as the magic washes over her veins. The explosions of power inside her body can’t be seen by anyone else, but she can close her eyes and envision tiny fireworks of gold erupting all throughout her bloodstream.

The blood stops leaking from her wounds as they close up, emitting a soft glow as the skin forms barely-there scars. The paralysis from being shot slowly starts to fade, her appendages loosening from her toes, all the way up to her fingers and slowly, steadily making its way up to her neck, her face, the top of her skull.

And then she opens her eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Spectacular job, Winnie.”

She sits up to see Harry lounging on his side, propped up on one elbow. The side of his shirt is stained in a deep red, not unlike the stain on her own shirt. “Why, thank you, Harry,” she giggles. She brushes off her hands and stands slowly, making sure everything in her body feels and functions normally before offering Harry a hand. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

He grins, taking it and pulling himself up. “Couldn’t be happier to,” he replies, lacing their fingers together and pulling her out of the tent and into the woods.

-*-

They find a little empty shack just before sunrise.

There’s blood on their clothing, too much blood for Winnie’s taste, but she has to remind herself that it’s mostly only theirs. Blood means people are getting hurt; that parts of them are spilling out onto the earth and getting mixed into the soil beneath them. Winnie has to remind herself that she’ll never have a connection like that to the ground. She’ll always be flitting around from place to place, never staying in one area long enough to grow roots and shake hands with the dirt.

She sighs and shakes her head, trying to get rid of her overt sentimentality. She’s usually good at shutting it out, even better when Harry can distract her from it.

So she looks to him now, looks to the boy with the big green eyes, the boy who crazily hatched this idea of leaving Ternaem and going on this adventure together. The boy she fell in love with after he snuck into the Sistine Chapel back in 1512, just before Michelangelo was done with it all, and painted her face into the ceiling, tricking the rest of the world into believing it was actually the Delphic Sibyl.

The boy who was in the raid in the Ganj-i-Sawai in 1695 during their brief stint in India, risking his safety and nearly getting his head chopped off by a Mughal soldier just to nab a delicate golden ring from the hoards of treasure aboard that ship. The same ring he kissed every night, just before he kissed her after a day full of pretending and running and playing roles in a never ending show. He’d kiss her and all of that would melt away; he’d kiss her and, for a little while, they could just be Harry and Winnie: the two kids who ran away in search of a forever together.

“What’re you starin’ at, love?”

Winnie’s startled for a millisecond as her eyes refocus on Harry, properly this time. Her skin prickles as his voice slips back into that low Cheshire drawl, the accent he grew up with since his family line originated in northern England before they shifted to Ternaem. She never gets tired of it, almost yearns for it when they’ve gone too long being in their roles as different people. While Harry could do a pretty good impression of a good old Southern boy, nothing could beat the slow rasp of an Englishman.

She blinks, her face not giving anything away. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“What? Where?”

“Right… there!”

Harry yelps when Winnie’s fingers squeeze his nose, nearly toppling off the wobbly stool next to the tiny stove. “Winnie! Get off, you—fuck!” Harry lets out a little oof when he lands on the ground, his legs flailing wildly.

“You clumsy shit,” she snickers. “Get off your arse and come to bed.”

Winnie stands and pulls her dress off her body, tossing the bloodstained material into a random corner. When she starts undoing the ties of her corset, she feels a presence behind her. Then a pair of hands are replacing her own, and a pair of lips are attaching themselves to Winnie’s neck.

“Bed, Harry,” Winnie whispers, but her body betrays her and steps back so she can feel the firmness of Harry’s chest behind her. “Hurry up.”

“M’trying—this bloody thing is a nightmare.”

“Welcome to the last three years of being a Southerne belle, darling.” She pushes Harry’s hands away and starts pulling the strings from the material until she feels the body loosing from her waist. Finally, she can move without feeling like her insides are being squeezed. The feel of her underskirts in her hands reminds her of something from before the little skirmish. “So what was this talk about you ‘chasin’ gals in your britches?’”

There’s silence behind her.

“Harry…”

“Oh, you could tell Gutheridge was all talk. Wanted to strangle him every time he opened his bloody mouth,” Harry grumbles. His hands find Winnie’s hips again, and she lets herself fall back into his chest. He lowers his head to press another kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder. Pushing her body toward the bed against the far wall, he whispers, “Lay with me, please?”

She ignores him entirely, resisting him when he’s sitting on the bed and pulling on her arm.

“Winnie, pleeeease. M’sorry, love.”

“Sorry doesn’t take back words, Harry.”

“Come on, don’t be like this…” Harry grins that smarmy smirk of his. “Wynonna.”

“Shut up, you idiot!” She pushes away from his grasp albeit fighting a grin. “I don’t appreciate these kinds of lies being spread about you.”

“Well, everyone thinks I’m dead now.” He shrugs. “A bit too late to go around changing their minds, isn’t it?”

She hates that he’s right and she hates that she just wants to go crawling back into his lap and sleep the entirety of the next day, but it’s what Harry’s always been like and she’ll never be able to change him. The way he lounges back on his elbows, staring up at her in unabashed adoration. He’s starting to get that glassy eyed look—the one where he’s completely and disgustingly obsessed with her and is also absolutely ready to get Winnie on top of him.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know.”

“All the better for you to play with, my love.”

Once Winnie lets Harry pull her onto the bed, everything settles. Her brain, her body, her heart. The racing in her chest is muted, the pumping in her mind has slowed. She feels like she can finally rest.

“Three years,” Harry says with a sigh as Winnie situates herself over him so her elbows bracket his head. She leans down to kiss him lightly, just because she can’t help it; the feeling of his lips on hers after so long brings her a weird sense of calm. Once she pulls back, Harry looks at her fondly. Reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from her face, he says, “Quite a long run for us, isn’t it?”

“One of the longer ones, yeah. You’re right,” Winnie thinks, racking her brain for some of their longer excursions. “China was about three, too, wasn’t it?”

“At least we were together for that one.”

“At least we didn’t have an army of Romans after us this time. I thought we left them back in the Empire,” she says pointedly. Then she sighs—her whole body feels heavy, as if everything from the last few hours is suddenly catching up to her. Dying can become pretty tiring. “It’s a shame. I quite liked this life.”

“Did you? I found it rather strenuous,” Harry grumbles, tugging on a strand of her hair. “All this fighting and scheming gets so boring after a while. I never understand why mortals insist on starting wars.”

Winnie hums, leaning down to press her lips to Harry’s again. Harry sighs happily, adjusting his legs so Winnie is settled between his hips, dragging his fingertips up her arms and down her sides. They kiss softly for a few moments until Harry tries to deepen it, a quick flick of his tongue against her lower lip.

“Mmm—settle down, Lieutenant,” Winnie giggles as she pulls away, nose knocking against his. She braces herself on her forearms again, putting a bit of distance between their lips. “Didn’t you enjoy being back in charge? I haven’t seen you so comfortable in a role since Plymouth Rock.”

Harry grins. “I am a man of authority, aren’t I?” Winnie is quick to pinch his side in response to his cockiness, making him yelp in pain. “Hey!”

“Don’t get cheeky,” Winnie warns with a hard look. “Your men didn’t seem like they had much respect for this apparent authority you speak of.”

At this, Harry’s face drops into scowl. He pulls Winnie even closer onto his body, letting her shift so she can burrow her head into the crook of his neck. “Bloody sewer rats, they were. Wanted to rip their heads off with the way they were talkin’ to you.”

Winnie’s face warms at his words, dropping a kiss to his collarbone in thanks. She will probably never get over the way Harry always protects her, wherever they are. Since the beginning, even when they barely had the courage to acknowledge their feelings toward each other beyond a lingering glance and fingers tangled together, he’s always put her first. Her feelings, her well-being—hell, her life. If ever Harry could die the more painful death, he would do it.

A part of her breaks every time he sacrifices himself for her like that. It makes her think, if they actually could die, would he do the same? She knows that he was never the selfless one; love has made him soft, altruistic. Before she had him, when she was trying to navigate this immortal life alone, she had resigned herself to an eternity of checking behind her back and keeping to herself. Then he arrived, sweeping her into the safety of his shadow and not looking back ever since.

“My soldier in his stunning uniform, coming to my defense,” Winnie says, letting her lips brush against the skin of Harry’s neck. She can’t help but have a little taste, tongue flicking out against the sinewy muscle. She hears a sharp intake of breath—he squirms under her, trying to find the leverage to line his hips up with hers. She has him fully, now.

“Always—darling,” Harry breathes the endearment into the air around them once Winnie begins kissing her way back up to his lips. He calls her darling when he’s needy, the blood boiling in his veins with how much he has to feel her. She knows he utters a soft darling when he wants to go slow and take his time taking her apart piece by piece. The smirking, teasing darling comes out when he wants to play—draw it out, make her beg until she’s clutching onto him like a lifeline while he takes her. But the high-pitched, whined darling, the one she hears now—that’s the one where she steps in.

She kisses him deeply, welcoming his tongue in her mouth as she finally lets their hips connect. He’s getting hard—she revels in the fact that her mouth on his skin is the only thing that got him there. “Love that you take care of me,” she murmurs when their lips separate. Harry chases her mouth, teeth catching her bottom lip and pulling at it. She smiles, catching the corner of his mouth and moving back toward his ear, splashing kisses along the way. “Love that you protect me every time,” she whispers against his earlobe.

Harry whimpers high in his throat—the sound is a sweet tune of longing and desire to Winnie’s ears. “I’ll—fuck, I’ll do it over and over again. Love you so much, Win.”

Winnie is quick to seal her mouth to his, another moan leaving Harry as his hands find her hips and he pushes her into him. She grinds down, feeling him grow against her warmth as her tongue slides against his lips, teeth nipping and lips growing swollen. Harry’s got a beautiful flush blossoming along his cheeks, pupils blown wide and sweat shining on his forehead. He’s a sight—gorgeous, unkempt and on the edge of being devoured. And he’s all hers.

“Tell me, please,” he breathes in her mouth. “Want it.”

She nearly rolls her eyes. Harry craves the admission like it’s a drug—ever since they first said it to one another, he nearly begs for it every chance he can. “Tell you what?” she teases, quickly moving her head back when he leans forward to try and kiss her again.

“Please, my love,” Harry murmurs into her ear, his voice verging on the side of desperate. “Wanna hear you say it.”

Winnie breathes through her nose heavily when his lips find purchase on the side of her neck. She hisses when he feels his teeth pulling at the skin, then the cool wetness of his tongue soothing the mark shortly after. “You’re forever, yeah? You know I love you, H.”

“Forever,” Harry sighs against her skin, letting the word settle in her muscles. It’s a heavy word—not something to be taken lightly, nor it is something that Winnie’ll ever get used to, she reckons. Forever is starting to seem longer and longer to her, what with already being around for millions of relative forevers for other people. Everyone’s forever is different, she realizes. But theirs is a true forever. “S’the best thing in the world.”

Harry’s only still for a few more seconds before he’s mouthing up her neck again, sloppily leaving a path with his tongue until he can lick into her mouth, smoothly and roughly at the same time. It’s clear what he wants—and Winnie wants it, too, but something feels different. There’s a weight draping over their little safe house that’s making everything feel deeper, darker, more permanent.

“Gonna let me have you, then?” Winnie says lowly when their lips separate for the briefest of seconds. “Gonna let me take charge, Lieutenant?”

“Winnie,” Harry groans, hips rutting against hers now that he’s rolled on top of her. “Love, I—I need it, fuck.”

“Come on, H. You got me, yeah? It’s yours.”

And then it progresses like clockwork, but it feels entirely different every time. An eternity of giving and taking, and Winnie can never get enough. He kisses her like it’s their last few minutes on Earth when, in reality, they have all the time in the world.

#1dff #harry styles fan fiction #one direction fan fiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #eeeeeek i want to hear everyone's thoughts!!!

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rokhal · 5 years

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ANGR Meta: Let’s talk about Guero Valdez

See the blond guy? With his hands on the handles of Gabriel Reyes’ wheelchair?

That’s “Guero” Valdez, ANGR’s answer to Spider-Man’s Flash Thompson. If Flash carried a gun. He is ANGR’s most developed supporting character. He gets two arcs and major plot roles.

In the next panel, he steals Gabriel Reyes’ wheelchair. You read that right.

Major spoilers for All-New Ghost Rider issues 1 through 10.

WTF IS WRONG WITH THIS KID?????

Uh...probably a lot. We don’t know about Guero’s home life, but he’s got a big facial scar and he lives in East LA, which is, according to online gang maps, completely divided between various street gangs.

“Guero,” pronounced “Wedo,” is a nickname, a descriptor. Basically, “Blondie.” We don’t know his first name. Teachers call him by the last name alone.

Guero goes to school. He’s bright, he pays attention, and not just to the lesson--he picks up on Robbie’s mysteriously rapid healing a lot faster than Robbie does. He’s very sharp. The teacher is as quick to call on Guero as to call on Robbie. But as for ambitions:

No. Guero wants to get ahead, but he does this by selling information and later working as a foot-soldier for drug lords. Because that’s how he sees to get ahead in this world. Robbie tries to escape it, Guero tries to climb the ladder. And when he gets what he wants--money, respect, power--he shares it. With his friends and hangers-on.

There you go, two faces of Guero Valdez. Steals a wheelchair from a disabled kid and lavishes his friends with corn on the cob.

Guero also falls into short-lived hero-worship of the Ghost Rider.

This photo was taken moments before the Ghost Rider appeared to beat the shit out of these young men and take the wheelchair back.

In the second arc of ANGR, Guero becomes an even more formidable adversary than he was as an ambitious yet unstable teenager with a gun. He goes to work for a supervillain who gives all his henchmen free anabolic steroids. Really throws himself into the “be all you can be” his boss offers. He leads his street buddies in fights with cops, and comes into more direct conflict with the Ghost Rider. He even discovers Ghost Rider’s secret identity.

TBH Robbie was never very discrete. But not everyone could have put that together.

So Guero knows Robbie’s secret identity and IMMEDIATELY he gives him over to his boss to be killed.

Killed!

He even tries to do the job personally. He comes after Robbie at school with a knife, and tries to tackle the Ghost Rider later on.

Contemplate, if you will, the scope of this over-reaction. Guero discovers that his classmate, the rival that he teases, whose brother he victimized, is in fact a powerful and possibly-immortal mystical being. Instead of watching to see what his boss does, or trying to make up to Robbie for everything he’s done wrong to him, Guero attacks him. Provokes him further. So now we wonder, what is the backstory here that made this make sense to Guero?

Think back on that hero-worship. The first time Guero spoke to the Ghost Rider, offering him nothing but respect, Ghost Rider, the new local hero, savagely beat Guero and his crew without apparent provocation. Not only is Ghost Rider a rival and a threat: Ghost Rider rejected him.

What is the backstory that made stealing Gabe’s wheelchair make sense to Guero?

In an AU Secret Wars comic, Ghost Racers, versions of Robbie and Gabe live in Doomstadt. And versions of Guero and his crew are their neighbors and friends. Felipe Smith wrote both ANGR and Ghost Racers. We can think, that if circumstances for Robbie and Guero were different, they could have been friends. Perhaps they were friends, once. Perhaps Guero took Gabe Reyes wheelchair to send a message to Robbie.

Guero hates Robbie and the Ghost Rider with a heedless passion that suggests he thinks Robbie is an active threat to his crew--reasonable, given his personal experiences--and/or he wants revenge for perceived betrayal or rejection.

So after failing to effectively shank Robbie at school, Guero, armed only with a fresh dose of superpills and a pair of combat boots, tries to take on Ghost Rider by himself. This ends badly for Guero: Robbie as Ghost Rider saves him from falling off a bridge into the river (the LA River is 6 inches deep and lined in concrete---WTF????) but accidentally breaks his back.

So this is the sad story of Guero Valdez, come full circle: steals a wheelchair when he didn’t need it, winds up needing one. Tries to grab for power when it’s offered to him, gets it all taken away. Rejects the approval of those who want the best of him, gets discarded by those who wish to exploit him. Lives the jungle law red in tooth and claw, and finds himself suddenly dropping a few rungs down the food chain.

Guero shaped himself according to the demands of his environment, and his environment did not reward him. And wouldn’t you think this was unfair? If life demanded that you be tough, merciless, yet generous to your friends, brave, protective, unflinching, loyal--and rewarded you with the loss of every plan you’d ever dared make, wouldn’t you think this was unfair?

Guero served not only as a foil and antagonist for Robbie in the first two arcs of ANGR, he is a dynamic and fleshed-out character in his own right. If Felipe Smith returns to writing ANGR, I think we’d see more of Guero Valdez.

#meta #my meta #ghost rider #all-new ghost rider #robbie reyes #guero valdez #felipe smith #tradd moore #damion scott #ablism #ablist language

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kmze · 7 years

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One Hell of a Lucky Guy

Steroline (sort of?) AU future fic - prompt what if Caroline meet one of Stefan’s doppelgangers in the future. Chapters: 1

Chapter 2

Caroline paced around the main entrance of her school trying to make sense of the events from two days ago while downing her third cup of coffee that morning. Besides the needed caffeine intake her appetite was insatiable. She’d eaten a three egg western omelette, five pancakes, three waffles and more bacon then she’ll ever admit to. She knew she needed to chill, this was a completely normal occurrence after all, well “normal” being relative to the balance of magic and nature creating doppelgangers of the first original immortals, but normal none the less. This wasn’t even the first Stefan-ganger she’d encountered, thinking back to poor Tom Avery who ended up being a sacrificial lamb to the travelers decades ago.

However this was the first one after her Stefan had died, the man she’d love forever, her husband, and now he’d manifested in front of her eyes and as someone so different. I mean he gave her a bear hug and he had no idea what the right thing to say was and he was funny, not that Stefan was never funny but she could count on one hand the amount of jokes he actually made over eight years of knowing him.

Still lost in her thoughts Caroline was instantly startled by the abrupt opening of the boarding school door followed by a boisterous “Good morning Blondie!” that could only belong to one person.

“You know Damon you don’t actually live or work here so it would be polite to knock and not barge in like an overgrown gorilla unannounced all the time,” she scolded him knowing he wouldn’t care either way.

“But then I wouldn’t be privileged to seeing that annoyed like pout on my favorite sister-in-law’s face and then how could I start my day off in the proper way?” he smirked back at her crows feet adorning his eyes and his black hair having officially reached the ‘salt and pepper’ phase of mortality. “Anyway where’s your bourbon I’m thirsty and our house is out, apparently Elena thinks I drink too much.” He casual asks though he knows exactly where she keeps her secret stash in the main hall.

“Damon no! One it’s 10am and two Elena is right, you’re not an immortal vampire anymore with natural healing abilities and you saw what happened to Ric I don’t need you dying of live cancer too.” She said as she quickly vamped over to her locked liquor cabinet before he gets his hands on the key.

“Buzzkill” Damon murmured. Caroline rolled her eyes saying “anyway I need you sober because I have a crisis on my hands that I need to talk to you abou-” just as she was about to finish her sentence they heard a knock at the door.

“Well go answer the door for the civilized folk headmistress” as Damon bowing towards the door as she walked past him making sure to take the key to her liquor cabinet just in case.

“Let me just deal with this and then we need to tal-Oh my god Paul, um hi?!” Caroline tries to save her shock at the last second knowing this was not how she wanted Damon to find out about Paul “I um I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of days for Grace’s entrance tour did I send you the wrong date?” knowing full well there’s no way in hell she’d give out the wrong information.

Paul smiled that big toothy grin again before explaining “Nope you made it very clear Monday at 11am sharp this is completely impromptu on my part it’s just when I told Grace she was accepted she was so excited, knowing she’d get to be around kids just like her I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her that excited before” he said as his smile got even wider “so I just had to come by in person again to give you another thank you and these” as he revealed a bouquet of daises from behind his back “are for you.”

Caroline couldn’t help but blush and bite her bottom lip at the gesture. How the hell did he know daises were her favorite “these are lovely Paul and that’s so nice but so completely unnecessary” as she brought the flowers to her nose to take a quick sniff and noticed Paul taking a quick glance at her lips “I am just thrilled that Grace is so excited to join us and…” she suddenly heard a loud “AHEM!” from behind her snapping her out of her haze.

“Oh wow I’m sorry I knew I should have called first, I had no idea you already had a meeting with one of the other parents I should go” he quickly tried to retreat before Caroline looked behind her shoulder at the look of Damon’s face, the face of a guy who was looking at a ghost. Paul seemed to notice the look Damon was giving him and instantly Caroline heard his heartbeat pick up the pace wondering why this guy was looking at him like he either wanted him dead or he should be dead.

Even if this wasn’t how Caroline wanted to break the news to Damon it did give her some pleasure that it made him just as uneasy as it did her. “Oh no he’s not a parent that’s just Damon, Damon Salvatore.”

“Oh god I just made this even worse I should have known this I mean you have a ring on your finger of course you’re married and here I am bringing flowers to a married woman I really have no tact at all just I should go before I make this worse. Just please don’t take my insensitively out on Grace.” Paul quickly tried to run away as fast as he could before Caroline interjected “Oh GOD NO Damon isn’t my husband, ew” she made a nauseated shake to emphasize the point.

Paul let out a slight sigh of relief before Caroline continued “Damon is my brother-in-law, my late husband’s much much older brother, this” she points to her ring “is my widow’s ring, I had it made after he passed” she tried to smile to somehow relieve the awkwardness filling the room.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, my wife – Grace’s mom – she passed away too during childbirth” he took a slight pause before saying and Caroline realized then why things had probably been so hard on Grace her whole life. It’s one thing to lose your mother before you even meet her but knowing it was while giving birth to you is the kind of devastation no one should ever have to face especially a child.

Suddenly taking her out of her thoughts Paul brought his focus back to her “I’m sorry for your loss Caroline” as he reached for her hand and gave it a slight reassuring squeeze and suddenly the entire room disappeared and all she could think about was Stefan taking her hand outside her Mom’s house when she thanked him for being there for her when her Mom was sick. He began to draw circles around her hand and offered a comforting smile and Caroline couldn’t help but turn her attention to her hand while letting out a slight gasp.

“My loss too correct, hi I still exist” Damon interrupted their haze before reaching for Paul’s hand forcing him to let go of Caroline’s to give it a firm imposing shake staring at him dead in the eyes to the point he must have seen his soul.

“Of course man how rude of me, name’s Paul Corbett really great to meet you” he said shaking Damon’s hand “but let me stop imposing on your family time I just wanted to stop by and thank Caroline again, really amazing job you’ve both done with the place I’m sure your brother would be proud, I’ll see you on Monday Caroline” he beamed a smile at her before closing the door behind him.

As the door shut completely Caroline lifted the daises to her nose taking a nice long sniff again before they were rudely knocked out of hands by her jerk of a brother-in-law “Damon! There’s no need to take your anger out on the flowers, they’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong huh? They were brought here by evil, the most nefarious evil we’ve encountered Carebear and that is including the literal devil himself, a doppelganger! My god I hate that word. I never wanted to have to think let alone utter that word again and now here it is again haunting me, plaguing me masquerading around as my dead brother, hitting on his wife, to haunt the last of my pathetic human existence because my life will never know peace.” Damon groaned “I’m in hell aren’t I? I already died and this is hell I knew they’d open it back up.”

Caroline smacked the side of his head “Damon stop being so dramatic, you’re alive you’re not in hell and this is just a bizarre coincidence. I mean Paul being a doppelganger means he’s a descendant of Silas who was a witch which explains why his daughter is a witch.”

“Well then what explains the heart eyes and the flowers then?” Damon said sternly folding his arms. Caroline let out a huff “he is not giving my heart eyes okay he was just being nice, I know that’s a foreign concept for you” she said “everything will be fine this is a strictly professional relationship” Caroline raises her index finger and digs it into Damon’s chest “and you of all people have no right to judge me for being caught off guard by someone who looks exactly like someone you love.”

Damon scoffed before removing her finger from his chest “Whatever, just keep it professional I already need to find a way to erase this mornings scene from my memory I don’t need more added on.” Damon walked towards the kitchen Caroline shaking her head knowing her attempts at keeping Damon sober today just flew out the window while following along with him.

Stefan stands quiet and as still as a mannequin, not that it would matter since no one can see or hear him anyway, as he watches Caroline’s latest encounters with the splitting image of himself. Caroline, his wife, his beautiful, selfless, amazing wife, he watches over everyday making sure she was happy and if he’s being honest sometimes just to remind him what peace is.

He wants her to be happy, he wants her to find someone who’ll love her the way she deserves to be loved the way he loves her. He’s seen her have a few flings over the years but he can tell none of the have really been enough for her. Watching her now though he sees that spark back in her eyes even if she doesn’t, and he of all people knows the effect a doppelganger can have. At least Paul seems like a good guy from what he’s seen, loving father, polite and respectable, annoys Damon, makes Caroline laugh and smile. But despite all of that he can’t help but have a bitter taste in his mouth thinking that it can’t, that it should be him to giving that to her.

Suddenly Stefan feels a familiar chin on his shoulder as his best friend, his saving grace over here settles behind knowing that he’s brooding, that he’s always brooding these days it seems.

“Do you ever think about how we’ve found peace only for the universe to pop up and say ‘are you sure about that one’ and then you’re forced to question the existence of peace all over again” Stefan sighed “because same.”

Suddenly Lexi puts both hands on Stefan’s shoulder’s and spins him around shaking him slightly “oh no not this again, broody Stefan died in hellfire thirty years ago this is supposed to be upbeat finally-found-peace Stefan who’s happy that his wife is living her life to fullest until she finds her way back to him and is enjoying every second he gets to spend with his amazing gorgeous best friend in a place where literally nothing bad can happen to him.”

Stefan smiles slightly “look I am happy for Caroline, really I am I don’t want her to be alone or to not find love again but…” he takes a slight pause “seeing it happen with someone who looks exactly like me makes it even harder not to realize it should be me, I should be the one giving her daises and making her smile and giving her a reassuring hand squeeze.”

“Stefan don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic, which of course for you is telenovela level dramatic, about this I mean nothing even happened? Maybe he’s just a nice guy who’s showing his gratitude for her helping his daughter?”

“Lexi I have been madly in love with Caroline Elizabeth Forbes-Salvatore for over thirty-five years and therefore I am an expert in knowing when someone is in love with her” Stefan takes a deep breath “he’s in love with her even if he doesn’t realize it yet” Stefan says thinking back to himself and how long it took for him to realize his feelings were there for years before he finally told her “I mean who wouldn’t be?”

#steroline #steroline fanfic #steroline au fic #my fics #one hell of a lucky guy #as always leave comments I tried to get this up asap since I can only update on weekends

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xxcherrycherixx · 5 months

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thinking about my super fucked up girlies from my immortal blondie AU

god they are my go to when it comes to craving some good angst, blondie is a depressed husk of herself mourning her old life and family and cupid is her obsessive captor wife.

blondie shatters another window, cupid gets stabbed. it doesn't do anything to her except hurt a fuck ton until it heals, cupid gets even more fucked up after the experience.

the heart necklace is from cupid, a "gift" that shows how much she owns loves blondie.

#ever after high #c.a cupid #blondie lockes #heartlockes

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xxcherrycherixx · 5 months

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Femslash feburary

Prompt: Black

Ship: c.a cupid x Blondie lockes

Warnings: this is all angst buddy. grief and mourning, suicidal ideation, unhealthy relationships, unhappy/neutral ending. Implied past kidnapping. Divorce but extreme LMAO

I had to bring my angsty immortal blondie au back baby

Blondie had always thought black never suited her, The colour too harsh in contrast against her light skin and golden hair. her mother had always thought her more suited to beautiful soft pastels.

Yet today she stands dressed in black. Its customary of course to wear black to a funeral, especially when it's the funeral of those that were closest to you. She's not attending an official funeral, those had happened a long time ago.

But she hadn't been there.

And so she finds it only fair to do the things she should have back then, to don proper mourning attire to show that she had cared, to cry over the now weathered tombstones and pray that her family now know that she had wanted to be there to say goodbye.

The stems of the flowers in her hand are limp from where she had been gripping them so tightly, she hopes that they don't mind the imperfections. She knows her mother had been a perfectionist, its where she herself had gotten the trait from. She looks to the tombstones beside her mothers, she wonders if she had passed down that trait to any of them.

She wipes her eyes with the long sleeves of her dress, she’s sure that the action has most likely made her mascara go everywhere even if she can't see any against the dark fabric. But for once she can't find it in herself to worry about her appearance, it's just her here.

Alone.

She sets a flower down upon each grave, there's no other flowers or mementos left anymore, anyone else who would have visited is long gone. Part of her wishes she had brought more flowers, enough to cover the section of the graveyard and fill it with colour, fill it with visible proof of her love, fill it with all her apologies that are much too late.

She looks to the other side of her mothers grave, at the daunting rock that sits there. Engraved with her name,

Her forever empty grave. She had been presumed dead after she had been taken, no one could track her nor find any clues that would suggest she had merely ran off, and the reports from neighbours of hearing her and cupid screaming at each other just before they both disappeared had painted a rather dark picture. and when days turned to weeks and weeks turned to years with not even a whisper of her and cupid’s whereabouts-

It was the most logical conclusion.

She wonders what her funeral had been like, how many people attended and who gave a speech about her. Her family would have been there. Even though they knew her body wasn't in that coffin, they would have still mourned her like she was.

She wonders what its like inside the coffin they chose, did they pick blue or yellow to line it, velvet or silk. Knowing her mother she would have probably wanted to theme the funeral in her favourite pastel shades, the colours she said had always made her look the liveliest.

Her hand digs into the grass that covers it, pulling fistfulls of dirt up, she wants to know what it looks like, she wants to know what it felt like. How it would feel to rest in the ground beside her loved ones like she was always meant to.

“Honey, a shovel is a much better tool for digging than your hands, look at how much you've already hurt yourself” blondie looks up to cupid, the goddess leaning with her forearms against the tombstone. Blondie doesn’t look down to her hands, there's a wet sensation that already tells her enough about what kind of damage she has done to herself. Cupid gives her a concerned look “Are you crying? Why?” Cupid peeks over the tombstone to read what's written “oh” cupid makes a disgruntled face before slipping back on a caring smile, standing to swing her legs over the tombstone and stand on top of the half dug grave. Blondie watches as cupid then sits down on top of the stone, her legs now purposefully covering the engravings.

“I think we should head home, i know i should be pretty used to spooky stuff but this place gives me the heebie jeebies” she ends it with a giggle but it comes off as obviously fake and uncomfortable. When blondie doesn't speak to her she starts to gently kick the dug up dirt back into place, a frown on her face as she stamps it down with the bottom of her shoe.

For a while they just sit there, blondie continuing to ignore cupid as the other girl waits for her to finally be ready to leave. “The dress is pretty, i dont think ive ever seen you wear black before. It kind of suits you, makes your hair stand out like real gold”

“My mother always said i looked best in pastels” blondie’s tone is quiet and devoid of life as she speaks. Cupid seems surprised by blondie talking to her, she hurriedly tries to continue the conversation in hopes her wife will keep speaking to her “you've always looked so beautiful in pastels, they give you such a sweet look. But I think you just naturally look good in any colour, i really liked that pretty ultramarine dress that you used to wear when we went out on fancy dinner dates. You would always pair it with your best gold jewellery and it would make you look so regal” cupid smiles as she reminisces “ i remember so many people looking at you in awe whenever you wore it, i would always feel pride in knowing that i had the most breathtaking woman as my wife”

“ that dress is gone” cupid's smile drops at blondies reply “ we can get a new on-“ “my jewellery is gone, the people who use to look at me are gone, the restaurants we would go to are gone, our date nights are gone, our love is gone” blondie rises to her feet,

Cupid follows suit “you don't mean th-“ “my family is gone, my freedom is gone, my life is gone”

Cupid looks like she wants to start crying, but she stands straight and looks blondie in the eyes with defeat “ you're right, it’s all gone. I took it all away from you, I know that. I can't give them back to you, i can't give you back the life you had, the life WE had. Those things are gone forever, dead and rotting right beneath our feet.” Blondie jumps as cupid’s foot slams into the gravestone she had been sitting on, the stone cracking and breaking with every hard kick until only a pile of rocks is left,

The engravings that read out blondie’s name are now completely unintelligible.

“I can't give you what you want, i cant give you what you lost, i can't give you death. But i can still try to give you back your freedom.” Blondie looks at her in confusion, her guard still up as the other girl approaches and takes hold of her sore and damaged hands “ you can leave. You can go off and wander the world, try to find a new life with all the things you miss from your old life. You can leave and never have to see me again.” Tears fall unbidden down her cheeks as she continues “I love you, i don't want to make you hurt anymore. I can't stand the way you look at me with pure hatred anymore, I don't want you to spend eternity forced to suffer beside me.”

Cupid drops her hands gently, stepping back to give her space “you can choose to do whatever you want, i won't stop you.” Blondie takes a step back, untrusting that cupid will keep her word. When the other girl doesnt do anything more, she runs.

Her black dress flowing behind her and her lungs burning, she runs.

Behind her she doesn't notice cupid crumple to the ground and weep. She only focuses on escaping.

#ever after high #c.a cupid #blondie lockes #heartlockes

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