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sequinsmile-x · 3 years ago

Note

BIRTHDAYS!!! july is the best birthday month and everyone has to agree otherwise we’ll cry because we are Cancers. i’m requesting a super fluffy fluff fluff combo of #1 from list one and #1 & #7 from list two, ideally in a post-divorce pre-foyet era because that when emily has the best hair imo.

happy bday, almost birthday twin 💝🎂🥳

RIGHT BACK AT YOU, LOVE.

So, this kind of accidentally became chapter 2 of Maximum Gain, and I'm not sorry about it.

The prompts are:

“I thought you left” “Nope, just making pancakes”/“You look really good in my clothes”/“I could just stare at you forever” “Creep”

@sneetchestoo also requested the first one, and it is actually her birthday today!! So happy birthday, Bee :)

To send me a prompt, find the info here!

(Also, this makes me total word count on ao3 over 750k words…)

-x-

Maximum Gain - Chapter 2

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: None. Hella fluffy as requested!

Read over on AO3, or below the cut

Aaron wakes up alone, something unusual these days, the other side of the bed usually occupied by his sleeping girlfriend.

They’d been close to inseparable since Colorado, echoes of her cries of pain reverberating around his head when she wasn’t within his line of sight, panic clawing up his throat that she was in danger. She struggled with nightmares, memories of the beating she had taken haunting her in the middle of the night, Aaron’s calming presence, his soft touch, the only thing that could rid her of the ghost of Cyrus’s fists.

In the almost two months that had passed they’d stopped pretending they didn’t share a room on cases, made easier now that the team knew about them. Their fierce embrace outside of the compound giving away whatever hopes they had left of keeping their relationship a secret.

Aaron was grateful that they’d waited until most of Emily’s injuries had healed before they started teasing them, her brusies fading away completely within the first few weeks. He’d still find himself staring at cut on her arm, the scar still red and raised, guilt simmering under his skin. Her ribs still hurt her occasionally, her hand pressed into her side if she moved too quickly or in a certain direction, her pain subtle to everyone except him.

He stretches as he gets out of bed, seeking Emily out. It was rare she got out of bed before him, but it was especially rare on a weekend. Two days just the two of them stretched out in front of them, and a tiny, irrational, part of him wonders if he’ll walk out to find a note from her saying she had to pop home, that she’d let him carry on sleeping.

She was always telling him that he needs to relax more.

He walks into his kitchen, smiling at the sight of Emily at the kitchen counter, a bowl in front of her with the ingredients for pancakes spread out, a cookbook he’d forgotten he owned in her hands.

"Good morning," he says quietly, not wanting to startle her. She looks up at him, clearly already having heard him enter the room, a wide smile on her face. He walks over and briefly wraps his arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple as he walks past her to put the coffee machine on. “I thought you left.”

"Nope, just making pancakes," she replies, setting the book down as she pours the milk into the pancake batter, stirring it a little too enthusiastically making it splatter all over her pyjamas. Her old Yale t-shirt and sleep shorts get covered as she shrieks. She glares at him when he chuckles, sighing as she puts the spoon down, “or at least, I’m trying to make pancakes.”

He stands next to her, wiping a bit of batter off of her cheek with his thumb before he kisses her, stamping another in quick succession against her lips.

“It’s in your hair.” He says, smirking at her. “Go get changed,” he whispers, kissing her again, “I’ll get breakfast started.”

She smiles at him and nods, “Ok.”

“Put your stuff in the hamper, I need to do some laundry anyway,” He says as she walks away and she hums in agreement. He loved the domesticity of days like this, that they did each other's laundry, that the number of belongings they had at each other's apartments kept on growing.

He licks the pancake batter off his thumb and grimaces at the taste. He looks down at the bowl and wonders what on earth she could have put in there to make it taste so off, especially since she’d clearly been attempting to follow instructions. He throws the batter away, washes the bowl and starts again, already partway through cooking them when she re-emerges from his bedroom. Her hair is wet, curling at the ends, and she’s wearing one of his button-down shirts and a pair of his socks.

“Oh they smell good,” she says as she reaches him, leaning against his back as she wraps her arms around his waist.

“I added chocolate chips just for you.”

She groans, “You’re the best.” She presses a kiss to his shoulder before she moves away from him, reaching for plates from the cabinet, another moment that showed just how comfortable she was in his home making his heart seize in his chest. She turns around and catches him staring at her, and she raises an amused brow at him. “What?”

“You look really good in my clothes.” He says, watching as her skin flushes at his compliment, her alabaster skin tinged pink.

She smiles at him, handing him the plates so he could serve their breakfast. “Stop being a sap and feed me.”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

___

She’s so happy that the pancakes taste good, a proud smile she doesn’t even try to hide as she tells him she’s never made them before, that he can’t bring himself to tell her he remade the batter. Nothing but affection and what he knew was love for her spreading through his veins, the words he had pushed down for weeks threatening to break free.

They settle together on the couch after they’ve eaten, the tv on for nothing but background noise, the pair of them happy just be with each other. Emily eventually shifts so she isn’t sitting next to him anymore, and settles so her head is in his lap. He smiles down at her, one of his hands playing with her hair as the other falls to her bare thigh, her skin soft beneath his palm.

“You keep looking at me like that.” She says, her eyes meeting his, her bottom lip in between her teeth.

“Like what?” He asks, his hand still moving through her hair.

“Like you could stare at me forever.”

He smiles at her, his knuckles running down her cheeks. “I could just stare at you forever”

“Creep.” She replies, a fond smile on her face counteracting the false disgust she’d injected into her voice. She grabs his hand on her cheek and links their fingers, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

Suddenly, all the reasons he’d had for not telling her exactly how he felt. Any concern that it was too fast, that she might not feel the same way melts away, and he needs her to know as soon as possible..

“I was thinking,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “when I have Jack next weekend you should come over for dinner. I think it’s time for you to meet.”

It was the only time they were apart these days, when he spent time with his son. He wanted to ensure he handled it correctly, that the introduction wasn’t done too quickly for anyone involved. He’d mentioned it to Haley the last time he saw her, a tentative question that she answered positively. Their relationship was better than it had been in years, and she was genuinely happy for him, pleased that he had found someone who understood him better than she ever had.

Emily looks at him like he’s lost his mind, an amused smile on her face as she squeezes his hand in hers.

“I’ve already met him, honey.”

He smiles at the memory. Haley had brought a still very small Jack into the office shortly after Emily had started, the baby boy enamoured with her almost immediately, her knack with children clear from the start.

“I know,” he replies, taking in a steady breath as he carries on, “but I want him to meet you as the woman I love.”

She sits up suddenly, wincing as she does. Her hand flies to her side where her worst bruising had been weeks ago.

“Shit, sweetheart are you-”

She bats his hands away as they cover hers over her ribs, her eyes wide as she looks at him.

“What did you just say?” She asks, her voice shaky, a sheen to her eyes he knows she’d deny.

Aaron doesn’t try to cover his smile, his cheeks aching with it. “I love you, Emily.”

It takes a second, one of the longest of his life, but a smile spreads over her face too, a small laugh escaping her as she cups his face, her thumbs pressing into his dimples.

“I love you too.” She replies, almost in a whisper, before she leans forward to press her lips to his, pushing everything she felt for him into it, her arms curling around his neck as she settles into his lap. She pulls back and rests her forehead against his. “I love you,” she repeats, another kiss lost to their smiles, “so fucking much.”

He bands his arms around her a little tighter, and she curls into his embrace. Almost as if she was trying to crawl under his skin, take her place next to his heart, the place that could only ever be for her.

He isn’t sure how much time has passed when she talks, her words muffled against his t shirt.

“Whilst we’re making confessions,” she says, pulling back to look at him, her fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck, “can I tell you something?”

“Anything, Em,” he replies, pressing his lips to her forehead, “you know that.”

She beams at him, and he doesn’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful. Wearing just his shirt, her hair frizzing from where it had dried naturally, curled up in his lap like she was meant to be there, like they’d been made for each other.

“I know you switched out the pancake batter.”

-x-

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#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #fluff

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gwen-ever · 4 years ago

Text

Until My Last Breath (Prologue)

Summary: When Smaug arrived, he not only killed the dwarves of Erebor, but he also destroyed the lives of the few who survived... whether he did it on purpose or not.After a hundred years, a part of Thorin's past will come back to haunt him in the form of a dwarf who last knocks on the door of Bilbo Baggins' house, resurrecting old grudges and the pain of a life no one wants to talk about. Geira, daughter of Geiri, is anything but an open book, an exiled who no one wants around, a warrior who has no one to fight for, but only an oath she must fulfil.

Relationships: Thorin x FemaleOC

Rating: M

Warnings: none.

AO3 LINK: HERE

Note Number I: English is not my first language, I have a wonderful beta @lathalea <3 (i am so much greatful you can't even imagine) but maybe I will mess up few times.

Note Number II: The Story takes place during the quest but there is a whole backstory that starts since Thorin's childhood so there are going to be a lot of flashbacks. THEY ARE NOT IN A CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER so the whole back story could be guessed but will be explained later in the story.

Note Number III: I will mix up the book events and the movie events, fixing what where (from my point of view) some mistakes were made. I have decided to do so simply because there are some lacks of infos here and there and so many lost possibilities in some actionless time, as happened in Mirkwood and Laketown.

I am blood of your blood, and bone of your bone, stone of your stone

I gift you my body so it can fall instead of yours.

I give you my soul so it can wait for yours in the Great Halls.

I lend you my voice so it can order your commands

I present you my sword so it can slay the ones who wish to harm you.

No other dwarf will be mine, no other dwarf will own me,

no one will sleep next to me, no life will come out from the womb of mine.

No one I will serve over the crown, over the Seven Stars, over the Father of all fathers, over the King of all Kings.

I offer myself to you, until the end of times, until the mountains soar to the sky,

until all the blood dries, until the fires of Mahal’s forge blaze high.

Until my last breath, until my last glance, until my last blow,

until the last time my hands touch the rock our Father gave to us,

my life is yours and your wish is mine.

--------------------------------------------------

The house of Bilbo Baggins was more crowded than usual that evening, and the owner was more than a little disconcerted: not only had his peace of mind been disturbed, not only was his larder completely, utterly, depleted, but his kitchen, indeed his whole house, was overrun with dwarves! Thirteen dwarves! Plus a wizard he had met in the morning whom he barely knew and had marked the door with a rune, thanks to which his guests had recognised the Hobbit's dwelling. Truly, Bilbo Baggins did not know how to begin to drive them out, he had been trying since the first one (Dwalin, if he remembered correctly) had walked in through the round door, obviously without being heard by any of them.

Crockery, knives, pots and pans, everything had begun to fly from one side of the room to the other without ever stopping. He tried more than once to stop them, without ever succeeding! At that moment his Took blood was more useless than a fork when eating soup. In fact, his Baggins blood had gotten the better of him, leading him to accept the situation with no small amount of annoyance, including those black strokes on his yellow walls and the fragments of food scattered on the floor. Oh, not to mention his good wine, totally gone! It had taken him hours to sort out his pantry between days before and now all his food, all his tomatoes, all his wine, all his cheese, everything, gone, vanished, and it was not even the time for the spring solstice party yet!

And now, or in heaven's name, now Gandalf had even had the courage to tell him that he would have to get used to them! To all of them! To the twelve dwarves in his kitchen! And what on earth did the wizard mean by saying that he would have to put up with them forever!

Annoyed, he began to walk down the corridor arguing with Gandalf and putting his hands on his hips.

"I don't understand what they are doing in my house!" he shouted, raising his voice.

The wizard didn't reply, but a small voice behind him did and before he knew it his entire set of porcelains was in the air. His cutlery was being knocked over his table. Knife blades were being dulled by their rubbing against fork handles, and before he knew it, in time to the music, his entire kitchen set was flying through the air. Oh no, no no no, not that chair, no, not that plate, no not that other plate! No, stop, please!

His pleas were soaring through the air, as if they were leaves on a wind, as were his dishes. And Gandalf sat smoking his pipe on a chair with an amused smile while all this happened before his eyes. Bilbo ran to the kitchen to put an end to this madness, but as soon as he did so, he noticed to his surprise that all the things that had been flying over his head until just now were neatly stacked on top of each other on his kitchen table.

He blinked, several times adjusting his braces, unable to believe his eyes.

The dwarves seemed highly amused by his reaction, and began to laugh, until three knocks on the door brought silence and an icy air that he could feel all the way down to his hobbit ankles.

"He is here," Gandalf said.

From the doorway a short while later another dwarf entered and it didn't take him long to realise that he was different, very different from the others who had entered his home moments before. Every single beard turned to face the newcomer as he walked inside.

Bilbo didn't know who it was and he didn't even really care, no one would enter his house unannounced, no one.

But he couldn't admit that his blood ran cold in his veins as soon as that dwarf started talking to him and asking him all those strange questions. What did he mean by axe or sword? Did he really believe that a hobbit like him had ever picked up either weapon? Who did he think he was? He could not hide his confusion at the last statement of the so-called Thorin Oakenshield.

"He looks more of a grocer than a burglar," he joked.

It was all too absurd for Bilbo's poor hobbit ears, all so surreal! His life, monotonous and lonely until a few hours ago, was now changing, he could feel it in his bones, and he could not understand if it was a good thing or not: he had always dreamed of adventure when he was a young hobbit, but now it was different; the walls of his home were so comforting and safe, every object was a certainty for him. His life was there and he would never leave it, no sir!

Calmness, however, continued to reign for a long time, during which the largest of the dwarves, with a long red beard, went to his kitchen and with an almost surreal care began to prepare a soup. Thorin Oakenshield sat down at the head of the table and was soon joined by the oldest of the dwarves who had entered his house, Balin, and two of the youngest, the two brothers Fili and Kili.

They began to talk in low voices, in a calm and quiet tone, just like everyone else in his house. It seemed absurd, but at least he was able to sort out some of the leftovers that had been left behind in the kitchen back in his own larder and eavesdrop, even if he didn't want to (it was rude) on some of the conversations that various small groups of dwarves were having. The ties of kinship were quickly understood, as was the realisation that Thorin was not really just another dwarf. No more plate was flying, no more song was being sung, but not out of fear, out of respect.

He turned his head, watching the almost regal profile as he spoke to the bear who came into the house first, but he could not hear what they were talking about, the fact was that their faces were dark, and Dwalin's eyes moved insistently over him.

A short while later Bombur returned with the soup, handing it to Thorin, and in the blink of an eye the groups of dwarves in his house were grouped together again, sitting around the table. He wasn't invited, that's normal, there's a meeting in a house and the owner of that house isn't invited! Not that he cared, of course not, the apple he was putting in the basket in the kitchen was certainly more interesting.

But he couldn't help but listen.

"What news from the Ered Luin, did they all come?" asked the older dwarf.

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," the voice of Thorin spoke, setting off a round of small laughs and joyful murmurs.

"And what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?"

A long wait ensued in which Bilbo swore he could hear the heart of every single dwarf in the room beating wildly.

"They will not come,"

The dwarf's reply was sharp and decisive. Disconsolate murmurs rose from his dining room that only increased in volume and quantity when he spoke again. "They said this quest is ours and ours alone,"

They began to talk in low voices, in a calm and quiet tone, just like everyone else in his house. It seemed absurd, but at least he was able to sort out some of the leftovers that had been left behind in the kitchen back in his own larder and eavesdrop, even if he didn't want to (it was rude) on some of the conversations that various small groups in that group were having. The ties of kinship were quickly understood, as was the realisation that Thorin was not really just another dwarf. No more flying plates, no more singing songs, but not out of fear, out of respect.

A coughing noise, however, stopped the murmurs and caused Bilbo to turn to the table from behind the kitchen wall as well, distracting himself from his chores. Gandalf settled into the small chair and began to search the sleeve of his grey robe.

"This indeed, it is not entirely true," he explained as he slowly pulled a long wooden pipe from his sleeve. "There is someone else who has yet to arrive," the sorcerer explained, barely looking Thorin in the eye.

For all the pipe weed in the world, again?

The dwarf at the head of the table stopped sipping from his goblet of ale, giving him a sidelong glance but remained silent. Instead, the dwarf named Gloin spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. "This means yet another division of profit, all of which should have been agreed upon first." he muttered.

"Agreed, this matter should have been dealt with weeks ago," Dori pinned, pulling himself up.

Gandalf did not even look up at the elder dwarf, adjusting the tobacco in his pipe. "My decision was made after our meeting in the Ered Luin. And Master Gloin, I think that our member does not wish any of that gold in that Mountain."

"Who is it?" grunted Dwalin suspiciously, looking up at the wizard who lit his pipe with his fingertips.

Bofur chuckled under his big black mustache, puffing an avalanche of white smoke from the side of his mouth. "Another burglar?"

"A burglar for the burglar," Fili grinned at the back of the room.

"A burglar made for the burglar," Kili added and their banter invited the murmurs from just before. This time, however, they were louder, more confused, as was his hobbit head.

A torrent of questions flooded the room as they all asked questions of the wizard, who, bewildered, tried to answer; only Thorin's intervention put an end to the commotion created, shouting warnings in their native tongue. Then he turned to the sorcerer himself, glancing at him.

"The questions that have arisen around this table are fair," he began earnestly, "I have not been informed of any others, none of this was a part of the bargain, Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled with the side of his mouth taking a puff of his pipe. "I was told to find the fourteenth member of this company and so I did, the addition of a fifteenth should not be an unsolvable problem."

"As I said it wasn't in the agreements and last minute clauses at a time like this are not convenient, not at all," retorted the dwarf bringing silence again.

Bilbo looked at the dwarves, clouded by the smoke from the pipes and the warmth of the candles around the table. They looked at each other's hands or watched Thorin in silence, not uttering a breath.

Gandalf put down his pipe and crossed his arms on the table, moving slightly closer to the dwarf with long raven hair.

"I assure you that my choice was not taken lightly, and if I had thought it was right a few months ago I would have reported it to you back then. But it was not possible," Gandalf lowered the tone of his voice even further. "You must trust me on this."

"Is this person crucial to what we must accomplish?" he asked quietly, looking straight into his eyes.

The wizard murmured a small "yes" between his lips, nodding his head slightly as he continued to look the dwarf lord straight in the eye.

Thorin said nothing, watched the wizard for a few more seconds before letting himself go off the back of his chair and then he took a sip of ale from his mug again. The conversation had ended in a few simple sentences, yet Bilbo noticed how the wizard continued to look at Thorin insistently.

Gandalf brushed his gloves around his hands with his fingertips dropping his gaze downwards for a few seconds before turning his head back towards him.

"Bilbo, my dear fellow," he called to him in a manner far more cheerful than his face was capable of showing. "Let us have a little more light".

----/////----

A snort passed her lips.

She was dreadfully late, which she hated from the bottom of her heart; and she hated the fact that she was going to a strange house of a Hobbit whose identity she did not know, although after all those years she had become accustomed to being in the homes of strangers quite often. Perhaps the real reason for her stomach clenching was not whose house it was but who she was supposed to meet in that house and the reason why she was going to that house. Because when she would see them again, all of them , it would not be pleasant or easy.

Far from it.

She didn't even think it would ever happen, nor did he want it to happen again.

She slung her sack over her shoulder as she climbed up the little dirt road, passing funny grass-covered houses by the round door: if it had been daytime, a riot of colours would have accompanied her path and perhaps, for a few minutes, she would not have thought about the imminent meeting.

She would have stopped for a few brief moments on that bench next to the path and sat there for a short while, perhaps lighting her pipe or watching those very peaceful people go about their simple business. Watching them do simple, mechanical things, perhaps in another life she might even have stayed in such a place, in peace, with someone. But no, too many years had passed, she had seen too much, heard too much, and she would not be able to live like that, not there.

Suddenly, a faint pale light caught her attention: she approached it and, with a thump in her heart, recognised the rune that the sorcerer had traced so that they could all see it. She reached the garden and climbed the small steps that led to the round green door. She ran a hand over her leather bodice and gathered in her heart all the emotions she could possibly feel.

Hatred, fury, pain and anger, so much anger.

She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the voices she could hear through the door. Taking a deep breath to calm her already jangled nerves, she knocked, hearing a great commotion and excited voices from inside.

The door suddenly opened, and it was the sorcerer himself who filled her field of vision: he broke into a rather smug smile, proud to have been right for the umpteenth time.

He knew she would come at last.

She had met him only a few weeks before and he was exactly as the rumours said. Gandalf's every move was studied and planned and, who knows why, everything corresponded to the plan he had devised; how every cog in that mechanism worked was a great mystery. Yet for that, she could not but admire him.

So, after he had silently nodded his head, she entered the cosy, warm house that smelled of good food and wine and was lit by the soft light of candles; she followed him into a corridor and the smell of ashes and moss entered her nostrils, as well as that of processed tobacco and malt. In a few steps she found herself in front of a small room where, around a table, were crammed all the others who, as soon as they glimpsed their new guest, assumed the most surprised and astonished expressions she had ever seen. Their faces turned pale, their beards seemed to stretch to the floor, and none of them dared say a word. Only one of them stood up so fast that he knocked over the stool on which he was sitting, irate.

"What is she doing here?!"

The rumble of thunder rumbled through the room and like a thunderbolt it brought to light old hidden shadows, old whispered words, broken oaths.

--------------------------------------------------

You're blood of my blood, bone of my bone, stone of my stone,

I embrace your body to let it protect me

I take your soul and forge for it a place next to me in the Great Halls

I take your voice which I will hear above all others

I take your sword and I present you my shield which will protect you from my enemies.

No other dwarf will be yours, no other dwarf you will serve,

no one will keep you company at night, no life will come out from you.

No one you will serve over me, over the Seven Stars, over the Father of all fathers, over the King of all Kings.

I offer myself to your hands until the start to the end, until the skies fall on the ground,

until all the bones crack, until the fires of Mahal’s forge blaze high.

Until my last breath, until my last glance, until my last blow,

until the last time my hands touch the rock our Father gave to us

my desires are yours, your pain is mine.

#thorin #thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #thorin fic #thorin fanfiction #the hobbit fan fiction #king under the mountain #quest of erebor #middle earth #middle earth fic

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shrunkyclunksbang · 4 years ago

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(Although Rest of the Line already did the hard work of including the team info above, a text version is also included below)

Title: The Soul Healed

Posting Date: July 9, 2021

Author: Jill [AO3] [Twitter]

Artist: Rest of the Line [Twitter] [Instagram]

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairings: Captain America Steve Rogers / Modern Bucky Barnes ; Sam Wilson / Natasha Romanov ; Peggy Carter / Angie Martinelli

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort; Shrunkclunks; Recovery; Professor Bucky; older Bucky; Steve Rogers, A Man Out of Time; Dostoevsky

Summary:

Bucky is a professor of Russian literature at Georgetown. He should feel pleased and happy with himself, being well settled in his career by 41, but his past haunts him. His wounds, from a harrowing experience with HYDRA a year prior, are not quite healing, and his friends are worried for him.

Steve Rogers is Captain America. That seems to be the only thing people know about him now that he has been thawed. Every person he knew is gone, and he is having a hard time finding himself in this new century.

They both find something in each other when Steve attends one of Bucky’s lectures on Dostoevsky. Maybe together, they will help each other heal, but with HYDRA still lurking around Bucky, will they be given the chance to?

Excerpt:

They stood there, and Bucky realized that Steve had just been staring at him this entire time. “Um, I brought us breakfast, if you want. Because I thought. Well, I know last night was weird and awkward, and I totally understand if you are mad, but I figured you needed to know. Why I freaked out. So, I was going to tell you. This morning. If you like.” Bucky ended lamely, wishing the earth would take pity on him and just swallow him whole.

It seemed like everything finally clicked for Steve. He looked down at the package of breakfast he was now holding and then back up to Bucky’s face, “Yes. Please, come in.” Steve moved out of the way, and Bucky walked in sheepishly. How am I going to get through this? I don’t want to have to tell him this. I don’t want him to see this much of me. What if Brock was right? I am messed up. This isn’t normal. And even if this is normal, who would want it?

“Want to sit down? I was just getting myself some coffee.”

“Coffee would be great,” Bucky agreed as he sat at Steve’s small kitchen table. He picked at the corner of it idly. “Steve, I am really sorry about last night.”

“No don’t worry –”

“Please don’t tell me not to worry about it. That isn’t what I wanted to do. I wanted to keep kissing you. To have you stay over with me and celebrate the success of the night. But, well, it wasn’t a good night for me, and I want to tell you why.”

#shrunkyclunks #steve rogers/bucky barnes #stevebucky #stucky #steve/bucky #shrunkyclunks bang #2021 shrunkyclunks fun #2021 previews

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hahahax30 · 4 years ago

Link

So I did something...

I’ve been quite busy for a while. Part of it is because school‘s stressful and even during ‘vacations’ I had to study, but I’ve also been working on a personal project of mine: an original fic. The thing’s completely done, and I have begun posting it on AO3 biweekly. So, if any of you is interested, I’ll leave the general info, synopsis and link to the first chapter here:

General info: Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s), Original Female Character(s) of Color, Original Human Character(s), Original Female Human Character(s), Original Male Human Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Victorian era, Superpowers, Violence, Past Violence, Death, Child Death, Original Character Death(s), Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Period-Typical Homophobia, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Black Character(s), Asian Character(s), Kidnapping, POV Multiple Series: Part 1 of The Kinship Chronicles

Summary:

Coraline Everitt has a secret. She’s able to split her body into two forms —one visible, the other not. Why? No idea, but Cal does know something: no one in her family is like her. Thankfully, she is used to her oddity, and by now, only worries about her friend’s bizarre girlfriend, not having enough books, and cheating her way through high school (invisibility has its perks, doesn’t it?).

Oliver Whitaker has a secret. He’s from The Kinship: an underground society composed of humans with superpowers and the imlia. At the age of five, the Whitakers began overseeing the Everitts —a family of mysteriously-disappeared former Kinship members— and Oliver was tasked with befriending the family’s daughter; to see if she developed superpowers.

Diana Zubairu has a secret. Her family moved to London in hopes of escaping the aftermath of her brother’s death. Diana knows she’s cursed: John’s ghost haunts her, following wherever she goes with his bone-chilling glare. However, Diana must keep this secret. No one but her sees John.

One day, a sudden attack unveils their secret, and the three will have to rediscover reality, all the while trying to find a disappeared child only they may be able to safe.

Also...

Please note that many of the characters are LGBT/POC. I’ve done research to portray them accurately, but I’m aware that I could’ve made mistakes. If you decide to read my fic and come across something you believe if insensitive/offensive/inaccurate, please tell me so. I will further my research and change it.

#original work #not related to TSC #my own stuff #creative writers #creative writing #writeblr #ao3

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funkzpiel · 4 years ago

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Wade in the Water | Grindelgraves

Warnings/Tags: Non-Con, Transformation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Kidnapping, Mermaid Transformation, Mermaid!Grindelwald, Human-to-Mermaid!Graves, Rape/Non-con Elements, Breast Growth, Forced Feminization, Oviposition, Impregnation, Eggpreg Summary: Grindelwald finally corners Graves, but in his enemy he finds an unlikely opportunity. Never before had he found a man powerful enough to be his match, to be his mate -- until now. [a/n] I recently removed a lot of fics from AO3. I thought most of them still lived here in Tumblr, but I was wrong. If there's anything you guys miss, feel free to ask! Anon mentioned this one, so here we go ~

He was tired; not just tired, but weary down to his very bones. Fresh from a magical creature trafficking bust, he was practically dead on his feet. He had been well and truly ready to go home after he had just finished his preliminary paperwork when a squeaking little note had crawled onto his desk and unraveled into his hands with a flourish. One of his informants had intel about the rash of strange “gas explosions” across the city. They hadn’t really been gas explosions, of course; merely a fabrication that had concocted the moment they saw the severity of the destruction.

Got info on your dark cloud. Docks, midnight. I’m not sticking around, you’ve got one shot. G.

Graves frowned. It was unusual to hear from Gnarlak directly; even more so not to be directed to just meet at his pub. Whatever information the goblin had for him, it was good and it was dangerous – not to mention expensive, no doubt. Graves sighed and stood, his head heavy between his shoulders as he braced himself against his desk for a moment. He took a deep, trembling breath and tried to ignore the ache in his ribs from a potshot one of the traffickers had managed to strike him with. He hid it well until now, unwilling to worry his aurors, but he knew what must lay beneath his vest and shirt. He could feel the heat of the injury through his thin clothes when he brushed over it with his fingers. He knew the skin beneath was no doubt hot with internal bleeding, mottled and purple. Perhaps even somewhat uneven, if any of the bones were broken.

Consumed as he was in his evaluation, he didn’t notice when his most junior auror slipped through his door carrying a mountain of paperwork. Jace Wayland was a thin, willowy thing. Baby faced with big blue eyes that could stop people in their tracks. In all honesty he looked nothing like an auror. He looked as though a good, firm breeze could knock him over; but he was tenacious – more so than Graves had encountered in a junior in a long time. In what he lacked physically, he more than made up for mentally. Sharp as a tack and faster than even his best investigators, although he had never told the boy that. Humility bred caution, after all, and he wanted the boy to make it to a full position. Curious if he could.

“M-Mr. Graves, here are all the leads you asked for me to follow up on while you were out…”

Graves heard it the moment the boy’s words trailed off, the moment he noticed the director’s grimace. IT was too late to cover it up now; the boy knew. He cursed beneath his breath.

“Mr. Graves, are you hurt?”

Graves sniffed loudly and slowly straightened his back into something more regal and commanding than the figure he no doubt cut while doubled over on his desk. He ignored the fiery blaze of agony blaring along his right side and addressed the boy as if nothing were the matter.

“Mr. Wayland... It’s late, why aren’t you home?” He asked. Annoyed to have been caught when no one should be left at the office. Impressed, however, by the child’s drive.

“This seemed important,” the boy said lamely.

“Everything will always seem important,” Graves said, knowing full well the irony of the words leaving his lips. The pot calling the kettle black. “You must take time to recharge or you’ll drive yourself mad.”

“O-of course,” Jace said, but his eyes were still on Graves’ ribs and he knew the subject wasn’t done. “Did the raid go well?”

“Swimmingly,” Graves said shortly as he drew his coat from his chair and made a show of putting it on without ever once letting slip a grimace. Even when he felt something distinctly pop. He began to sweat. “The traffickers were apprehended with minimal casualties to either side.”

“That’s great news. Are you headed home?”

“Not quite,” Graves said, fingers trailing over the little worn out note on his desk before he set the little slip aflame.

“But sir, you—“

Graves shot him a cold, challenging look and watched the boy’s confidence wilt before his eyes. Surprisingly, however, Jace simply clutched his papers tighter and frowned.

“We’re not supposed to do anything alone, sir.”

Graves scowled. The boy was right. It was a rule that they were not supposed to act on any lead alone. Clever child, he saw the note for what it was and knew exactly what to say. What sort of leader created rules they did not themselves abide by? Graves glared at him, assessing, before finally he let loose a small sigh and said, “Get your things, Mr. Wayland. Let’s make this quick.”

The boy scampered off before Graves had so much as a moment to change his mind and somewhere in the back of his head, he felt a niggling. He scowled, but the feeling was lost to him before he could think much more of it – burned away by the low, hot hum of his aching ribs.

❇

The docks were quiet; silent in a way that set Graves’ teeth on edge. There was no late night rush of strangers wasting their money at the dingy bar down the street. No dock workers, no gulls.

Something was terribly wrong, Graves just didn’t know what.

What he did know was that he was cold, but also hot. There was a thin film of sweat growing at his brow, and he felt simultaneously smothered by his coat and scarf, and freezing. He shivered despite himself, his eyelids heavy, and clenched his fists a little tighter in the safety of his coat pockets. It was ten past midnight and that rotten little goblin had stood him up. He should have known better than to trust the creature; wicked and cruel as it was. Gnarlak was a valuable informant, but he wasn’t exactly a trustworthy one, and Graves was just beginning to wonder if he should stop by The Blind Pig and have a little chat about certain privileges the goblin was enjoying when Jace finally sighed beside him.

“Well that’s rather disappointing,” the boy pouted, arms crossed to keep him warm.

“Ah, yes. This would have been your first time meeting with an informant,” Graves said softly. He sniffed, nose running from the cold, and shrugged a little deeper into the overwhelming heat of his coat. “It’s not as exciting as you think, Mr. Wayland. Gnarlak would have just haggled us for some cheap line about something we likely already knew. Hardly exciting detective work.”

Beside him, the boy scoffed.

“Then why do we keep him as an informant?”

“Because he might have useful information,” Graves said simply as he gave his surroundings outside the mooring house one last check. “And the possibility of good information is more valuable than the risk of losing that information just because we’re tired of Gnarlak’s bullshit.”

Jace raised his brows at him, surprised by his language. Graves’ dipped his head ever so slightly in concession.

“Apologies. I’m rather tired. Let’s call it a night, Jace. There’s always tomorrow.”

“Of course, sir.”

Graves turned to head back to their disapparition point, his mind caught on thoughts of what he would do once he got home. He’d take a Dreamless Drought, he thought pleasantly. He’d numb his ribs with a bit of mint oil and take a long, hot shower. And once he was clean and his muscles mush from the pounding water, he’d slip into his bed and—

He stilled.

Jace was not beside him.

He turned to look back, concerned, only to be struck right between his shoulders before he could so much as spin halfway around. He let out a shout, the sound pulled from his lips mercilessly as the ferocity of the spell shook his ribs within his chest. He couldn’t breathe, the air knocked from his lungs. He wheezed and scrabbled around, wand at the ready despite his trembling, and prepared to fire a volley of cover fire for Jace only—

Only Jace was the one that had hit him.

Gone was the baby faced boy that sought to please him. In his place was a young man, his large blue eyes a cold and deadly stare that chilled Graves to his core. He even stood differently than his junior auror had. Back straight, jaw squared. Quite like… well, quite like Graves himself, when his ribs weren’t busy trying to dissolve into dust within his chest. A painful, whistling breath escaped him.

“Jace?”

“Not quite,” the boy said, an eerie smile on his cherub face. “But it is a name of mine, yes. Occassionally.”

Graves gripped at his ribs, his breath short from the other man’s sucker punch of a spell as before his eyes Jace’s visage melted away. He became taller – taller even than Graves – and broader too.

His skin grew if possible paler, and his young golden locks became short, spikey white points standing atop his head. But all it took was one look at his eyes to know he had been a terrible, terrible mistake coming here injured.

Those haunting, mismatched eyes belonged to Gellert Grindelwald. His enemy, an international terrorist, and likely soon to be his murderer.

Graves grit his teeth. His skin itched to be gone from there, to disapparate and get help – but through the pain he knew he was too distracted to perform the delicate spell without getting splinched. Were only his ribs howling, maybe, but the spell had left his back a mottled mess of agony as well; as though he had been hit by a train rather than a simple stunning spell.

His knees felt weak and he staggered, but still he held up his wand. Across from him – pristine and perfect – Grindelwald tsked at him sympathetically.

“Poor Mr. Graves,” he purred, “No one truly looks at you, do they? Your power has blinded them to your weaknesses. No one noticed your injury. No one insisted to see you home. And after tonight, no one will notice when you’re replaced.”

Dread pooled in his belly like liquid lead. Mercy Lewis, he intended to infiltrate MACUSA in a position of power. He couldn’t let that happen.

He tried to hold his wand steadier, but it only seemed to make the shaking of his exhausted limbs worse.

“Not going to happen,” he bit out simply. Grindelwald quirked a brow at him and made a show of looking him up and down.

“You know it’s unfortunate you’re against my cause, director, because I like you. You are a just leader, respectful of your staff from the lowest rung to the highest. You instilled great practices in your men and women, and even encouraged unlikely souls like Jace to strive for excellence when no one else gave him the time of day. It doesn’t have to be this way, you know. You could join me.”

Graves snorted even though it made his ribs ache and his spine sing and said, “Join you? You truly are mad if you think I would ever join you.”

Grindelwald made a show of sighing in disappointment and said remorsefully, “C’est la vie.”

Graves had no more warning than that before the man’s knobby wand was up and directed at him, one arcing spell after another flinging at him. With one hand, Graves directed the first blow away while attempting to side step the second, but it caught the barest edge of his shoulder and sent him staggering. He needed to get on the offensive, he knew, and yet he couldn’t find the time to do much more than barely avoid Grindelwald’s attacks. Magic screamed in the empty air of the docks, pulling up huge chunks of concrete and destroying cannisters around them.

Grindelwald had no mind for secrecy. His attacks were needlessly wild and destructive – and Graves realized the man intended for his spells to do more damage to the world around them than to Graves himself. He wanted to leave a scene behind. He wanted the No-Majs to know.

Graves had to risk it, he had to disapparate. He wouldn’t make any true distance that would get him to safety, but he could make it a few feet – and that would have to be enough.

He disappeared behind the light of another arcing spell before it could hit him and reappeared – breathless but whole – behind Grindelwald a moment later. He gathered his power as fiercely as he could and let lose a stunning spell that sent Grindelwald flying across the jagged pavement he had torn asunder and into a heap by the dock and the water.

Graves heaved a breath he couldn’t catch and moved to stand over his foe, to wrap him in chains and call for help, but as he stepped forward darkness began to creep around the edges of his vision.

“No,” he murmured, as though by words alone he could convince himself that he was fine. “No, no, no, not now.”

He took another two or three steps before his knees turned to jelly and bit the concrete. He cried out and he cursed raggedly beneath his breath, then finally looked up to find his enemy gone. He turned quickly to try and spot him and the shadows in his peripherals got worse. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to sleep.

He heard the sound of someone coming up beside him on his other side too late. He turned right into a spell that felt more like a punch to the face than anything constructive or purposeful. He shouted wetly, blood already slicking his lip, and knew immediately his nose was most certainly broken.

He tried to scrabble to his feet but Grindelwald shoved him back down to his knees mercilessly.

When Graves looked up, the man looked none the worse for wear. It seemed entirely unfair. Panic began to build inside his chest.

“W-why are you doing this?” Graves gasped wetly, his teeth shiny with blood from his broken nose. “Do you really hate the No-Majs so much that you would jeopardize the safety of your own kind?!”

Grindelwald towered over him, a menacing shadow with a shock of white hair and a shining pearly slit of a smile. He clucked his tongue and bent down at the hips so that he was invading the director’s space. With quick fingers, he snatched Graves’ chin between his thumb and forefinger, and tipped his gaze up to lock with his own unnatural stare.

“Oh my dear director,” he cooed, “Witches and wizards are not my kin. It is, however, because of them that my kind cannot enjoy this world as we should. We remain holed up in dark caves and murky waters and sinister alcoves, unable to journey back to our motherlands – filled with rich flora and soft sands and sunlight – because your kind is too afraid to put humans in their place. Too afraid of ‘exposure’.”

Graves blinked, his teeth-bared sneer melting into cautious confusion. One of his pupils wasn’t contracting anymore, concussed. Blood oozed sluggishly from his nose, his temple, his hair line.

“What do you mean, witches and wizards aren’t your kin?”

There was a tremble to his voice that Graves tried his best to hide, but Grindelwald caught it all the same. The madman smiled and when he did, two little canines became readily visible in his mouth.

Graves flinched.

“Rather presumptuous of you to assume your greatest enemy was a wizard, Mr. Graves. Don’t you think?” He chuckled. “I expected more from MACUSA’s greatest.”

“What are you?”

“It’s a little too late for that information to help you now, don’t you think?”

Graves’ mouth pressed into a firm, resigned line. He jerked his chin free of Grindelwald’s grasp and squared his jaw a little tighter, tipped his chin a little higher, and glared.

“Do your worst.”

He braced himself, jaw so tight it hurt, but forced himself not to close his eyes. He’d meet his end head on, he told himself. If nothing else, he would do that much.

Seconds ticked by and yet, nothing happened.

Grindelwald felt a little pang in his heart that he had not felt in years. His blood quickened in his veins, magic flush and excited just below his skin. He sucked in a quick, harsh breath and then let it out in a loud, slow, stuttering laugh – surprised, amused, enticed.

Intrigued.

“You are quite fascinating for a wizard, Percival,” Grindelwald smiled. He lifted his hand first to the man’s neck, his grip loose and suggestive as he thumbed the director’s fragile Adam’s Apple, and waited for a reaction. When no begging came, no crumpled expression, no fear, he then lifted that hand higher and brushed his thumb over the painful swelling of Graves’ broken nose and set it back to its proper place with magic. He smiled when he caught the noticeable surprise on Graves’ face. A startled blink and a soft, relieved sigh to finally have the throbbing in his face ebb away.

“Wha--?”

Grindelwald didn’t give him another moment to ponder it. He then brought his hand to cover the man’s eyes and compelled him to sleep with a soft, whispered spell. Exhausted as Graves was, the effect was instantaneous. He caught the director by the shoulders just before he could crumple completely to the ground and gently scooped him into his arms. He looked down fondly at the face of his unconscious potential mate-to-be and smiled.

“Oh what fun you’ve turned out to be, Percy dear. Oh what fun indeed.”

❇

Graves woke somewhere far away from New York, that much was clear right away. In the night’s air a chill had crept over him, but he could tell from the fine powder of the sand that he was somewhere warm and tropical, the sun having absorbed into it all day and only just beginning to fade.

His eyes fluttered – disoriented – as he was lifted momentarily in bodily jerks, the sound of popping buttons confusing him as they pattered uselessly to the sand around him. He was eased out of his shirt, then two hands ran down the length of him from his shoulders, over his tight chest, down the flat span of his stomach to stop at the hem of his trousers. He opened his eyes and took in the visage of his captor haloed in the sway of glittering palms. Palms unlike he had ever seen, their leaves pale like silver and glowing like stars in the darkness.

Above him, Grindelwald smiled kindly.

“Finally awake, sweetheart?”

Something fuzzy worsened in his head, making his mind feel stuffed with cotton and the pressure behind his eyes suffocating. He closed them and that felt a little better. Grindelwald chuckled softly, murmuring a soft ‘sleepy boy’ beneath his breath like a song. His shoes and socks were removed and his chill got sharper. His pants were jerked from his hips in rough pulls and thrown to join his shoes. Finally, his underwear joined them and he was naked in the sand, skin tan in contrast to the snow white of the particles that covered him.

Gentle hands cupped his cock and held it from his body as though weighing it. Distantly he caught Grindelwald murmur, “Large, and yet you could still be viable…”

What came next was stranger still, making the fog in his head flutter alarmingly as something screamed deafly to be heard. Something cold and long and soggy was stuck to his skin in a strip, then another and another, one after the other in a strange crosshatch. He opened his eyes with a wince and a little frown, and leaned up muzzily onto his elbows to look down to his hips where Grindelwald was sticking long stripes of seaweed onto him, murmuring unintelligibly all the while.

Words that slid through Graves’ mind like oil, too slick to catch but leaving runny trails in his mind as they passed by.

Grindelwald clucked his tongue disapprovingly and eased him down by the shoulders until he was prone once again, a whisper of magic making him drowsy once more, too heavy to move. He groaned, confused and exhausted, as hands lifted his legs in a rhythm of up and down, up and down – winding his lower body in seaweed and other marine plant life until his legs were bound together from hips to ankles like a worm.

“It’s almost over, love,” the man leaned over and said into his hair, lips murmuring into his scalp.

Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. What wasn’t right? The fog began to drift and thin. He was lifted into a pair of strong arms, sand falling from his back in a tinkle of dust that sparkled in the moonlight. He heard the sound of feet walking through water. Graves blinked and looked down. Grindelwald was walking them slowly, deliberately into the water. That was strange, he thought. But it would feel so good. His skin itched for it. Ached to be cooled of his fever. To be slick and chill and free. He let one hand droop down, eager for the water’s embrace, and Grindelwald chuckled.

“Such a good boy for me,” he praised. “So ready, so perfect. I knew you would be. We were made for each other, you and I. Destined to be mates.”

Graves moaned as his head suddenly throbbed. Mates… Mates with Grindelwald. Mates with… his enemy. The word clicked in his mind and he gasped like suddenly immerging from the water after staying down for too long. The docks, Jace, Grindelwald – he had been kidnapped and – wildly he reached for his magic, one hand out to blast Grindelwald away from him while he could still fall in shallow water and claw his way safely back to shore without drowning.

It didn’t come. Instead of his magic appearing as he envisioned, he felt it siphon from his palms and travel his veins down to the seaweed that embalmed him, absorbing it and warming around his flesh. His legs began to tingle, as well as his crotch, sending his heart into a fitful blaze.

“Ah, you’re back,” Grindelwald said with a smirk that bled into the tone of his words, “Just in time.”

“What are you—Are you fucking crazy?!” The words exploded from his mouth in a gush as surprisingly temperate water – not warm, but pleasantly cool, pleasantly refreshing – greeted first his ankles, then up his calves and the seat of his ass. He tried to kick out, but the seaweed was stronger than he could have imagined, so strong that it didn’t even stretch when he tried to spread his legs to break it. He pressed at Grindelwald with his hands, but the man only chuckled and continued to march them into the sparkling waters of the lagoon.

“Grindelwald,” he gasped as the water reached his navel, unable to hold back the desperation that was beginning to claw its way up his throat. He couldn’t swim like this, he’d drown, holy fuck Grindelwald was going to drown him.

His guts churned as death approached for a second time that night and he felt fear loosen his throat for a plea, for begging, but the words fell to dust in his mouth as the water turned Grindelwald’s clothing to specks of stars, hovering above the pool of water and lighting the way to its depths in the middle of the lagoon.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got you,” Grindelwald said, utterly unphased. “You wizards, you think you’re the most powerful generation this world has yet to spit from its womb; but time has made you deaf to the old stories and that only makes you blind. What use is all that power to a blind mind? Cut off from the Old Ways, throwing temper tantrums with your spells and foci like children. But you… You’re the closest I’ve seen to the men from the old times and the Old Ways. The most viable wizard I’ve seen in a long, long time.”

Viable. That word again.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!”

Grindelwald ignored him. The water embraced Graves to his shoulders, his neck. His breath accelerated. Fear seized his lungs like a vice and he craned his neck to stay above the water. He was going to drown—

Grindelwald took advantage of his open-mouthed plea for air, surging down to plunder him. He sucked Graves’ bottom lip between his teeth and he bit him, sharp canines piercing soft flesh.

Graves shoved at his shoulders and chest, and surprisingly Grindelwald released his lip, his smile bloody and pleased. Graves touched his swelling lip, red smearing across his fingertips, and tongued the puncture marks – deep and only on the inside of his lip. The punctures tasted strange; tangy like copper, yes, but something else. Salt water, maybe. Sharp and earthy.

His eyes were positively owlish when he looked up at Grindelwald, he knew, but it was hard to feel embarrassed when he was so damn confused, when his heart was hammering so hard, when his mouth was so full of that taste, quickly turning sweet. The more he licked and worried at it, the more the tingling in his crotch quickened and increased, spreading up his belly, enveloping him in a most concerning way.

“What—?” He managed to babble before one of Grindelwald’s hand came up to frame his jaw, searching for something so intensely it stole Graves’ focus for just a moment, before he swept one thumb to trace his lower lip and said, “You are going to be beautiful.”

Then Grindelwald let him go.

He managed one horrified yelp before the water embraced him.

Grindelwald’s image warped above him from beneath the water, his skin suddenly teal and white, glimmering strangely. He watched as Graves sank, hands thrashing to give him the push he needed to rise, but his bound legs anchored him down. He screamed and wriggled, his magic lashing out wildly and with abandon, but the seaweed ate everything up and the tingling just grew. It accumulated in his crotch and his waist, gathering in his chest, the sides of his neck, all down his legs and feet. The water pressed in on him unnaturally, and even though he had only sank a few feet it weighed on him as though it were trying to compress him, change his very shape. His scalp began to itch, his bones ached. Finally he screamed and the water came to claim him, and he welcomed it if it meant the endless pain would finally, finally end.

He awaited death; surely he could escape it no longer. A shadow passed in the water, quick like a dart. The edges of his vision began to grow black, the taste of the sea so fierce in his mouth and then there were lips on his, breathing what felt like heavy, glossy air back into his lungs. He latched onto the owner of those lips, nails digging in like a knife through butter as he clutched tight to them, breathing them in. When their lips parted, he surged forward for more, terrified he’d die, he’ drown, he’d – but the water ran through his lungs like fresh meadow air and he breathed.

He breathed underwater.

When next he opened his eyes, the world was as clear as it would have been on land, every inch of the depths of the lagoon painfully visible to him. It was unnatural, infeasible, and yet his heart still pounded at the wonder of it all. It was terrifying and yet amazing.

He was a good number of feet down now, nearly at the bottom. Hands grabbed his jaw and turned him, filling his vision with another man’s face – Grindelwald’s face – only it was different now.

His skin was flecked with pearly white scales that framed the very edges of his cheeks and brows, the length of his neck, his ribs and followed a trail down to –

Graves’ mind froze as he took in Grindelwald’s tail, just as pearly as the rest of him like a shroud of death, his fins gossamer and floating beautifully. He was broad like this, muscled in ways Graves hadn’t anticipated, and at his neck something fluttered. Gills, Graves realized. The man had gills.

“Mermaid,” Graves gasped dumbly. Something swirled in front of his eyes, making him jerk back, but those hands held his face close, stopping him from pulling away.

“No,” Grindelwald said, eyes suddenly so hungry. “Merman is the word you’re looking for. I’m not the Mermaid, sweetheart, you are.”

Then that hand raised and grabbed a swirl of that inky blackness that had swayed into his vision, stretching it between them until finally Graves felt a slight pull on his scalp. It was his hair, he realized, only longer than it had ever been, curling around him like a halo as it danced in the water.

Not a hint of grey in it either.

“So beautiful,” Grindelwald said, soft and slow like he was looking at a miracle. “Do you know how our kind is made, Percival?”

Percival. As though they were intimate; anything other than enemies. Our kind, like he was one of them – a creature of the sea. Beneath the seaweed his skin itched and ached.

“They can be born, yes, but the process is a long one. We’re hunted now. Relentlessly. Our mates cannot rest in the cool waters of our mating lagoons to grow fat and bear life because they cannot make the swim to them before they’re picked off. Babes are few and far between, our grounds destroyed by humans and development, and we can’t fight back because of these infernal statues of secrecy. We are near extinction, and yet the magical world turns a blind eye to us so they can remain comfortable. But there are other ways to create life. The wizards and witches that remember the Old Ways, the ones powerful enough to survive, they can be changed. Like you’ve been changed. And now we are one powerful Mer-creature closer to beating extinction.”

No, he thought, eyes wide and tears eaten by the lagoon as he shook his head in the frame of those hands. No, no, no.

He shoved the man away and reeled, disoriented, as his legs kicked awkwardly. Each thrash loosened the wrappings that kept him prisoner though, so he kicked harder, feeling them peel away like the petals of a flower on a sudden, crisp fall morning. The more he kicked the more the itching and the aching stopped, and he sucked in a sigh of relief as they faded away and finally he could move, he could swim.

But it felt wrong. He couldn’t separate his legs, everything beneath his hips felt alien and cumbersome. He flailed in the water frustratedly before finally twisting to look at his legs, convinced there was still some seaweed trapping him tight, only to find all of the seaweed gone.

Gone like his legs. Instead everything from his hips down was a solitary, powerful column of muscles that tapered down to a single thin joint and bloomed into a set of large, silky looking fins.

He was covered in scales, rich like blazing emeralds and tipped in black, contrasting strikingly against the paleness of his belly where scales turned to skin once more. His forearms where flecked with it; his belly, his ribs, his chest. And he was smooth. Genderless looking.

His prick was gone.

“The fuck…” he wheezed, hands shaking as he moved them over the flatness of his scales and new appendage. “What the fuck!”

Grindelwald swam up to and swatted his hands away, then grabbed his slender hip by one large hand and began to run the fingers of his other over a select group of scales, voice gentle as he reassured him.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh, you’re all right. It’s here,” he purred, and Graves could only suck in a sharp breath as his scales fluttered, nerves alight in a manner he couldn’t even comprehend but knew was arousing. Grindelwald pet that place again and again, the tip of one nail parting a few and slowly creating a seam Graves hadn’t even realized was there. From this seam his flesh began to part and slowly, ever so slowly, a small protrusion began to appear – pink, tender and tapered.

And small. At least half the size he remembered it.

“Ah,” Grindelwald said, “Not quite done yet are we?”

Graves had no more warning than that. Grindelwald began to stroke it, cooing over how perfect it was soon going to be, and Graves felt his body melt into the man’s hold. His eyes rolled and a strange, melodic purring began to emit from his throat, vibrating his gills. He tried to control himself, to suck in a breath to tell him to stop, to let him think, but he could barely hold onto Grindelwald’s forearm and shoulder to brace himself, let alone string together coherent sentences.

Below his prick he felt something swell and heat, pleased by the attention. He figured it was his balls.

And in Grindelwald’s hand Graves’ cock slowly but surely began to shrink. At first Graves thought the thing was merely retracting back into his body. With every throb Grindelwald’s fingers coaxed from the little organ, it seemed to swell before shrinking to a length shorter than before, over and over. Before Graves’ eyes he lost another inch, then another – helpless as Grindelwald stroked his size away.

“Nna-aah, nn, nn, nno-ooh-aaah, ah, ah.”

“You’re still intact, mostly,” Grindelwald said, focused on his task, eyes fixed on Graves’ moistening slit as something thicker than water began to ooze from the seam that continued beneath the man’s little dick, a hole slowly beginning to appear from behind it. “Although this little thing is going to be much too pretty to call a prick, really. It’s more similar to a woman’s clitoris than the heft of a real man’s cock. Not to worry, though, you’ll match this cute little thing soon enough.”

The thought was terrifying and yet Graves couldn’t resist the magic of Grindelwald’s fingers. The shrinking didn’t stop until he came, spurting a little cloud of clear liquid, and he tried not to think about the fact that the man had needed little more than a thumb and index finger to coax Graves’s pathetic excuse for a cock to orgasm. It was barely larger than a grown man’s thumb now, and even though he had come it appeared to refuse to soften – instead bobbing and twitching in post orgasmic bliss against Graves’ tail.

“What the… What the fuck did you do to me?” He asked, eyes still closed as he reeled from the strength of his orgasm. It hadn’t been like ejaculating as a man had been. It had been a full body pull that sent shivers over his entire being, making his nipples perk and stand hard on his chest, and all of his skin – and scales – tingle. Lost as he was in the sensation, still butter soft in Grindelwald’s arms, he missed it the moment the merman slipped a thick thumb in something he couldn’t even fathom.

He had never felt anything like it. It wasn’t his anus, he knew, and yet there was a new, moist cavity beneath his ball-less prick that Grindelwald had slid into. He mewled before he could shout, his throat lax and prone to moaning after so much pleasure. It felt…

Amazing.

Grindelwald’s thumb and the girth of his middle knuckle stretched him pleasantly, his opening so slick and swollen from the prior attention to his prick. Grindelwald stroked his tender insides before pulling out and inserting two fingers instead, searching. Graves gasped, heart thrumming, overwhelmed by all these changes and the fast pace of their revelations that he couldn’t keep up with.

Grindelwald pressed something inside him and finally he screamed, head thrown back and throat taut as he clutched tighter to the merman, drawing blood.

“Perfection,” Grindelwald purred, voice so dark and so hungry – barely reminiscent of the man on the beach. “I’ve got you, darling, you’re almost done.”

The fingers were removed and his slit ached from the loss, that moist seam drooling helplessly into the water, trying to entice something, anything back in. He felt empty. He whined.

Something long and tapered and hot pressed against him, two hands holding his hips firmly in place and then it was sliding in, filling him in one long fluid push. He yowled, the end of his scream melting into a moan as finally the aching dissipated, and pleasure bloomed in him once more. His tiny dick shivered between two scaled bellies as Grindelwald began to thrust, twirling them in lazy circles as he kissed Graves’ neck, his shoulders, the edges of his hairless and softening jaw.

Graves’ eyes rolled, and while something in the back of his mind howled that he needed to pay attention and escape, he couldn’t focus past the relentless rhythm of Grindelwald’s pounding dick in his sopping cunt. Hands moved from his hips – hot and swollen – and brushed his nipples instead, tweaking and pulling and playing until they felt hot and swollen too. Graves mewled, the sounds swallowed by a hungry mouth when Grindelwald quickly kissed him, tongue slipping between lust slackened lips and conquering.

Grindelwald pet the seam of skin stretched around the girth of his invading prick, stroked it while it appeared to swell even more where they met. Graves keened as that stretch moved further and further into him, struggling at his surreal entrance until finally it popped in, making his cock dribble feebly. He could feel it traveling up and into his new insides, passing up and up and up. He felt a little bloated.

Another followed just behind it, stretching him just as taut before sliding in. Grindelwald pet his neck and his hair. He pressed kisses into his neck and when next he tweaked his nipples Graves felt the flesh of his chest move as though there was some give to it. He moaned, confused, aroused.

The third swell entered a little easier. He could feel his stomach begin to press against Grindelwald’s flat abdominals.

“You’re going to be so fat with my eggs,” Grindelwald said. “You’re going to save us.”

His hips ached. His belly felt so full and while it felt mind-blowing entering, the next egg made him feel too tight, fit to burst. He sobbed into an open-mouthed kiss as Grindelwald’s words registered. Eggs. He was impregnating him.

Finally no more eggs passed through him, and as though Grindelwald knew there would be no more, he began to thrust – hard and heavy. Graves could feel a strange weight on his chest, shifting with each thrust. He tried to look down but Grindelwald slipped in for another kiss, his tongue running over Graves’ sharp new canines. He whined when Grindelwald grabbed his chest and pressed that weight into him, and he knew he was soft there. Without looking, he knew he was suddenly soft there.

“Perfect,” Grindelwald gasped into Graves’ mouth, shoved forward twice more, and then warmth was blooming inside Graves, filling him even more. It came like a slow and steady faucet, and he kept waiting for it to end, but it seemed endless. His bloat worsened, fat against Grindelwald’s slim belly. Fingers took him by his tiny cock and fondled him and he clenched, his whole body seizing as that pushed him over the edge. He could feel it as his insides milked Grindelwald’s dick, urging more of the merman’s seed deeper, and he sobbed.

Grindelwald only pulled out once it had stopped, but nothing leaked out with the exit of his dick.

He brushed a large thumb over Graves’ sopping, gaping entrance and purred as it shrank again beneath his touch, taking his dick with it, the scales sealing and trapping in his eggs and sperm.

Leaving him fat and – and – and –

He sobbed again, hands shaking as he reached down for his pudgy belly. He looked down and his face contorted as he found his view obscured by two modest breasts, just enough for a handful.

Grindelwald cupped one and brushed a thumb over its still erect nipple, smiling when Graves moaned despite himself and shivered.

“Lovely,” he purred, “Marvelous, perfect. Such a good mama.”

“Get them out,” Graves whispered, eyes wet. “Change me back.”

“No, pretty mama,” Grindelwald said as he moved both hands up to cup a slender jaw and pet back tears from long, sooty black lashes framed with flecks of beautiful green scales. “There is no going back.”

He guided Graves' hand back onto his heavy breast and squeezed his hand around it while taking the other to Graves’ belly, making him feel the life beginning to sow there.

“There is no going back.”

#Grindelgraves #Archived Fics

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likelightningafterthethunder · 4 years ago

Text

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter One: Damned Smile

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Fic navigation to read the fic on tumblr

Even years later, that damn smile haunted his dreams.

There was absolutely no reason for him to still think about the event. Everything had been taken care of when it had happened― injuries were treated, authorities alerted, information secured, and a press conference to tie it all up in a big red bow. There were no loose ends, no surprise second coming, no physical reminders of what happened lingering in his daily life. Katsuki would have labeled it as done, dealt with, and no longer relevant, shoving it aside in his memory so he could focus on actual important shit.

Except his mind had different plans.

When he was lucky, he could completely forget about the event for months. Other times, his dreams would be filled with nothing but that damn smile, taunting him with its silence. He could usually predict when the dreams would come― the anniversary of the event for example― but other times, it seemed like anything could trigger the memory. He once saw a bright yellow balloon and for the rest of the day, every time he closed his eyes he saw that damned smile, never wavering despite the curses and insults Katsuki spewed.

He wanted to forget it. He wanted so desperately to forget it. For the image to erase itself from his mind, for it to take the feelings away with it. He could deal with the anger, he could always deal with the anger, but when his memory reminded him of the wave of hurt and betrayal that nearly blinded him…

When his alarm jolted him from his sleep and freed him from the smile, he couldn’t get out of bed fast enough. He woke up drenched in a cold sweat, sheets singed and smoking lightly as he unclenched his hands, and Katsuki was, for once, very relieved that not all of his sweat was explosive. He slapped the singes a few times to ensure that all of the embers were put out before heading for the bathroom, cursing under his breath as he flinched at his own reflection in the mirror.

There was nothing particularly wrong with his appearance, if you didn’t count the dark circles under his eyes from a fitful night’s sleep or his clammy skin, but after being plagued by the smile, Katsuki could barely look at himself. His reaction to the smile made him feel weak, like he couldn’t handle himself and that there was something wrong with him. It was just a smile after all. There was no reason for him to react to it like a nightmare, no reason for him to lose sleep over it or to feel overwhelmed by emotions at the thought of it.

Yet when he saw the smile and saw how the corners of his mouth were tugged a bit too tight, how his eyes were open a bit too wide, how the only shine in his eyes were the reflections of light on tears that refused to fall…

Katsuki cursed.

The icy cold shower did little to help distract him from the memory, nor did his morning run nor the steaming shower he took after. He wasn’t supposed to head into the agency today, so he didn’t have any planned beatdowns for today, and yes he probably shouldn’t be hoping for it, but part of him hoped for a sudden emergency villain so he could distract himself by focusing on beating some villain’s ass into next week.

A few hours later when his phone refused to stop buzzing, Katsuki wondered if throwing his phone across the room until it stopped would be close enough to beating villain ass to work. He reluctantly decided that talking to people so they’d leave him alone was probably less hassle to deal with than having to replace his phone and distribute his new number (even if it would give him an excuse to ghost some of these damn extras).

A few individual texts and a group text were the cause of the buzzing. As the group text’s new message count continued to rise, he figured it would be easier to respond to the individual texts first. Just in case he changed his mind about destroying the phone.

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): Hello Bakugou, this is a reminder about the upcoming Class A reunion. As the head of the reunion committee, it is my duty to ensure an accurate headcount for the event, and I have yet to receive your response about your attendance. Please ensure to respond via the following link by this Friday at 11:59PM. [Class A 10 Year Reunion RSVP]

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): In case you missed the previous messages regarding the reunion, the event is March 28th starting at 7PM at the Shinjuku Hotel in Musutafu. If you need to rent a room for the night or the weekend, please alert the Shinjuku Hotel staff that you are part of the Class A reunion party by next Wednesday for an event discount.

Katsuki frowned. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the possibility of being surrounded by all of his former classmates and even less at the idea of being socially obligated to spend the entire evening with them. At least when he met up with his friends elsewhere, he could always claim needing to leave early so he could make the last train or that work needed him to come in early the next day.

He closed out of the conversation, figuring he still had a few more days to decide if he really wanted to deal with his classmates for an entire evening.

Midoriya: Hey Katsugou! I was wondering if you’re going to go to the reunion? Tenya said the deadline to RSVP is coming soon and we haven’t heard from you, so I just thought I’d check in!

Katsuki: The fuck is Katsugou?

Midoriya: Oh sorry!! Typo!!

Midoriya: Anyway, are you coming?

Katsuki closed out of the conversation and moved on to the next one.

Shitty Hair: Katsuki! Are you coming to the reunion or not dude????

Katsuki: Fuck off.

Shitty Hair: Aww dude that’s no way to talk to your best friend, you know you love me!!

Katsuki: I’m blocking you.

He did not, in fact, block him. But he did close out of Eijirou’s texts.

Save for the newest text sent directly from Eijirou, all that was left was the backlog of texts in the group text. It had kept going off while he was reading the other conversations, so Katsuki figured it meant that everyone was either off for the day or on their lunch break.

Raccoon Eyes: guys!!!!! the reunion is COMING UPPPPPP!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: i cant wait to s

Raccoon Eyes: ee all of u guys again!!

Tape Face: lmao you saw us last week

Raccoon Eyes: yes

Raccoon Eyes: an eteRNITY ago

Raccoon Eyes: and like

Raccoon Eyes: kats left early so we didnt have everyone

Raccoon Eyes: so it doesnt count

Shitty Hair: Yeah Katsuki don’t leave early next time!!

Raccoon Eyes: we just have to hold him hostage next time

Raccoon Eyes: or like

Raccoon Eyes: AMBUSH him

Tape Face: i can always tape him up

Raccoon Eyes: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES

Raccoon Eyes: tape him to the wall

Raccoon Eyes: and then like

Raccoon Eyes: steal his wallet

Raccoon Eyes: cant get on transit w no moneys

Raccoon Eyes: ei and han hold him down

Raccoon Eyes: i run to hide his wallet where he cant fi

Raccoon Eyes: nd it

Raccoon Eyes: probs keeps kats tapped to the wall all night

Raccoon Eyes: free up his arms so he can have a drink????

Tape Face: explosion palms dude

Raccoon Eyes: oh u right

Raccoon Eyes: he can just have a cup w like

Raccoon Eyes: a REALLY REALLY long straw

Raccoon Eyes: make sure u tape him up w his hands behind his back

Tape Face: you got it

Shitty Hair: He’s in this chat guys he’s going to see the plan

Raccoon Eyes: whatevs we can still totally blindside him

Raccoon Eyes: ANYWAYS

Raccoon Eyes: ure all going right?????

Tape Face: ya I rsvpd a while back

Shitty Hair: Yep!! Wouldn’t miss it for the world!

Raccoon Eyes: what about u kats

Raccoon Eyes: kats???

Raccoon Eyes: KAAAAAAAAAAAAATS

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: a

Shitty Hair: I’ll text him separately

Raccoon Eyes: t

Tape Face: he probably has this muted lmao

Raccoon Eyes: s

Raccoon Eyes: !!!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: how dare u ignore us

Raccoon Eyes: after everything weve done for u!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: thought we were ur ride or die hoes

Raccoon Eyes: dont tell me ur not going!!!!!

Raccoon Eyes: im so offended

Raccoon Eyes: how could u do this to us kats

Shitty Hair: Maybe he’s at work today?

Raccoon Eyes: boo

Raccoon Eyes: how dare he prioritize wo

Raccoon Eyes: rk over us

Raccoon Eyes: his best friends

Raccoon Eyes: the suns of his life

Raccoon Eyes: the bit of happiness in the cold

Raccoon Eyes: cold

Tape Face: coooooooooold

Raccoon Eyes: COOOOOOOOLD

Raccoon Eyes: thing he calls a heart

Shitty Hair: Lmao

Tape Face: its got a bit of warmth

Tape Face: most of it is his temper

Raccoon Eyes: boom boom POW

Raccoon Eyes: well while we wait for kats

Raccoon Eyes: help me pick some photos for the slideshow!!

Tape Face: are you doing only UA pics or some stuff since then

Tape Face: somehow iida managed to not specify lmao

Shitty Hair: The info email was like ten pages, how did he miss it

Tape Face: idk

Raccoon Eyes: ive got plenty for both!!

Raccoon Eyes: momo said pref UA pics but some new stuff is good too

Raccoon Eyes: show how far weve come n all that

Tape Face: oh cool let me get some opinions then too

Shitty Hair: Anyone have any pics of the camping trip from second year?

Raccoon Eyes: before or after todoroki and kats’ fight turned it into a icy hot springs

Shitty Hair: Both lmao but probably before it went to hell

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: ofc ive got us chillin in the springs

Raccoon Eyes: well most of us

Raccoon Eyes: kats u never get in the water w us :C

Raccoon Eyes: lets go to the beach next time!!

Tape Face: hed prob boil the water w you in it if you dragged him in lmao

Tape Face: spicy acid time

Raccoon Eyes: id like to see him TRY

Shitty Hair: Don’t tempt him lmao

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: i got like a shit ton more

Raccoon Eyes: should i send some of THE FIGHT

Shitty Hair: Maybe not

Tape Face: yes

Tape Face: well

Tape Face: depends on how many pissed off katsuki pics youre putting in lmao

Raccoon Eyes: OH

Raccoon Eyes: OHHHH

Raccoon Eyes: OHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Tape Face: ?

Raccoon Eyes: dude

Raccoon Eyes: do u have the POMERANIAN pic

Tape Face: o shit

Tape Face: image.png

Shitty Hair: I still think Katsuki should’ve taken that pup home

Shitty Hair: They’re matching!

Tape Face: image.png

Tape Face: i also have this one

Tape Face: when she tried to bite his nose off lmao

Raccoon Eyes: kats couldve named her king explosion murder

Raccoon Eyes: or just murder

Raccoon Eyes: p sure she wouldve tried to murder kats at least o

Raccoon Eyes: nce

Tape Face: lmao she basically tried when he found her

Shitty Hair: Maybe it’s for the best that he didn’t keep the pup

Tape Face: look what i found

Tape Face: image.png

Raccoon Eyes: AWWWW YES

Raccoon Eyes: LOOK AT USSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: we look FABBBB

Shitty Hair: Is that from the dance?

Tape Face: ye

Raccoon Eyes: guys what if we recreate that pic at the reunion

Raccoon Eyes: the fits?

Raccoon Eyes: immaculate

Raccoon Eyes: the pose?

Raccoon Eyes: perfection

Tape Face: hotel?

Tape Face: trivago

Shitty Hair: I’m down for recreating some pics!

Raccoon Eyes: yessssss

Raccoon Eyes: u have no choice either kats u gotta do it

Raccoon Eyes: wherever u are

Shitty Hair: Oh he replied!!

Raccoon Eyes: SWEET

Raccoon Eyes: what he say

Shitty Hair: He said fuck off

Tape Face: as expected

Shitty Hair: Lmao he threatened to block me again

Tape Face: thought he said he was blocking you last week

Shitty Hair: Yea exactly

Raccoon Eyes: HOW RUDE

Raccoon Eyes: as punishment for not paying attention to us

Raccoon Eyes: im gonna send this

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Tape Face: LMAO whend you make that

Shitty Hair: Is that Katsuki with a cat face and ears

Shitty Hair: Dude I don’t know if he’s going to kill you for that or for the pink hair first lmao

Raccoon Eyes: lmao made it just now

Raccoon Eyes: well MAYBE if he ANSWERED us

Katsuki: Delete it.

Tape Face: O SHIT

Tape Face: you summoned him

Raccoon Eyes: NO I WILL NOT

Katsuki: Delete it Raccoon Eyes or else I’m coming for you.

Tape Face: are you coming for the left shoes and shittin in them

Raccoon Eyes: NOOOOOOO not my shoes!!!!!!!!

Tape Face: its just the left shoes tho

Raccoon Eyes: BUT THATS MY FAVE SIDE

Katsuki: What the fuck are you two going on about?

Raccoon Eyes: DONT COME FOR M

Raccoon Eyes: Y LEFT SHOES KATS IM SORRY

Katsuki: I’m not coming for your fucking left shoes. Or any of your shoes.

Katsuki: I will be coming for you if you don’t delete that picture, though.

Raccoon Eyes: FORGIVENESS

Raccoon Eyes: I BEG

Raccoon Eyes: PLSSSSS

Katsuki: Delete the picture.

Raccoon Eyes: ugh fiiiiiiiiiine

Raccoon Eyes: its deleted

Raccoon Eyes: i wont send it to momo for the slide show

Katsuki: Good.

Raccoon Eyes: IF U COME TO THE REUNION

Katsuki: Fuck off.

Shitty Hair: C’mon Katsuki!! It’ll be fun!!

Tape Face: ya it wouldnt do if we didnt have our exploding star

Raccoon Eyes: ill send momo WORSE if u dont come

Raccoon Eyes: nd u wont know WHAT til AFTER

Raccoon Eyes: so PLSSSSSSSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: PRETTY PLSSSSSSS

Raccoon Eyes: PLS COME TO THE REUNION

Raccoon Eyes: ill spam u a lot worse if u dont show us proof of rsvp

Raccoon Eyes: pls kaaaaaaaaats

Raccoon Eyes: kaaaaaaaaats

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: a

Katsuki: Ugh fucking fine, I’ll do the RSVP now then.

Raccoon Eyes: t

Raccoon Eyes: YAY

Four Eyes (Rocket Legs): Good afternoon, Bakugou! I just wanted to confirm with you that I have received your RSVP for the Class A reunion. As a reminder, if you need to rent a room for the night or the weekend, please alert the Shinjuku Hotel staff that you are part of the Class A reunion party by next Wednesday for an event discount.

Katsuki: image.png

Katsuki: Four Eyes is watching the RSVP form like a fucking hawk apparently.

Raccoon Eyes: YAAAAAY URE RSVPD!!!

Shitty Hair: You know him, always dedicated to his work

Tape Face: sweet

Raccoon Eyes: are u guys getting rooms

Tape Face: yea musutafus too far for a round trip

Tape Face: esp since itll prob end late

Shitty Hair: I got one for the weekend!

Tape Face: wbu mina

Raccoon Eyes: booked a room already!!

Raccoon Eyes: kaaaaats wbu

Raccoon Eyes: u should

Raccoon Eyes: we could have a brunch or lunch or s/t thats just us

Raccoon Eyes: plsssssss kats

Katsuki: I’ll think about it.

Tape Face: better than a no lmao

Shitty Hair: If they run out of space or if you decide last second, you can room with me dude

Raccoon Eyes: awww why not a yes

Katsuki: I haven’t asked the other Four Eyes for the time off yet.

Tape Face: is this four eyes no4 or no15

Raccoon Eyes: four eyes no69

Raccoon Eyes: no wait

Raccoon Eyes: no420

Tape Face: haha blaze it

Raccoon Eyes: BLAZE IT

Shitty Hair: It’s number 7

Katsuki: Fuck you, I don’t have that many Four Eyes saved in my phone.

Shitty Hair: I’d be surprised if you had 420 contacts period dude

Raccoon Eyes: would b hilarious tho

Katsuki: Yes, it’s Four Eyes number 7.

Shitty Hair: I was right!!

Katsuki: Why would I ask any of the other Four Eyes for time off? They’re not my fucking bosses.

Tape Face: dunno

Raccoon Eyes: idk maybe ure secretly dating one a

Raccoon Eyes: nd have to confirm that its ok

Raccoon Eyes: ARE U SECRETLY DATING A FOUR EYES

Raccoon Eyes: U HAVE TO TELL US IF U ARE

Raccoon Eyes: URE LEGALLY OBLIGATED

Tape Face: o shit

Tape Face: scandalous

Katsuki: Shut the fuck up, I’m not dating anyone, secret or not.

Raccoon Eyes: thats what they all say

Katsuki: Whatever. I’m not dating anyone.

Raccoon Eyes: kats n four eyes no420 sittin in a tree

Raccoon Eyes: k

Raccoon Eyes: i

Raccoon Eyes: s

Raccoon Eyes: i

Katsuki: I’ll blow up all of your left shoes when you’re not home.

Raccoon Eyes: n

Raccoon Eyes: NO

Raccoon Eyes: IM STOPPING DONT DO IT

Shitty Hair: Hey what do you guys think of this photo

Shitty Hair: image.png

Tape Face: dude yes

Raccoon Eyes: AWWWW OUR FIRST BILLBOARDS AS PROS

Katsuki: Do we really need to send them pictures? It’s not like we fucking forgot this stuff already.

Tape Face: you can be a killjoy if you want lmao

Tape Face: im sure mina will send more than enough to cover for you

Raccoon Eyes: U BETCHA

Raccoon Eyes: image.png

Tape Face: lmao why do you have a pic of katsuki throwing ei

Shitty Hair: I still can’t believe you did that bro

Shitty Hair: WITHOUT WARNING TOO

Katsuki: I gave you plenty of fucking warning.

Shitty Hair: Saying “I’m throwing you” AS YOU’RE THROWING ME is NOT PLENTY OF WARNING DUDE

Raccoon Eyes: im always ready to document golden moments

Katsuki: Shut the fuck up. We won the training exercise so what’s it fucking matter?

Shitty Hair: YOU THREW ME!!

Katsuki: Tape Face caught you before you could get hurt.

Shitty Hair: YOU /THREW/ ME!!!!!!

Tape Face: barely caught

Katsuki: Whatever.

Raccoon Eyes: im still impressed by how eASY u made that look

Katsuki: What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?

Raccoon Eyes: o look conveniently timed distraction photo spam

Katsuki sighed as he continued the conversation, commenting here and there on the photos his friends sent for judgement. In retrospect, he probably should have tried to talk to Shion first, since there was a chance she would have denied the time off for the reunion. Although, knowing her, she would have accepted just to force Katsuki into socializing. He opened up a new text message, figuring that if Shion did decide to deny the time off, he would at least have a screenshot to send to his friends explaining the sudden change in plans.

Katsuki: I need March 28th and 29th off.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Do my eyes deceive me? The great Katsuki Bakugou, asking for time off?

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): I’m amazed! Usually I have to ask you to take the day off!

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Nay, not ask, but force!

Katsuki: Are you going to give it to me or not?

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Depends! What do you need the time off for?

Katsuki: Class reunion.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Oh those are fun!

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Fill out the proper time off paperwork and have it on my desk by Monday. I’ll approve the time off.

Four Eyes (Shitty Shion): Just keep your phone on you in case we need you to come in for an emergency, but I’ll try not to ruin your reunion with work.

Katsuki: Thanks.

Well, so much for an easy way out.

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose when he noticed that his phone had already accumulated another thirty texts in the past few minutes, no doubt primarily from Mina. He scrolled through the backlog, sending a few mostly empty threats when he saw photos he did not want projected for the entire class to see, freezing when his gaze met a pair of familiar amber eyes.

Shit.

In his scramble to close out of the photo, to escape the genuine smile that somehow was more haunting than the one in his dreams, he left the group text completely. He briefly thanked his past self; he’d impulse or rage quit the group text plenty of times before that this wasn’t unusual behavior. If he was lucky, his friends wouldn’t have noticed the timing of his departure and would assume he was just fed up with the notifications or the conversation.

Shitty Hair: You okay, Katsuki?

A weak laugh escaped Katsuki’s lips as he read the newest notification. Of course Eijirou noticed.

Katsuki: I’m fine.

Shitty Hair: Okay

Shitty Hair: We don’t have to talk about it

Shitty Hair: But if you want to, I’m here dude

Shitty Hair: I’ll tell the others that you left so your phone would shut up and not to add you back yet

Katsuki: Thanks. Really.

Shitty Hair: No problem dude

Katsuki put his phone down, silently praying for the smile to leave him alone.

When he finally laid down for bed that night, he repeated the short prayer, for a peaceful night’s rest free of the smile, of the hurt, of the pain, of the guilt.

But as always, the smile came.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #kaminari denki #bakukami #kamibaku #katsuki bakugou #denki kaminari #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #story #from the creator

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innittowinit · 5 years ago

Text

Clair de Lune, L. 32

Summary:

Tommy has a nightmare about Wilbur's death and Ghostbur comforts him

YOOO just to be clear this is an AU that was created before cannon ghostbur and schlatt so all you need to know for this fic is that Wilbur is a ghost that haunts the sleepy bois, he's from the 1700's or something and he was murdered.

Not tagged MCD as a warning because Wil is technically still a character but his death is described a bit so stay safe!

Word count: 1536

Google doc with more info on this au

AO3

The air was bitter and cold, cracks in the walls seethed with a breeze that never seemed to go away, it helped in the summer months when the homes felt like a sauna but on a late December evening like tonight, all it did was remind the townsfolk that they weren’t nearly as wealthy as those who wouldn’t be worrying about this.

After having served his time, on account of slandering a wealthy businessman in a song, he had made the decision to invite the gentleman over to have dinner and hopefully reconcile. Bad blood was never a good thing to have with someone, especially not the rich, and even if the intent was not to suddenly become good friends, Wilbur still felt it was important to be civil with him. While the point of his song had been to humour the situation, he still recognised that it had offended the man to the point of wanting legal action to be made.

Unfortunately Wil had been the only one to feel this way.

He had placed down his own food first before going back to the kitchen to get the gentleman’s meal. In hindsight this had been a horrible decision, giving an easy way for him to spike his food with no witnesses at all. That had definitely been easier than planned, perhaps Wil was just too trusting. He had just assumed that now that he had been punished all resentment had faded into what was a potential reconciliation.

The poison hadn’t taken long to fall into place, half way through the dinner Wil would start coughing, only for that to turn into long, breathless gasp, until eventually he was left scraping at his neck trying to grasp for some air as if it were a privilege.

The man watched with humour as Wil suffered, tears streaming down his face as he focused every inch of his energy into his breathing, not fully able to comprehend what was happening until a knife was pressed against his neck, blade cold and sharp as a swift swipe let out all the pressure in his body and left him to fall to the floor.

------ ------

Tommy swung up in bed, arms flailing around the blankets, as if he was searching for physical evidence that Wilbur was okay. Heart pounding and sweat glazing his forehead, he spun his head around the room, as if he was scanning for either Wilbur or the scumbag who had killed him. Knowing Wil was a ghost hurt. Even though they could still communicate through a range of media, even though he could still physically hug him if he possessed someone, it wasn’t the same. He knew Wilbur had been hurt and that just didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to accept that the Ghost who they had lovingly welcomed into the family was hurt by someone, he loved him too much to really accept that as a reality.

It took a solid ten minutes before he calmed down from his frenzy, left just to breathe heavily, rested against the bed frame as if he had just run a marathon.

Despite the fact that he had never known Wilbur in life, since he had learned of his tragic demise, he hadn’t been able to get the horrible thoughts out of his mind, it was like a curse. Wilbur was like a big brother to him, even if he wasn’t exactly alive they could speak easily through spirit boxes and voice recorders and when he was too tired to try and manipulate radio waves, he would sometimes knock things off of counters and shelves to make his presence known.

Learning guitar from a ghost had been surprisingly easy, he had a video tutorial of some song playing and every now and then Wil would pause the video to talk through the spirit box, sometimes giving tips and other times just straight up teasing Tommy for being bad at playing the guitar.

Wiping his teary eyes, trying to remind himself that even though Wilbur was dead, even though he had gone through something bad, he was still there (Not even in those ‘he’s with us in spirit’ facebook post kind of ways, Wilbur had been haunting them, he was quite literally still around) he reached for the spirit box, switching it on and leaning back in his bed as relief washed over him.

There was something about knowing that Wil could freely talk through that, that comforted him. It reminded him that Wil was okay, he had been poisoned, he had been stabbed, but he was okay.

“Wilbur?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, waiting for the ghost to make his presence known.

Every now and then Wil would go off to mess with Minx or the lunch club, during the night, paired with Schlatt of course, Tommy hoped to God that tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

“Nightmare?” The box spoke back at him, he nodded.

It was hard to talk to the spirit box sometimes, Wil could only talk in a couple words with that, that’s why they had started the family tradition of Wilbur possessing one of them each Friday so they could have some actual time with him instead of mainly one sided conversations.

Today wasn’t a Friday but Tommy wished it was.

“Techno.. Techno won't mind if you use his body.. You can still take control when he’s sleeping right? I just need to hear you talk for real..”

By now, Tommy was sitting upright in his bed, knees pulled up into his chest. They’d been through this exact situation so many time’s that Tommy had even set up a mirror near his bed since sometimes Wilbur showed up in them, He wasn’t showing up today though.

“Yeah. Wait.”

As always, the spirit box was choppy and left room for interpretation as Tommy nodded and tried to think about anything other than the frightening thoughts of death in his head. Tomorrow was a Week-day, that’s why he’d chosen Techno, he would no doubt be pissed that he had missed a chunk of sleep but being sleepy at school had far fewer consequences than being sleepy at work, which would happen if Tommy asked Wil to possess Phil.

After a while of Tommy staring at his ceiling, ‘Techno’ peeked his head into the door and walked over to Tommy’s bed, sitting down next to him.

“It’s Wilbur, you know that right?” Wil smiled, Techno’s glasses -which Wil still needed to wear while possessing him- glinting against the moonlight.

Nodding, Tommy leant his head onto Wilbur’s shoulder, hands wrapping around him and squeezing with as much force as he could muster.

“I shouldn’t miss you this much. I didn’t even know you. Wil, it must have hurt so much”

Wilbur just nodded and stroked his hair as he whispered reassurances and kind words, there was no certain way to fix this, the fact of the matter that Wilbur had died and he probably shouldn’t have let a 16 year old know the fully gruesome details of his death but that being said it was all readily available online and sure enough he would have eventually found out anyway. Wilbur much preferred being the one to tell him himself rather than him reading a blog post made by a teenager that was probably way too into true crime to accurately report what happened.

He supposed what attracted those kinds of people was that he had led a fairly eccentric life, only to be killed and the killer to never be caught.

Wil had always thought his killer to be obvious but the justice system had not been very good in those days, in many ways it still wasn’t very good.

“It did hurt Tommy. I was so scared that was going to be the end of everything but y’know what? If I hadn’t died like that, I might not have ever met you or Phil or Techno. If I had died up in some other city, since I did like to travel a lot, I might have never thought to mess with you guys. If that hadn’t happened I wouldn’t have the family I have now”

“But you hur-”

“That was hundreds of years ago Toms, I hardly remember it”

Liar. He thought about it every time he saw people using cleaning chemicals or cooking with knives.

“Tommy you’re a good kid. You’re empathetic, that’s really good, but you can only die once and that’s never going to happen to me again, okay?”

Tommy nodded into his chest

“Do you wanna watch that movie you like? I know I can’t really fix how you feel about what happened but sometimes a distraction helps” “Up’s good. Let’s watch Up”

Ironically, Tommy had fallen asleep right after the wife died but Wil hoped that would give him some closure since it was a very nice film. Not wanting to wake the boy, after him already having such a rough night, he didn’t bother taking Techno back to his own room, leaving his body to sleep next to Tommy as he watched the rest of the movie alone.

-----

“Why the fuck am I in your bed?”

“...I had a nightmare?”

#wilbur soot #ghostbur #fanfic #tommyinnit #hurt/ comfort #nightmares

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city-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Bygone Amity (Chapter 2)

Upon arriving at the castle, Yuma comes to an uneasy realization: He's got no plan, and no one but himself to rely on this time.

Warnings: Post-Canon, Time Travel Pairing(s): Vector/Yuma Tsukumo (Foilshipping)

Read here on AO3! Commission info!

_________

It wasn't long before Yuma found himself led out of the forest, and once he and the guards were clear of the trees, Yuma saw it: A white brick castle, shining with gold accents, standing prominently within view. It was in a hilltop, surrounded by more trees, but the sight of it was rather captivating.

Yuma's mind called back to when he'd seen this place in ruins, when hunting down Numbers with the others, it having contained Numbers 65: Judge Buster. A feeling of dread went through Yuma then as he recalled Rio's telling of the ruins' prophecy, of how the prince - Vector - ended up committing suicide after slaughtering all his people.

Did those deaths haunt the Vector in the present day, too?

Regardless, Yuma vowed, he'd stop that, stop it all, from happening.

The walk to the castle was a quiet one, and Yuma wished one of the say something, anything, so that he could get his mind off of Vector's traumatic... past? Future? He wasn't sure what to deem it now that he was here to prevent it. But nevertheless, it didn't stop Yuma from wishing he'd be spoken to. He'd start trying a conversation himself, but the one guard was... kinda a jerk? And he was afraid of saying something off, something suspicious that would give them reason to not even take him to Vector.

Perhaps it was best that the walk was silent.

As they approached the castle, Yuma began to feel further uneasy, seeing more guards with spears along the castle grounds, staring at him suspiciously as the two guards who found him led him into the castle.

Yuma marvelled at the sight of the castle's interior, it being every bit as regal as the outside of the castle. Armor lined the hallways, small tables with expensive looking trinkets and vases of exotic flowers, red carpets accented with gold draped along the white stone floors.

It didn't take long for them to reach a room with large wooden double doors, the guard in front of him knocking twice before the doors opened.

Led inside, Yuma looked straight down the center of the room, and saw him: Vector, with a much softer expression on his face - one that reminded Yuma of his Shingetsu days - sitting on the throne; dressed in what Yuma deemed regal-looking attire, his arm sheathed in golden metal armor, and a ruby circlet on his head.

Vector and Yuma's eyes locked onto each other, and Yuma felt his stomach flip under the other male's curious gaze. Oh crap, what was he going to say? How was he going to explain who he was, what he was doing here, where he came from? Should he lie? Should he--

Vector's gaze suddenly left him, turning to the pair if guards instead. "What is the meaning of this?" Vector asked as he leaned forward slightly, his tone even and calm, kind.

The first guard to speak, the one who treated Yuma more respectfully out of the two, moved his spear, the butt of it placed firmly on the ground, the spearhead pointing straight up. "Forgive us, my prince, but we found this boy wandering the forest to the west of here, all on his own."

The other guard then spoke, mimicking the same action as the first with his spear. "We brought him here under the assumption that he was up to something nefarious, my prince." He then sneered as he looked at Yuma. "His clothes aren't of any kingdom I've seen. He could be a spy, or worse."

Yuma frowned at the second guard, but before he could say anything in his own defense, Vector stood up. He made his way towards Yuma, looking over his clothes once before reaching for Yuma's hands, untying the rope that bound them.

"M-My prince!" The second guard protested.

"Forgive my guards," Vector said softly, handing to rope off to the first guard. "Its not often we get a visitor from a foreign kingdom." Looking over Yuma's wrists for any sign of the rope having been too tight, Vector kept his grip on Yuma surprisingly delicate for one wearing metal armor. "I am Vector, prince of R'yleh." Gentle purple eyes rose to meet Yuma's red. "Tell me, what is your name, and where are your parents?"

Yuma gulped slightly, exhaling his nerves away before speaking. "My name is Yuma Tsukumo. My parents..." Yuma thought about his mother and father then, a small, sad frown coming to him. "My parents and I got separated."

"Separated?" Vector echoed, looking at Yuma sympathetically. He took a moment to examine Yuma's clothes, the style being one he'd never seen before. He must have been from a neighboring kingdom, as this style of clothing was unlike anything in R'yleh. A thought occured to Vector then. With his father having attacked surrounding kingdoms before his illness, could the king be the reason why Yuma got separated from his parents? A deep feeling of guilt settled in Vector at that thought. That meant anything could have happened to the other's parents.

"Prince Vector?" At the sound of a woman's voice, Vector turned his head, and Yuma followed suit, watching a woman come from a nearby room. "Is something wrong?"

"Mother." Vector acknowledged, Yuma's eyes widening slightly. One of the only real reference points Yuma had had for Vector's mother was her dying moments that Don Thousand had shown them during Vector's duel with Shark. But now that he'd seen her under better circumstances, Yuma recognized her.

"The guards brought a boy from the forest." Vector said to his mother. "He says he's called Yuma, and he's been separated from his family." He turned to look over Yuma once more, a slight frown on the carrot top's face as he thought for a second. He then looked to his guards, his expression kind - very unlike the modern day Vector. "Thank you for doing their duties. This boy shall be under my protection from this point on."

"But, my prince!" The second guard began to protest, but Vector gently raised his bare hand, in a motion meant to silence the guard.

"If Yuma was in the forest, there's a chance his parents might not be far behind." Vector began as he spoke to his guards, Yuma's gaze falling to the floor at that. "So if you, or any of the other guards see anyone, bring them here." Behind Vector, his mother nodded at the guards, them finally leaving once she nodded.

Vector's metal gauntleted hand reached for Yuma's cheek, cupping it as he looked over the red-eyed male's face. "You look rather healthy... Were you separated recently?" Before Yuma could answer, the young prince then brought his hand down, looking back to his mother. "Mother, would you kindly bring me a map of the neighboring kingdoms? I want to see if Yuma can pinpoint where he lost his parents."

Yuma paled at that. How was he going to get himself out of that one? He knew nothing of the land around them. Vector's mother spoke then, an ashamed look on her face.

"Forgive me, my son. But the maps are in your father's war room." She flinched slightly at her own words, Vector exhaling slowly as she spoke. "I don't believe any of them are viable to look at."

Vector closed his eyes for a moment. Right. His father's war plans... the same look of shame came over Vector, and he shook his head slightly. "Right then." He looked to Yuma, a somewhat sad smile on his face. "What kingdom do you hail from?"

Kingdom? Yuma mentally scoured his mind for the names of kingdoms that he encountered on the hunt for the Numbers in ruins, but realized that if he named an actual kingdom, and someone here had actually been there, he could be in big trouble. "I... I come from Heartland."

"Heartland?" Vector repeated, a bit of a frown coming to him as he thought. "That kingdom doesn't sound familiar." It was then he'd really wished they had a spare map, one his father hadn't taken for his war-planning. "I do honestly hope my father's madness didn't reach to your kingdom before he became ill. But... I'm relieved in knowing that if I have not heard of this kingdom, then more than likely neither had my father, and the chances of us finding your parents unharmed are rather good."

"What of this boy until then, Prince Vector?" His mother asked, walking forward to stand behind her son, and place a hand on his shoulder.

Vector very faintly leaned into her touch, looking up at her for a moment before looking back at Yuma. "I'd prefer you stay here, in the castle, until we find or hear word of your parents. To send you back out into the forest would be inconsiderate. I want your parents to see that we took care of you, not treated you poorly."

"But if you'd rather head back out into the wild to search for your parents on your own, I won't stop you." At that, Vector's mother's eyes widened, and she looked down at her son, who simply kept speaking. "But allow us to provide you with whatever you need if you do; whether it be food or clothing, or even a horse. I only ask that you forgive my guard's actions from before, and to speak kindly of my kingdom. I know my father's reputation has tarnished my people's name, but... I'm aiming to change that."

Yuma was silent, taking in Vector's words. Not that he was considering his offer to leave - he couldn't, not when there was a mission to be carried out. But... to hear Vector speak like this, to experience Vector at his most earnest, most genuine self, untainted by Don Thousand? It made Yuma wonder whether or not Shingetsu was truly, completely, an act.

"I'm..." Yuma frowned as he tried to word together a proper response, not wanting to come off as unappreciative or something of the like. He really wished Astral had come with him to give him pointers on how to talk in a way that wouldn't arouse suspicions. "I'm honored at your offers, Vecto-- err, Prince Vector." Yuma closed his eyes for a moment, before looking at Vector and his mother. "I don't mind staying in the castle with you until you can find them."

Vector's mother looked relieved at Yuma's words, not having wanted to send the boy back into the wild, even if they had provided him with whatever he would have needed. A soft smile came to the slender woman, who gently placed a hand on top of Yuma's head comfortingly. "I shall see to it that your stay is a most welcome one, child, and I do hope we can reunite you with your parents soon. I can only imagine how worried they must be about you."

She then pulled away from both boys, bowing her head slightly. "My prince, I'm off to find one of the chambermaids, and to locate a room for young Yuma." Vector nodded at her words, and she turned to leave, disappearing behind a nearby door.

Vector had seen his mother off with a fond smile, then turned back to Yuma, having noticed before how he had glanced to the guards. "I'll personally inform the guards we have here that you're our guest until further notice. You won't have to worry about them."

Yuma nodded his thanks, a hand going to grasp at the Emperor's key around his neck. "Thanks, Vec-- Prince Vector."

Vector smiled, chuckling slightly as Yuma corrected himself. "Its alright, when it's just us, you may call me just 'Vector' if you wish."

Sighing his relief, Yuma allowed himself to relax. "Gee, thanks. That's alot easier." Yuma blinked at his own words, before backtracking and stammering. "I-I mean, I've never really interacted with royalty, ya know?" Yuma laughed awkwardly, a hand going to rub at the back if his own head. "Its tough to remember to use like, titles and stuff!"

Vector blinked, before raising his non-armored hand to his mouth, laughing somewhat. "You're rather... interesting, Yuma."

"Sorry." Yuma apologized, lowering his hand. "I just... am nervous, I guess."

"We'll find your parents," Vector comforted, his non-armored hand going to rest on Yuma's shoulder. "We'll reunite you with them soon."

Yuma nodded, but he knew that that wasn't what he was nervous about. How far away in time were they from the day Don Thousand took everything away from Vector? Would he even be able to save him, save his mother? How much time did he have to prepare, to start forming a plan?

"How about," Vector began, taking his hand off of Yuma's shoulder, "I show you around the castle?" Vector nodded towards one of the doors. "If you're going to be staying here, the least I could do is try to make you feel welcome."

Yuma blinked, then nodded, a small smile coming to him. "I'd appreciate that, Vector."

#Krys Writes #Zexal #Yuma Tsukumo #Vector #Foilshipping

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starlightinhumanform · 6 years ago

Text

Seeing in Technicolor

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Analoceit

Summary: Logan and Virgil are used to having the living room to themselves by the ending of movie marathons. This time, however, they’re joined by Deceit who finds himself dragged into their weekly cuddle sessions.

Warnings (in order of strength): One Somewhat Non-Consensual Hug, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Fluff (like seriously tooth-rotting, my pals)

A/N: -In this fic, Virgil dated Deceit while he lived with the dark sides. After joining the light sides, he began dating Logan. -This switches occasionally from being Virgil-centric to being Logan-centric so both of their voices are included. Hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

As usual, Logan and Virgil found themselves the last ones up. The others had gone out in their usual order: Patton snuggled up against Roman’s legs, Roman finally giving in and staying quiet long enough to drift off, and Remus passed out behind the couch snoring loudly.

Staying up was kind of their thing. The others would fall asleep, giving Logan and Virgil the opportunity to scoot closer and closer until Logan inevitably found Virgil curled up in his lap, their arms and legs comfortably tangled together. (Virgil would always claim that technically Logan was not something that was meant to be sat on and, therefore, it was his way of relaxing).

What was new was Deceit.

He had been the last to join the group in their movie marathons, only joining them for the first time tonight, and he clearly didn’t know where he fit in. When he had first walked into the room, he had frozen, startled by the loud cheers from the others. It took him a few minutes of stuttering around the room before he had finally- and tentatively- sat down between Virgil and Logan on the couch.

Now he sat between them, body still tense like he was ready to run at any moment. He was hunched over his knees and his focus kept flickering away from the movie to glance at Virgil and Logan out of the corner of his eye.

Virgil recognized the similarities immediately- the rhythmic way Deceit tapped his fingertips together, how he kept holding his breath only to let it out in one purposefully quiet exhale, even the way he kept his arms and legs tucked neatly away so they didn’t touch anyone else. Deceit looked like him.

Virgil might embody Thomas’ anxiety, but right now Deceit was doing a better job of playing the role.

It especially reminded Virgil of when he had just started hanging out with the light sides. He had been completely unsure of where he was supposed to go and completely convinced that he didn’t belong there. The problem was obvious: Deceit was scared.

Virgil wished there was something he could do. If only there were some magic words he could say to put Deceit’s worries to rest. To just tell him Hey, you do belong with us and no, we don’t mind you and yes, we’re glad you’re here. He wanted to reach out and take all that tension from Deceit’s body. To let him know that he was safe.

But he couldn’t find the courage to do it, remembering the bitter ways he had reacted to the light sides’ friendliness at first. If any of them had shown him the sympathy or affection he wanted to give Deceit right now, he probably would have bitten their hand off before it could reach him.

Logan had noticed it too. Not that it was something too difficult to see. The discomfort in Deceit’s body language was painfully obvious. If Deceit could’ve compressed the space between his atoms to make himself smaller, he probably would have.

It was distracting, really. The anxiety radiating of Deceit was enough to draw even Logan’s attention away from the screen’s flickering colours and loud noises. Not to mention Deceit’s fidgeting, which had apparently decided to take up permanent residence in Logan’s peripheral vision.

Finally Logan sighed, tired of his attention being spilt and missing the familiar warmth of another side pressed up against him. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Deceit’s unsuspecting body, pulling backwards so Deceit was dragged into the couch cushions with him.

Deceit immediately yelped, waving his arms and trying to squirm out of Logan’s grip. By the time Logan hit the back of the couch, Deceit had stopped struggling, just frozen in Logan’s grasp. Every muscle in his body seemed to clench up once.

Even though Logan’s sudden movement had surprised Virgil, he was more concerned by just how terrified Deceit seemed. He was like a coiled spring, just waiting to be pushed past his breaking point- snap.

“Deceit- are you ok?” Virgil had never seen him look like this before.

Deceit’s wide eyes snapped to reach his, just the gaze of a scared animal. His chest started heaving and Virgil realized Deceit had stopped breathing for a second.

Logan let his arms relax and fall gently against Deceit’s stomach. With one hand he reached up and began combing Deceit’s bangs back from his forehead, “You really should relax.”

“What, what are you doing?” Deceit’s voice escaped him like the cracks and creaks of a haunted house.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Logan scrunched his eyebrows together, “I’m trying to help you relax; this usually works for Virgil.”

Virgil smirked, suddenly realizing that Logan’s abrupt (and somewhat startling) actions were his attempt at making Deceit feeling welcome. Logan had difficulty grasping the volume dial on affection- it was more of a simple on/off switch for him. Apparently Deceit had flipped the switch into On mode, “Hey, Logan, maybe you should let Dee go for now.”

“Oh. Certainly,” Logan couldn’t help but scowl slightly as he unwound he arms and released Deceit. He had been under the impression that physical affection was one on the most popular forms through which care could be displayed.

To both his and Virgil’s surprise, Deceit didn’t move far. He shifted until he was more centered between the two, but remained leaning back. His body was stiff and his eyes snapped from side to side, like he was waiting for one of the others to tell him he was doing something wrong. But he was there. Between them. And at least trying to join. Logan and Virgil blinked at each other across Deceit like Hey, I didn’t see that one coming.

For a second, nobody dared break the spell. Logan and Virgil were afraid that they’d breathe wrong and suddenly Deceit would be gone. Deceit sunk into the couch cushions as if he hoped to simply dissolve away.

The television filled the space between them. Neon mosaics painted across three faces. Flashes of colour reflected in three sets of glassy eyes. The scales on Deceit’s face seemed to drip with light as they reflected whatever movie Roman had chosen hours ago. Deceit’s expression was hard to place as it was painted by the ever-changing lighting. His wide eyes soaked in the saturated flashes from the film- warm brown turning into a kaleidoscope. A tiny pull on one side of his lips that was tugging them upwards. It was nearly impossible to see but it was something Virgil had learned to see in the years before. Hook, line, sinker. Virgil was in it all over again.

Logan was fixated. It was like he had been going to the same museum every single day and suddenly a new exhibit had been added with absolutely no warning and it just so happened to be one of the most beautiful pieces he had ever seen. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Awe? No, that’s too strong. Appreciation? Maybe. Affection was always a part of the equation; Logan had more respect for Deceit than probably any other side. Logan has a fondness for the way he liked to solve problems like a rationally thinking person (which just went to show how low the bar was) but Logan had never considered that the fondness could extend to Deceit himself. But looking down at Deceit- one usually stubborn and strong suddenly turned so small and vulnerable- there was a soft warmth filling up the empty spaces in his chest that was usually only reserved for Virgil. He couldn’t look away.

Finally Deceit’s voice broke the glaze that had settled over both of the others, “It actually wasn’t that bad?”

Virgil gave his head a shake, trying to remember what was going on, “What wasn’t?”

Deceit winced and pressed further into the couch cushions. Any hint of confidence disappeared, “Um, you know, uh-“

“This?” Virgil slid sideways and snaked his arm around Deceit, resting his chin on Deceit’s chest.

Deceit’s breath hitched, body tensing once again before softening into the hold, “Yeah. That.”

Virgil settled down further into the body below him, snuggling his chest flat against Deceit and resting his face against soft material of Deceit’s shirt. He was warm and Virgil liked the way Deceit’s slowly-steadying breath played against the loose strands of his hair.

He could feel Logan’s gaze settle across him and Deceit. A pang of worry hit him, wondering if Logan would be jealous or feel betrayed. Guilt seeped into the edges of his mind, distracting him from the steady, comfortable rhythm of Deceit’s chest rising and falling. Logan had been the one to reach out for Deceit first, but he also knew about Virgil and Deceit’s history.

“Hey!”

Logan’s voice pulled Virgil’s attention from where he had been staring at the meaningless movements on the screen. He was still siting up straight and looked comically insulted, a pout pulling at the ends of his mouth.

A laugh escaped Virgil as he stared up at Logan’s expression, relief washing over when it was obvious Logan wasn’t actually upset. Besides, the grumpy scrunch set of his mouth was nothing if not adorable.

Virgil gave him a lopsided smile from where he was still settled on Deceit, “Well you can join us.”

After a moment’s hesitation Logan leaned against Deceit’s other side. He wrapped one arm around Deceit’s shoulders and let other lie against Virgil’s arm.

All three turned their attention back to the movie, but Logan couldn’t see anything; he was far too concentrated on the thoughts flooding through his mind (systematically, of course).

So this wasn’t the usual arrangement. It was incredibly different, in fact. Deceit’s discomfort had been nearly tangible and it had been ruining Logan’s ability to pay attention to anything else. That’s why he had grabbed him- right? Obviously, he had felt some sort of sympathy for Deceit and held the understandable amount of affection one would for a companion. It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary.

Now, transfixed by the two men curled next to him, he wasn’t so sure. The movie was still playing and he still wasn’t watching it. Deceit’s anxiety wasn’t distracting him anymore but Logan couldn’t look away.

Virgil held his distinct beauty- eyes sparkling and a smug grin replacing his usual scowl. It took Logan’s breath away every time. Tonight, though, Logan seemed to be having an especially hard time catching his breath.

He was pretty sure it had something to do with the way Deceit’s face had been slowly but surely transforming into a smirk. Maybe it was the way Deceit’s back was pressing into Logan’s chest so he could feel the other side’s heartbeat. Or maybe it was how Deceit placed his hand lightly on Logan’s leg. His hand barely touched his thigh, fingertips merely brushing. Deceit may have relaxed somewhat but he was still so different than what Logan was used to. He was so unsure, so defenseless. He had never looked like this before but, then again, maybe Logan just hadn’t ever looked at him this way before.

Logan stared down at the hand barely resting against his leg. Deceit was still wearing his gloves, having- like Logan- chosen to remain in his usual outfit. The touch was feather-light but it was still there, dragging his attention to focus on that and that alone.

Deceit apparently noticed Logan’s eyes boring into the back of his hand and quickly tried to jerk back, breathing out a yelp of a “sorry-sorry-sorry” as he did.

Logan reacted instinctively, slamming his own palm over Deceit’s hand before it could move too far. He immediately regretted the action. Virgil and Deceit were both blinking at him like a pair of disbelieving owls.

If “wince” was an emotion, Logan was definitely experiencing it. He was acting like a bumbling fool, as if all of Roman’s starstruck foolishness had combined with Virgil’s awkward impulsiveness to create... whatever this was.

Virgil began laughing, a genuine bark that was so loud, Logan began worrying it would wake the others. After a few seconds, Virgil gasped in a breath, “God, you nerds. And I was worried you two wouldn’t get along. I mean, Logan, should I be jealous? You were never this much of a mess for me.”

Logan could feel his brain freeze up at what Virgil was implying- that he felt the same things for Deceit that he did for Virgil. Well, there was some definite logic to it. But Virgil had ripped the bandaid off before Logan even had the chance to accept the fact he had a wound.

“I, well, I- I don’t think,” Logan stuttered out words just so he could give something in the vague shape of a response. But what words to say? To deny it would be pointless but to confirm anything would lead to his figurative ruin.

He was sent reeling once again as Deceit twisted his hand so his palm faced upwards and smoothed the pad of his thumb against the top of Logan’s still clamped-down hand. Logan’s eyes never left that yellow glove as Deceit guided their hands upwards until their clasped hands sat between their two faces. Logan’s gaze flickered from his hand to Deceit’s sparkling eyes.

Deceit kept the eye contact steady- always questioning, but always smiling- as he pulled Logan’s hand forward, finally pressing his lips against the knuckles of Logan’s hand.

Logan sucked in a breath, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. He was being ridiculous and he knew it. He had an upfront approach to love and seemingly Deceit did too. But this was so different than Logan’s method. It was something about the way a thousand unsaid things floated in Deceit’s eyes, the way they searched Logan without ever moving.

A disgruntled sigh came from Virgil, “Excuse me, do you lovebirds need a room?”

Deceit let Logan’s hand fall from his lips, lacing their fingers together. He held Logan’s stare for a second longer as Virgil continued grumbling. Logan knew there was weight in the way Deceit looked at him, but it was in a measurement he could never translate.

Deceit turned away from Logan, dragging both of their attentions to Virgil snuggled into Deceit with a begrudging expression.

“-besides, I was here first. And that can be said for both of you-“

Virgil’s rambling was cut off as Deceit cupped his hand around Virgil’s chin, tilting his head up slightly. He leaned forward and placed his lips squarely over Virgil’s.

Virgil gave in, rolling his eyes and pressing his lips back against Deceit’s. He could feel Deceit smile, lips curling against his mouth. This felt right. He loved being with the light sides now but something had been lacking; finally all of the puzzle pieces clicked into places. The kiss deepened naturally, falling into the rhythm that had been so familiar to them at one point in time.

Virgil reached out, unclasping his hands from around Deceit’s back without breaking away. He stretched his arms until he found Logan. Virgil rested his hand against Logan’s chest, unconsciously lacing his tie through his fingers. He needed the contact; to say Hey I haven’t forgotten about you- I still love you. He needed the confirmation that Logan was still there. This all seemed too perfect. Virgil had always assumed he could only have one or the other- a life with dark sides or a life with the light sides, Logan’s care or Deceit’s affection. Virgil was sure one of them was going dissolve away at any moment.

But Logan’s heart was beating right beneath his palm. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the shirt’s material. And Deceit, he was real too- hand pressed against Virgil’s back and lips pressed even closer. Yeah, this felt right.

Deceit pulled away, eyebrow quirked, “Still needy for attention, I see-“

“Shut up,” Virgil shifted so he could grab Logan’s hand from Deceit’s shoulder and intertwined their finger’s together to lay on the top of the couch cushions. His other hand remained comfortably against Deceit’s chest.

For the first time since Deceit had joined them much earlier that evening, things were still. A calm settled over the room, the gentle breathing of the sleeping sides just barely audible beneath the sound of the movie. Deceit and Virgil turned their attention back to the screen. They were apparently quite comfortable with this new closeness between the three of them.

Logan, on the other hand, found himself wonderfully perplexed. This wasn’t the outcome he had been necessarily looking for and it certainly wasn’t something he could’ve possibly predicted. But Virgil looked more content than Logan had seen him in months. Deceit- god, Deceit- was practically glowing between them. Logan was confused as to how it had taken him to long to notice how beautiful Deceit was.

He didn’t want to break the tranquility but some small, not-so-serious part of Logan was struggling to not clap his hands like a little kid who had just received a surprise. The emotions squirmed through him, making it hard to sit still.

“What are you smiling about?” Virgil was wearing a smug grin like he knew exactly why Logan was smiling.

“Be quiet and watch the movie,” Logan turned away slightly and tried to ignore the two pairs of sparkling eyes that he knew were watching him.

The rest of the movie ended uneventfully. Logan found the animation to be rudimentary, the music shrill, and the plot to have no consistency. But it was enjoyable. He especially appreciated how Virgil’s hand had migrated closer across the couch cushions to play through his hair and the way Deceit had burrowed snugly against his chest.

Finally, the screen faded to black, credits rolling to a close without another movie queued behind it. Tucked against Logan, Deceit seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes open. They would fall slowly only to flicker back open a second later.

Logan found himself watching the cycle for a minute before shaking his head and chuckling. He wasn’t even sure whose foolishness he was laughing at- his own strange transfixation or Deceit’s sorry attempt at resisting sleep.

He used his free hand to brush Deceit’s bangs back and smiled when Deceit responded by snuggling his head in closer, “Why don’t you just fall asleep?”

“I wanna stay awake,” Deceit grumbled.

“But there’s no movie left to watch,” Logan tried to assure him.

“Not awake for movie- wanna stay with you guys.”

Virgil grinned at the shocked look on Logan’s face, “Don’t let him get to you- he always gets sappy when he’s tired.”

Deceit raised his head to glare but between his ruffled hair and sleepy eyes it wasn’t that affective, “I’m not tired.”

Virgil rolled his eyes as Deceit stifled a yawn, “Liar.”

“That’s kind of my job.”

If Deceit’s statement of wanting to stay awake with them hadn’t melted Virgil’s heart, the pout Deceit was giving him now would have done the trick.

“Come on, Snake,” Virgil unwound his hand from Logan’s and wrapped his arms around Deceit’s chest, pulling him into his lap. Deceit tilted sideways without resistance and lifted his legs up lie over Logan.

Virgil scooted over into Logan’s waiting arms and sighed happily as the hold tightened around his shoulders. Virgil rubbed his hands idly along Deceit’s shoulders and twisted his neck to rest his chin on Logan’s collarbone.

He was content to stay there- maybe forever- just silently watching the way Logan’s eyes roamed over his face. Virgil couldn’t help but flush happily under the direct attention.

But Deceit was quickly drifting away and Virgil was still convinced that whatever this was could never coexist with reality. Thousands of worries floated through his mind but one question in particular kept rising to the surface-

“Logan, you’re- you’re alright with this, right? You usually don’t jump into things this quickly and we didn’t have a chance to talk about this at all. Well, honestly, I didn’t think any of this would happen so I guess we couldn’t really have talked about but still I want to make sure you’re comfortable with all of this and-“

“Virgil, dear, you’re rambling again,” Logan bent his head down until their foreheads met with a gentle bump, “Besides we don’t even know what ‘this’ is yet. I suggest we gather more observations and then calculate a decision when we are better able to do so.”

Virgil snorted, “You mean we should wait and see where it goes?”

Logan darted forward, pecking Virgil on the lips before straightening up, “Yeah that’s exactly what I mean.”

Virgil felt a warmth seeping through his chest, burning hot. He wasn’t sure if it was result of his own affection or if it was just the warmth that radiated of Logan’s space-heater of a body. Maybe it was both. He wedged himself closer to Logan and smiled at the soft waves of drowsiness that were washing over him. Darkness soon took over his vision and only the sensation of comfort remained.

“So I can stay?”

Logan glanced past Virgil’s unconscious form at Deceit who blinked at him slowly with his reptilian eye. He shifted carefully so his back was flat against Virgil’s. His movements were unhurried and and his eyes remained half-lidded. Those eyes- still so full of questions, looking for answers, looking for safety. If Logan’s heart had the figurative strings that everyone spoke of, Deceit would have been playing them like a harp.

“Yeah. I think we’d both-,” Logan jerked his head gently to the side, indicating Virgil, “like that a lot.”

“Oh,” For a moment Deceit’s face wrinkled in confusion like he was having a hard translating Logan’s words. After a somewhat terrifying moment, his expression relaxed into a smile, “I think I’d like that too.”

Deceit curled up again, a tight little ball pressing into Logan’s lap. At his side, Virgil tucked himself tighter against his chest. Deceit’s breathing evened out, creating a soft counter rhythm to Virgil’s gentle snores. A few feet ahead, the DVD logo was bumping across the screen from side to side, casting a tiny blue spotlight over the room as it moved. Logan felt his eyes glazing over as he watched its hypnotizing movement. He could definitely get used to this.

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anistarrose · 6 years ago

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To See The Unseen - Ch. 2 (Gravity Falls)

Summary: Stan meets the mirror’s creator.

Warnings: a very brief description of a dead animal, and a character being hospitalized (no character death)

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/20884673/chapters/49642817

Big thanks to @apathetic-revenant for betaing this chapter!

***

“I’ve never been more ready to go to bed in my life,” Wendy groaned as she led the way back to the Mystery Shack. “You think Stan will mind if I crash on your couch for a couple hours? My brothers will be awake and screaming their heads off by the time I get home.”

“Yeah, he probably won’t mind,” Dipper replied. “Just be sure to tell him we were camping. He’ll go ballistic if he found out we almost died in the Author’s doomsday bunker.”

“But only because he cares about us,” Mabel spoke up. Her sweater was still slightly damp, and she shivered in the brisk early morning breeze. “I mean, if I was him and you guys told me you fought a shapeshifter in a fallout shelter, I’d go ballistic too!”

“You WHAT?!” Stan gasped. “What did I tell you just the other day about looking for trouble with the Journal?!”

The kids kept walking, passing straight through him. Mabel shivered again, but other than that, they gave no sign of having heard his outburst.

“Even if I have been a hypocrite about it…” Stan whispered.

Wendy squinted at the Shack, raising a hand to shade her eyes from the morning sun. “Hey, am I so tired I’m hallucinating, or is that Blubs and Durland on the porch?”

“Oh, great. What did Stan do this time?” Dipper mumbled. “Hey, Soos, you should probably hide that laptop from them —”

“Pines kids!” Durland shouted. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here! Something terrible has happened!”

Soos, Wendy, and the twins stared at him with glazed-over, sleep-deprived eyes.

“You need us to… help solve a mystery?” Dipper asked.

“A murder mystery?” Mabel echoed, rubbing her eyes. “We have a kind-of-okay track record with those…”

“Whatever it is, I have an alibi,” Wendy muttered.

Blubs stepped forward, gaze fixed on the floorboards. “It’s about… it’s about your uncle.”

“Shit,” Stan mumbled. “Kids, whatever they say happened, I promise it’s not actually that bad —”

His voice cut off. Was that even true? He didn’t know a single thing about what being trapped in this gray mirror world meant for him — it easily could be not just ‘that bad,’ but even worse.

“Is Mr. Pines okay?” Soos asked. “What happened?!”

“He’s in the hospital. Dan Corduroy found him in the forest this morning, and… well, I’m no doctor, but apparently he didn’t seem injured and his vitals were all A-okay. He just… won’t wake up no matter what anyone tries.”

Mabel gasped, and Soos covered his mouth.

“Do — do you know how it happened?” Dipper stammered. “Was it one of the anomalies? How long has he been unconscious?”

Blubs sighed. “I’m so sorry, Dipper, but I don’t know a single thing. You know what — here, get into the squad car. I’ll drive you to the hospital so you can see him.”

Stan drifted after his family, watching as they piled into the police car. Mabel stared out the window, quieter than Stan had ever seen her before, while Dipper buried his nose in Journal 3, frantically flipping through pages so quickly he gave himself a paper cut.

“It’ll be alright,” Mabel told him without making eye contact. “The doctors will figure something out.”

“But what if they don’t?” Dipper asked. He didn’t seem to have even noticed his finger was bleeding. “What if medicine can’t help him, because it’s supernatural?” he continued in a voice barely above a whisper. “There’s no info about anything like this in the Journal — but if only I had the other volumes, then maybe they’d have something that could help. Something about how to cure him…”

“Oh, Dipper,” Stan murmured. “It just got me into this mess in the first place…”

***

Pacifica lay in bed, half-awake, for longer than usual that morning, until the sound of a servant knocking on her door startled her, and she finally crawled out from under the satin sheets. It took a few seconds of staring at the compact mirror resting atop her dresser before the events of the past night rushed back to her, and she shuddered.

The mirror still gave her bad vibes, even in broad daylight and outside of the infamously unnerving Gravity Falls forest. It reminded her of certain taxidermy-filled rooms of the mansion, especially the allegedly haunted one — there was just a sort of chill in the air around it, just barely subtle enough for you to convince yourself it was only your imagination acting up.

Even though she hadn’t changed out of her nightgown yet and would’ve looked ridiculous had anyone been around to see her, Pacifica put on a pair of gloves before opening the mirror. She was still going against both her gut feeling and basic common sense by examining the artifact at all, but she knew that if she hid it away now, there would eventually come a day when she grew so bored, she wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation any longer.

Despite bracing herself for the worst, nothing cataclysmic happened when she opened the mirror — no swarms of insects flew out, no bolts of dark magic incinerated her, and as far as she could tell, no deadly plagues seemed to be released into the world.

But although it wasn’t quite the Pandora’s Box she’d been expecting, it was most definitely supernatural. The mirror reflected everything in grayscale, except for her own body, which glowed blue. And the picture below…

Surprisingly, it looked incomplete. A broad-shouldered silhouette dressed in dark clothing stood in front of a row of trees, that much was clear, but most of the details were missing, especially around the completely blank area where a face should’ve been.

“Well, that’s freaky…” Pacifica was about to rummage through the contents of her desk, looking for a magnifying glass to examine the portrait more closely, when her maid knocked on her door again, and she reflexively snapped the mirror closed.

“Remember, your dance tutor will be arriving at ten o’clock sharp! You’d best be eating breakfast soon, unless you want to be late!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Pacifica called back, shoving the mirror under her pillow as she hastily selected a dress from her closet and a necklace from her jewelry box before rushing to the bathroom. “I’ll be back for you,” she whispered to the mirror.

The mirror didn’t reply, but had it still been opened, Pacifica might’ve noticed that the portrait was ever-so-slowly growing closer to completion, adding a tie to the figure’s sharp black suit.

***

After a few minutes of asking the doctors one question after another, none of which they were able to answer, Dipper threw a glass of cold water in his face, adjusted his hat, and declared that he was off to investigate the place where Stan had been found, hoping to find some evidence that would lead to a cure. Wendy quickly announced she was going with him, which didn’t surprise Stan — he knew she’d never been fond of hospitals.

Figuring it would be smart to stay close to his body in case of a breakthrough, Stan didn’t follow Dipper and Wendy as they left, but still he overheard Dipper muttering to himself:

“I need to find the other Journals. One of them must have the answer to getting him back, somehow…”

“Come on, kid,” Stan whispered. “Don’t you go down this road too. It’s no fun to live your life like this, trust me…”

Mabel pulled her chair right up next to Stan’s hospital bed, and leaned up against him, burying her head in his spare pillow. Soos sat on the other side of the room, half-heartedly flipping through hospital-provided health magazines and flinching almost every time Stan’s heart monitor beeped. Like Pacifica, neither of them had reacted to the pale blue glow that Stan could see coming from beneath his body’s half-closed eyelids.

He tried to give Mabel a reassuring pat on the back, to no avail. Her breathing slowed as his hand passed through her shoulder, and for a second he was afraid he’d hurt her somehow, but then she began to snore quietly, and he realized she’d just fallen asleep.

“What am I gonna do, Soos?” Stan asked. “I can’t get back in my body, I can’t tell you what happened, I can’t even let you know I’m okay…”

A new, terrifying realization dawned on him. “I can’t operate the portal! I was so close to getting Ford back, so goddamn close! But how am I going to save him if I’m trapped in this mirror world?!”

“You could always do what he did, and get a little help from a friend!”

The voice wasn’t spoken out loud as much as it resonated in Stan’s mind, high-pitched and echoing in a way that made his nonexistent ears ache. He was also pretty sure he’d heard it before, even if he hadn’t been in the most coherent state at the time.

“I swear,” he growled, “if I turn around and see that screaming geometry dipshit from my nightmare last week, I’m gonna puke ghost guts all over that one-eyed piss-yellow triangular ass of his.”

The being behind him began to clap. “Go ahead and turn around, then! I’d love to see it!”

Stan turned, and sure enough, found himself facing a one-eyed, piss-yellow, triangular entity.

“Well? Where’s the ghost puke you promised me?”

“Shut the fuck up, Bill. That is your name, right? I gotta be sure you know exactly how much I hate your dumb whiny voice in particular.”

“Read about me in Fordsy’s journal, did you?” Bill asked, twirling his cane.

Stan raised a hand to his ear. “Huh, what’s that noise? ‘Cause it definitely isn’t a first grader’s math homework shutting the fuck up, that’s for sure!”

Bill let his cane go flying out of his grip and through the nearest wall, disappearing from view for a moment before popping back into existence in his other hand. “Oh, Stanley, Stanley, Stanley. I’m here to help you, just like I helped Sixer! So let’s not say anything we’ll end up regretting later —”

“Too late.” The cocky grin disappeared from Stan’s face as he made a fist. “No one calls Ford ‘Sixer’ but me, and you’re really gonna regret mixing that one up if I have anything to say about it.”

“Oh, my bad!” Bill shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t mean to slight your precious sibling relationship, which you both clearly value SO much! If only I could make it up to you by… I dunno, saving you from ETERNAL IMPRISONMENT?!”

“I’ve broken out of prison in three different countries, I’ll be fine on my own. Also, I know you tried to hurt my family when you all went off on your wild goose chase through my mind — and call me overprotective of those kids if you want to, but in my book, that’s a pretty good reason not to make any dark magical contracts with you.”

For the first time, Bill looked genuinely looked caught off guard by one of Stan’s comebacks. “You were conscious for that? You know what, forget it. I —”

“Well, I mean, I was asleep — but I was definitely dreaming about you getting your ass kicked.”

“I said FORGET IT!” Bill snapped.

“Touchy subject, eh?”

“It was in the past! It doesn’t matter anymore!” Bill shouted. “You need my help and my deal now, Stanley Pines, and there’s no way around it!”

Stan floated lower, until he was able to roughly approximate sitting at the foot of the bed. “Well, looks like I’ve got all day to kill and nothing better to do. I’m not gonna listen, but you might as well start making your case anyway.”

Bill’s eye narrowed with glee, and he began to chuckle to himself, then cackle louder and louder until it felt like his laughter would never stop echoing inside Stan’s head.

“Here’s the thing, Stanley — you really don’t have all day at all! In fact, you have…”

With a burst of flame, he summoned a ticking gold pocketwatch in his hand. “Exactly twelve hours and two minutes!”

“Until what? I’m not gonna fold and cut a deal with you just because of a vague threat and a time limit — that’s like, even more basic than Manipulation 101.”

Bill laughed, and his pocketwatch cooed like a cuckoo clock as an avian skeleton sprung out of the hole in the center. “Twelve hours until your body stops breathing, obviously! It’ll be real sudden, too — no time for the doctors to switch you over to life support before your brain runs out of oxygen!” One of his arms extended as he reached over to Stan, rapping him on the skull. “Then again, I’m not sure you’re getting much blood flow up there in the first place. Certainly less than old Fordsy —”

“Why should I believe you?” Stan asked. “If I was a math nerd’s demonic fever dream, I’d be making up bullshit life-or-death ultimatums left and right. Who would be be dumb enough to make a bargain with me otherwise?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. But to answer your question, just look at your own eyes, down there in your body! They’re not even glowing half as bright as when you first got flipped into the mindscape, and they’re only gonna keep getting dimmer until the connection’s gone altogether!”

Bill snapped his fingers, summoning a plume of blue flame in which an image of the mirror flickered into existence. “When that portrait in the compact is completed, exactly twenty-four hours from the moment you entered the mirror, you’ll be severed from the living world forever — and that’s not all! Your soul gets trapped inside that musty old picture to rot and fester until either someone new scries with the mirror, or eternity itself comes grinding to a halt at the end of the world! That’s the beauty of it: you get to be all-seeing — almost like me! — for exactly one day, but once that’s over, all you’ll ever see again is the inside of a closed compact!”

The image in the flames faded away as they swirled around Bill’s hand, which he extended in Stan’s direction. “But I can put you back in your body, and send the mirror’s previous prisoner back into the painting instead! I can save you, just like I saved your brother! Whaddya say?”

“Yeah, of course,” Stan answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “All makes perfect sense to me. You just so happen to be the world’s leading expert on cursed mirror and equally cursed painting combos!”

“Well, why wouldn’t I be? I helped make the thing, after all!”

“Oh, did you? That explains why holding it instantly reminded me of my deep hatred for trigonometry.”

Bill ignored him. “You know, your brother wasn’t the only mortal I’ve been a Muse to! He was just the only one in recent memory who was actually USEFUL. I’ve appeared before countless pupils over the years, looking for someone who’d be smart, ambitious, and not to mention gullible enough to help me fulfill my vision — but before Six-Fingers, everyone fell short. And worse — some of them wouldn’t stop summoning me even after I’d given up on them! They kept asking me inane questions about the beginning of the universe and the meaning of life!”

His triangular body turned bright red and the flames surrounding him roared as he continued: “Life doesn’t HAVE a meaning! Humanity was put on the planet to reproduce, die, and make meaningless philosophical arguments in a desperate attempt to convince themselves that morality and ethics are worth anything in the callous void that is existence — what else did they want me to tell them?! Some saccharine bullshit about being born so they could make the world a better place?”

“So you got fed up, and made the mirror to trap one of your ex-pawns?” Stan asked.

The flames disappeared, and Bill seemed to calm down, turning yellow again. “You catch on faster than I thought you would! I tricked one of my most insufferable pupils into creating it, and sure enough, he hasn’t bothered me since!”

“So when Ford tried to scry with the mirror thirty something years ago, he freed that guy’s ghost — but you still thought Ford would still be useful, didn’t you?” Stan tried to keep his voice calm, but he was starting to get a good idea of just who had driven Ford to such paranoia and desperation thirty years ago, and he was fuming inside. “So you freed Ford by switching his place with the ghost of that first guy you trapped.”

“Exactly!” Bill cheered, rubbing his hands together. “And I can do the same for you — just give me the word, and you’ll be back in your body before you know it!”

“Let’s imagine a parallel universe where I was a dumbass and I did take your deal. What other conditions would you be hiding in the fine print?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be hiding it! I’d actually be rather upfront, just like I’m being right now!” Bill smacked Stan on the head with a roll of paper, which unfurled to reveal a document titled CONTRACT.

“All I’d ask is for you do owe me one tiny favor down the line — a chance for me to borrow your restored body for a few hours when the right moment rolls around! I mean, you’ve coped without it for this long — what’ll one more brief stint in the mindscape be to a pro like you?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to say FUCK NO to that. I know you’re used to dealing with my brother, the most gullible genius on the planet, but while he may have all the brains, I have some actual goddamn common sense.”

“But — but don’t you want to open the portal?” Bill asked him, a little too quickly. “I’d like to see you try and operate it without your body!”

“Well, yeah — but are you really expecting me to be able to activate it all on my own? Even with all the journals, I’ve still got no idea what I’m doing,” Stan lied. “I could just as easily flip the thing’s self-destruct switch as I could find the right settings to bring Ford back. I’ll feel guilty if I can’t at least try, but… it was a hell of a long shot in the first place. I accepted that a long time ago, even if I don’t like to admit it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Bill shouted. “The thing doesn’t even HAVE a self-destruct switch! I — I could even sweeten the deal, if you want! I could help you turn it on! This has been thirty years in the making — you can’t just give up on it now! Also, did I forget to mention YOUR ETERNAL FUCKING IMPRISONMENT and SLOW, PAINFUL CORRUPTION INTO A REVENGE-BENT MONSTER?!”

Okay, so Bill really wants the portal activated for some reason, Stan thought to himself. Interesting.

Out loud, he told Bill: “I’ve been messing around with too much shit that I don’t understand since before you even showed up. I’m not adding a deal with a demon to that list, and that’s final. Besides, you’re forgetting that the kids will probably figure something out. They always do.”

“Well, that sure is a cute sentiment!” Bill shot back. “But you’re already as good as dead to them, Stanley. They can’t see you, they can’t hear you — and soon enough, if you don’t do something, they won’t be able to feel your heart beating in your body anymore either!”

“Oh, I do plan on doing something,” Stan replied with a straight face. “It just won’t be the something you want me to do.”

“My offer still stands!” Bill shouted as he disappeared in a burst of blue flames. “Just call my name once it sinks in how doomed you are without me, and I’ll be right there to shake your hand and seal the deal!”

Mabel, still asleep next to Stan’s body, let out a deep sigh as Bill vanished, but otherwise didn’t react to their conversation. She was hugging Stan’s arm and clutching handfuls of the bedsheet like it were the lifeline tying Stan to the world, and if only she held on tight enough, she’d be able to drag him back.

And maybe, in a roundabout way, she could.

“Bill said I’m all-seeing like him until my twelve hours are up,” Stan explained to her, even knowing it wouldn’t be heard. “So if you’ll bear with me here, Mabel…”

He placed his hand over her forehead, and closed his eyes.

“I’m gonna see if I can haunt dreams like him too.”

***

Pacifica’s dance lesson dragged on for over an hour, showing no signs of coming to an end until she claimed to be experiencing a dehydration-induced dizzy spell and her instructor reluctantly excused her, probably fearing a lawsuit. She headed back to her room right away, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that her pillow — and the mirror beneath it — hadn’t been disturbed. She was going to have to find a better hiding place for it soon.

As she pulled out a map of the mansion, trying to think of nooks and crannies that no one ever checked, a thud from the hallway made her jump. She almost brushed it off, chalking it up to her imagination, when she heard it again, and then a third time, growing louder with each repetition.

It didn’t sound like footsteps — or at least, not the footsteps of any human. If anything, it sounded like solid stone was striking the hallway’s hardwood floor.

Pacifica watched, frozen in place, as a veil of smoke materialized around her doorknob, twisting it counterclockwise degree by degree as the door ever-so-slowly swung open —

And then she laughed, because what she was seeing in the hallway couldn’t have been further from the monster she’d been expecting.

“You’re a statue,” she snickered, and her visitor’s stone eyes lit up red.

Oh, but not just any statue, a voice boomed from inside the familiar face that had once watched over the town square. I’m Gravity Falls’ very own Nathaniel Northwest!

***

(End notes:)

I was very excited for this chapter since I don’t write a whole lot of Stan and Bill interacting (outside of Some Sunny Day, which was a whole different beast altogether). And sure enough, I had a ton of fun with Stan’s dialogue, which led to this chapter being about a thousand words longer than expected.

Anyways, comments/reblogs are appreciated as always!

#gravity falls #stanley pines #bill cipher #dipper pines #mabel pines #wendy corduroy #soos ramirez #pacifica northwest #fic: to see the unseen #rosalia writes fic

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permian-tropos · 6 years ago

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Hi! you said you only like particular types of Kylux, do you have any stories to recommend? How do you feel about gingerpilot, hux/rose (hose?) and hux/cardinal?

It’s actually been a few years since I shipped kylux. My absolute ultimate Star Wars OTP that has consumed 50% of my waking thoughts has been gallirae, which is such a teensy Imperial rarepair. Even with it being so teensy, just myself and some friends, I haven’t run out of ways to explore it. There’s so much untapped potential. I’ve shipped it for longer than I shipped kylux. Rae Sloane in particular succeeds at being the villainous archetype that a lot of people including myself had to work to transform Hux into. An ambitious, talented, career officer and underdog with reasons to passionately defend the system and other reasons to doubt or resent it.

Back when I was more kylux-exclusive, once I got into the idea of creating my own content, I was very fixated on that and found other fic to be somewhat distracting. Also lately my attention span when it comes to reading fanfic has drastically improved. (Going back on ADHD meds has... been part of it). So back in the day, I noticed plenty of cool stories, including stuff friends of mine wrote, but struggled to read it. My impression of fandom was more the stuff that wound up on my tumblr dash. Plus I did a ton of RP. There’s probably a lot of really good kylux fic out there that I never got around to reading, also a lot of good kylux fic I read but forgot. I didn’t keep good records on AO3. I just now checked my bookmarks list for you and the kylux fics on there? I do not remember anything about them and I really did read them ages ago. I don’t even have enough links to fics my old fandom friends wrote. I really just wasn’t much of a content curator.

I think my ideal kylux (The Fic I Never Truly Wrote) would be something with a truly sci-fi, fantasy, or paranormal plot. Something besides romance is going on, danger and intrigue especially coming from extraordinary sources. There’s a whole chunk of worldbuilding, intrigue, suspense or danger. Kind of action-adventure buddy-dramedy-ish (I said kylux isn’t like ineffable husbands in personality but that doesn’t mean they can’t be thrown into slightly alike plot circumstances).

That being said. There’s one kylux fic I still remember liking AND remembered enough identifying info to find it again on AO3 (there’s a couple of others that I just... FUCK... I can’t remember the author or fic name even though a lot of other stuff is really clear in my mind. Sorry. I was depressed and disorganized for the past few years). I’m not saying this one’s the best of everything I’ve read, or exactly what I might have been looking for. But I remember it. It’s quite old by sequel trilogy fandom standards. Also if it turns out to have been right about Palpatine possession being the endgame thing, that will be neat as heck.

Saint by @ofcorsetstrash lol I think I’ve told them once before that this is inexplicably one of my favorite fics (not that it’s inexplicable because it’s not good but that I read it very early on and it remained memorable with how huge the fandom got) it just resonated with me maybe I really liked the way it represented mental conversations with use of text formatting, that’s something I did in one of my first fanfics and it’s a very cool and vivid technique.

Also there’s these fics my best friend Mads @honeypothux wrote a while back:

Seasons Greetings From the Solo-Organas -- a holiday comedy with a cool background element of a modern AU with Star Wars infused history (I’m a sucker for modern settings that are like what medieval fantasy is to medieval Europe -- very similar normal everyday life, very different geopolitics and history. It has the same intrigue for me as magic realism.)

When the Crypt Door Creaks -- sadly unfinished but it’s young adult Kylo and Hux in a haunted Disney ride adventure. The Haunted Mansion itself. A lot of cool ideas, reminds me a teeny bit of a Henry Selick animated film.

And the ones of mine I like:

Flashburn -- very very weird context for this one, fandom got obsessed with tentacle rape for a brief while and I found it squicky and started a fic to work through that squick by taking the idea seriously, but it’s not at all explicit, it’s about as implicit as you can get without actual ambiguity. Rated T but check the warnings. It’s more about Kylo and Hux discovering ways to not hate each other.

Our Wicked Home -- maybe my favorite kylux fic I’ve written. Senator Hux returns to the abandoned Arkanis Academy as part of a truth and reconciliation, alongside his Jedi bodyguard Ben Solo. Hux doesn’t have a bad relationship with his family in this (and his parents were happily married), and it’s hard for him to cope with having nostalgia for a place where there was so much suffering.

Memory of Snow -- quiet alpine angst post-canon with hermit Kylo finding outcast Hux has tracked him down

Moving on:

How I feel about gingerpilot? Never really felt like my thing.

Hux/Rose? I have never seen it called Hose that’s hilarious omfg. I didn’t passionately love it at first but my pal @tobermoriansass got me into it. I definitely don’t ship it in all possible configurations. Not as a cutesy sort of ship, definitely. Something raw and rotten and intense. I have a half-finished Hux/Rose fic that I wrote for a fic exchange. Still feel guilty about not completing it. But I kind of gave myself a writing injury trying to finish it, pushed myself too hard. I’ll come back to it when I’m ready.

If you want a smut rec here’s a wild ride of a Finn/Rose/Hux weird alien psychic bond threesome

Hux/Cardinal? I haven’t read Phasma yet, just had other people tell me about it. I’d kind of like to ship them as brothers. This is mostly because I don’t like canon Brendol Hux having no complexity in his relationship to his son. I think he was once an interesting character who could have been even more interesting and who can’t be interesting when he’s too repulsive to linger on for long. So having Cardinal and Armitage develop a strong brotherly bond adds to a complicated family backstory. Deep down I want to do a Fullmetal Alchemist AU for them where Cardinal is the disembodied suit of armor brother to Armitage the shrimpy irascible genius, though they’re far less heroic than the Elrics.

Ummmmmm

I think that’s about it except that one major reason why I don’t read kylux is that I’m absolutely obsessed with my OC of his mom and I so vastly prefer the universe where she exists because she’s like a weird overpowered feral ocean witch. If only canon had invented her instead of me.

OH ALSO I FORGOT THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION ANON YOURE VERY LOVELY HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FICS I JUST GOT SO FOCUSED ON ANSWERING I FORGOT I WAS VERY HAPPY TO GET YOUR ASK LOL

#asks #fic recs #kylux

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holidaysat221b · 7 years ago

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Life in Death - Now Complete

Life in Death

(10909 words) by SimplyShelbs16

Chapters: 8/8

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper

Characters: Meena (Sherlock), Jim Moriarty

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Eventual Romance, Annoyed Sherlock Holmes, Annoyed Molly Hooper, Ghost Sherlock

Summary: Molly Hooper finds an antique pocket watch in a thrift shop, resulting in her being haunted by the ghost of a Victorian Era Sherlock Holmes, who happens to have once been a tenant of her flat. Follow this annoyed-at-first-sight story full of witty banter, eventual romance, and an attempted murder most foul.

Once again the share to Tumblr widget on Ao3 has failed me, but it did give me some info to copy and paste and THERE YOU GO!

Submitted by @simplyshelbs16xoxo for Halloween at 221b. Fic completed in 8 parts.

#2018 sherlolly halloween #sherlolly #author: simplyshelbs16xoxo

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crowkingwrites · 8 years ago

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Bang Bang! (Ch.20)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Summary: The Red Wedding happened a week ago. Your boss, Petyr, insists on celebrating the men who “won” this victory, the Red Kings, an assassination group run by the sour-looking Roose Bolton. You, one of Petyr’s favorites, is tasked to find out more about these Red Kings. Who are they? Who are their clients? Who is next?You’re very good at what you do until you meet him. What do you do? Girls like you can’t fall in love. Does the Pretty Bird fly away with him? Or does she ruin the Bloody Bastard and everything he has?

Words: 3040

Author’s Notes: I couldn’t fucking help myself. Here’s the chapter early guys.

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11108982/chapters/29709018

There were places where darkness is born and something awful smells. Where flesh rots and dead kings haunt the walls. You can hear their last words lingering in your ears, ‘a flayed man has no secrets.’ The floor had broken concrete and the ceilings leaked water.

This was a haunted place, a broken place. A distinct screaming was heard in the basement below. Other hostages, prisoners, etc. sat in their rooms, tied up and terrified they would be next. The screaming became louder, and one grown man hostage tried t make himself small, thinking that this was all a dream and he would wake up soon.

Behind a wooden door, the screaming victim was trying his hardest to breathe. He had screamed so loud, and he was under immense pressure. He wouldn’t be able to hold it for much longer. His endurance was losing. For a moment, he thought he was going to die here in this forgotten place.

“My patience is almost gone, Karstark,” a low voice warned. “Tell me where Winterfell’s weak spots are. I know that you know. You were their security. It was your job.” The Karstark man mustered up his energy and spat blood at the voice.

“I ain’t afraid of you, Bolton cunt,” his neck extended as far as he could. For a grown man who was crucified to an X in the middle of the room, the Karstark man had a lot of nerve. The voice stayed close to his face, inhaling the dried blood on his cheek from the cut he made earlier.

“That’s a mistake, Karstark,” the voice smirked. He sunk his flaying knife into his side and twisted it. The Karstark groaned and tried to hold the pain in. He was growing exhausted. “Do not test my patience any longer. I want my answers.”

The Karstark man breathed in and out. He was trying to stay steady and calm. He had heard no man had survived Roose Bolton’s son’s tormenting hands. He didn’t believe in these tall tales. He would survive this. ‘He’s just a boy.’ He thought to himself. ‘Only a horrid, unloved boy.’

“I’m waiting,” he said. He took the flying knife out and went to his table filled with all sorts of toys. The Karstark man watched him as he chose another weapon: a metal shaped pear. He went around to his backside, dragging his pants down.

“What are you doing?” the Karstark man became desperate. “Stop! What are you doing?!” Suddenly, he felt an intense amount of pressure in his asshole. The cold, rusty metal irritated and tore his skin until it stopped. The device stood in place; held there by the Karstark’s clenching. A small amount of blood trickled down his leg. He started to sweat, and that’s when the boy opened his mouth.

“Do you like truth or dare? I do. I like it when people tell me what I want. Every time you tell me the truth, I’ll pull this out a little bit. Every time you lie to me, well,” he cackled. “you’ll see.”

“Take it out. Take it out now!”

“Tell me about Winterfell’s weak spots. Tell me about the Greyjoys. Who do they have there?” he asked. The Karstark groaned loudly, and he heard a click. Suddenly, the device tore his asshole and skin more, widening the opening. He screamed in response.

“That’ not a valid answer,” he laughed. As the cruel boy was about to turn the device again, a small voice was at the door.

“Master,” he greeted. “I’m sorry, but you’re needed in the upper floor.”

“Not now,” he said. He turned and the device clicked. It widened the Karstark’s opening more. The Karstark screamed so hard, he found it hard to breathe again.

“Sir please,” the small voice pleaded. His frame was small. His hair was matted, and his skin was aged despite being so young. His master stopped what he was doing, and went other to the poor thing. He grabbed him by his shirt and punched him twice in the eye. The small figure curled up on the ground, almost weeping.

“Did you not hear me?” his master held his face and spat in his ear. “I said, not now.”

“Y-yellow Dick sent me,’ the weeping figure explained. “He said it was urgent. About the Lannister spies.” The Master turned to the Karstark man and narrowed his eyes.

“We’re not finished yet,” he left the room, dragging the small figure behind him by his shirt. They walked to the upper floors of the ravaged building. The windows were broken into and had different shades of green, gray, and yellow to them. Cold breeze flew through the large meeting room. At the end of the room was several screen formed to make one large tv screen on the wall. Several chair and tables were about with several Red Kings sitting in them.

Their faces were not cold, stoic, or emotionless. They were worried, concerned, and some cringed when he entered the room. He dropped the small figure on the ground. The small figure responded by scattering away towards the Bastard’s boys who sat in the front of the room, waiting.

“Sit Reek,” Ben Bones ordered. The small figure sat on the ground, favoring his right eye. “Afternoon, Ramsay.”

Ramsay stood in front of the Chicago division of the Red Kings and his boys. “What the hell do you want?”

“Yellow Dick has some information he needs to share with you,” Ben explained.

“As my head of knowledge, he should have info,” Ramsay spat. “That’s what’s expected of him.” Yellow Dick sat unfazed by his laptop. He had no hair on his shaved head, but he did have the infamous Red King’s “X” on his neck with several piercings on his ears and nose. He wore a yellow beanie on his head, protecting his head from the cold room.

“I have received intel from our inter-house spies,” his bored voice echoed in the room. He pressed a key on his laptop and it started a slideshow. “The Greyjoys have received our special package. They know we have Theon. There have been musings of Yara planning to attack us, but we’re ready for her.”

Yellow Dick pressed his keyboard and another slide displayed blueprints of the Winterfell estate and company buildings.

“The Greyjoys have been holding down Winterfell since the disappearance and death of the two youngest Stark boys. They are weak. We can take it from them.”

“Although your father and brother advise we wait for the Lannister to give it to us,” Ben interrupted. Ramsay examined the blueprints.

“We don’t need to take Karstarks anymore. We have the information right here,” Yellow Dick said. “We can let the go.” Ramsay frowned.

“And let them go back to their superiors to tell them what happened? I don’t think so,” Ramsay corrected. He pointed out five Red Kings. “You. Go to the basement and execute all Karstarks. We don’t need their northern stubbornness anymore.”

Five Red Kings stood up and left the room in a rush. Each of them already brandishing a gun in their hand. Yellow Dick waited for them to leave to continue. He pressed another key on the keyboard. This slide displayed pictures of Joffery’s murder scene. His head was disfigured and bloody. Broken glass was around his head and shoulders.

“Joffery’s death has been determined as a murder of course,” Yellow Dick continued. “Cersei suspects her brother and Sansa Stark. While her brother rots in jail, Sansa Stark has yet to be found. She disappeared that night and no one has found her yet.”

“Who really killed him?” Ramsay paced around the room. Some Red Kings kept their eye on him, waiting for something to happen.

“Dornish assassins,” Yellow said. “It seems Petyr Baelish didn’t seek out our services for that one.”

“No, no he did not,” Ramsay narrowed his eyes as he looked at the next slide which showed pictures of police reports. Some detailed how the shot was taken. “Does my father and brother know?”

“I had a private meeting with your father this morning,” Yellow responded. “He suspects that Petyr may be looking to betray us soon. Roose pointed out that Charlotte should report to him about him and his birds. Roose thinks he’s planning something now that Joffery’s dead. In the meantime, we still have Cersei and Tywin on our side. They are powerful allies.”

“What else?” Ramsay asked.

“Well,” Yellow Dick went through his notes. “Deborah informed us the Tyrells and Lannisters are planning new alliances. Tywin wishes to marry off Cersei with Loras.”

“That’s useless to me. What else?”

“Nothing else, sir,” Yellow Dick couldn’t meet his eyes. Ramsay stood in front of him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Your father thought it would be best if you didn’t know. He said he wanted to take of this last manner personally.”

“What is it?” Ramsay asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Yellow Dick looked Ramsay in his eyes. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to know. Your father seems to think the same thing.” Ramsay slammed his hand son the table, startling everyone around him.

“Need I remind you of who’s in charge? Do you think I let my father tell me what I can or can’t do? What. Is. It,” Ramsay’s fingers tapped against the table impatiently. Yellow Dick looked to the other Bastard’s Boys.

“Ramsay, he’s serious,” Ben said. “You are one of my best friends in this world. If I were you and I had a choice, I wouldn’t want to know either.” Ben’s words were sincere and honest. Ramsay kicked over a chair. It flew across the room. The metal landed by a Red King. All of them stared at Ramsay in concern.

“Show me,” Ramsay demanded. He took out his gun and pointed it at Yellow’s head. “Don’t make me ask again. Yellow exhaled his remaining air and typed away at his keyboard. He projected a paused video on the screen. Ramsay narrowed his eyes. The video looked dark and he only saw a young man. “The fuck am I looking at?”

“Do you remember a while ago we hired on a Lannister spy named Bradley Swyft? It was shortly after the murder you went on with…her,” Yellow Dick dropped the name.

“Y/N. Her name is Y/N. Yes, I remember,” Ramsay lowered his gun.

“I originally hired him on to gather intel for us on the Tyrells and Lannister’s alliance between Joffery and Margaery,” Yellow continued. He cleared his throat, finding it more difficult with each sentence to keep his mouth moist. “His position changed at your request to keep an eye on Y/N. So far it’s been successful. He provides us names and—

“And I take them out,” Ramsay finished, his eyes still deciphering the video.

“Yes, well his regular reporting stopped five days before the wedding reception,” Yellow told Ramsay. Ramsay turned and faced Yellow.

“What is that supposed to mean exactly?” his eyes narrowed. Yellow sighed.

“Through his own investigation, Brad Swyft found out that it was his uncle you murdered at the gala. He also found other intel against the Lannisters, including our plans to execute any and all Lannister allies if Tywin betrays us.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Ramsay lowered his voice.

“No, and it gets worse,” Yellow sighed and looked at Ben. “It appears he has been talking to all the other Red King Lannister spies, he’s rallying them up against us. He claims we can’t take their innocent lives that it wasn’t part of the deal.” Ramsay laughed.

“They have no rights. They’re pawns,” Ramsay kept laughing.

“He thought you would laugh. That’s why he sent us this,” Yellow pointed to the video. Ramsay looked at the video and laughed harder.

“Oh? Is this his manifesto?” he said. “Oh, this will be good. Play it.” Yellow’s eyesbrows knitted together. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

“Ramsay—

“Play it. I wanna see it,” Ramsay gestured to the video. Yellow looked to Ben. Ben nodded his head. Yellow pressed play on his keyboard. The video started to play. The darkness in the room didn’t change much, but Brad Swyft started to speak.

“I know who you are. I know what you are, Ramsay Bolton. You are the worst kind of monster alive.”

Ramsay smirked, enjoying the show.

“You think you rule the world. You think there’s no consequences to your actions. I know what you did to my uncle. I know what you’re planning to do to the rest of us. I’m going to tell everyone. The Lannisters won’t want you now. We’re coming after you.”

Ramsay laughed once. “Come try me.” He paced back and forth, watching the big screen. He stole an unopened bottle of beer from one of the Red Kings. Ramsay opened it and took a big gulp, still smiling.

“Karma is coming for you tonight, Ramsay. And you’re invited to see it front row.” Ramsay rolled his eyes as the film cut to an empty well-lit hotel bathroom. No one was there until a hand picked up the camera and moved it to the nightstand where Ramsay saw a singular cuffed hand.

His eyes narrowed. “The fuck? What kind of karma is this?” He watched the cuffed hand struggled weakly against the bedpost. That’s when he heard it.

“I trusted you!” a very familiar voice cried out. Ramsay lost his grip on the beer bottle and it crashed onto the ground, shattering in pieces. The liquid spilled out in multiple directions. Ramsay’s mouth dropped open. He continued watching.

Brad changed the camera position to above you. Your clothes were torn. Your eyes were opening and shutting. They were dilated and crying. A belt unbuckling was heard and then fabric was moving.

“Don’t fucking do it,” Ramsay muttered. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

You started to sob and tears fell down your face. Brad laughed. “Yes exactly.” Ramsay’s eye twitched. His hands balled up into fists. This was not happening. This couldn’t be happening. Brad changed the camera angle again to show his tongue being shoved into your mouth. You made choking noises. You barely could breathe.

Ramsay’s breath became short. He could feel his eyes burning as he watched Brad’s cock bing forced inside you over and over and over and over.

Ramsay’s temper was infamous among the Red Kings. You could piss off Domeric and live. You could piss off Roose Bolton and live. Not many people lived after pissing off Ramsay. He put his own brother in the hospital for stealing a toy when they were children. Rage and anger came easily to Ramsay.

He enjoyed what he did. He was very content hurting other people. He loved to watch their reaction and see the go through immense pain. He was a curious man who pushed the limits of each human he touched, just as long as you didn’t push his limits. If you pissed him off as he tortured you, he would only make you go through the pain longer until you begged for him to kill you.

Yes, murder and rage came easily to Ramsay, but this was not rage or murder.

Ramsay couldn’t look away. He watched you being raped. Your consciousness going in and out. Your exhausted body being hit and hurt. Your pretty clothes being ripped apart. His stomach felt sick. His hands shook.

Then Ramsay watched you look at the door. You were waiting for him. You were waiting for him to come through. Brad laughed again and thursted harder.

“What? You think someone’s coming for you? No one’s coming, whore. It’s just you and me.” Brad kept thrusting into you. Ramsay watched you look away from the door, and then finally he watched your passed out body rock back and forth. Then, a white substance covered your body.

“She’s mine, Bolton.” The video ended. Another silence fell over the room like a quiet thunderstorm. No one said a word. Short, nervous breathing and a few beeps from Yellow’s laptop created some noise. Ben stepped up and started to walk towards Ramsay who faced away from everyone, his blue eyes still on the black screen.

Ben reached out to him. “Ramsay—

Ramsay quickly took out his gun and shot the first three Red kings nearest to him. They each fell over clutching their chests. Ramsay quickly reloaded and pointed the gun to Yellow.

“Where is she?” he said, his body was vibrating. “Tell me where she is and I let you live.”

“Ramsay I don’t—

“That’s not an answer,” Ramsay shoots the Red King behind Yellow in the head. The Red King falls over dead. Other Red King start to move and try to exit the room. “No one leaves! The next time someone moves, bang! Bang you’re dead! Bang you’re dead! Bang Bang! Everyone dies.”

Everyone stops moving. Ramsay points the gun at Yellow again. His eyes were burning red. His muscles twitched. “Where is she?”

Yellow tried to stay calm with a gun in his face. “I don’t know. No one does. None of my spies saw her return to the Vale or to Petyr. He sent one more thing.”

“Give it to me.”

Yellow handed over a small box and opened it for Ramsay. Inside of it was a pretty blue bird, dead. A note above it read: “I’ve got your pretty bird, and I’ll send pieces of her to you since you forgot what she looks like just to remind you.”

Ramsay threw the box across the room. He took a machine gun from a Red King and began destroying the big screen. Multiple bullets spread across the wall, breaking the glass. Pieces fell to the ground and shattered. Everyone ducked and waited for Ramsay to stop, but he didn’t.

He reloaded the gun and destroyed the windows, the chairs, the tables, and wounded several others. Grunt and Ben came behind Ramsay and forced him to the ground. His body struggled against the both of them. Yellow took away the machine gun and stepped back with it. Ramsay screamed at the top of his lungs.

“I’M COMING FOR YOU, BRAD! DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM COMING FOR YOUR SOUL!”

#bang bang!#ramsay bolton #ramsay snow #ramsay x reader #ramsay snow imagine #ramsay bolton imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fic

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a-writing-bear · 8 years ago

Text

[AmeriPan] Chapter 1: The ‘Hell on Earth’ Task Agency

Ao3 Link:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/13286367

This Has been cross-posted onto Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Alfred F. Jones & Kiku Honda (America & Japan)

AU: Demon AU/HellTaskAgency!AU - Demon!America & Businessman!Japan

Age Rating/Mature: Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter (Future addiction to mention themes such as crime, murder, corruption etc.)

Summary: The ‘Hell on Earth’ Task Agency is a project run by the Underworld offices in hopes of integrating localised haunting and corruption on earth by assigning Demons a human identity in order to get closer to their victims- err…persons of interests, thus creating a more sustainable and longlasting reign of chaos over mankind.

Alfred and his brother had been assigned to this new department of hell after a small disagreement with his higher-ups. Now tasked with pushing a Japanese businessman to screw over a major tech company and overall commit a huge betrayal to the human’s friend, Alfred discovered humans are more complex than just souls ready to commit sins.

“Hah, The landlord tried to flirt with me.” the door behind him slammed, pushing into the room he flopped onto their new blood red couch, “She even called me ‘devilishly handsome’! If she only knew.” His company who was busy fixing up their new home let out a chuckle himself. It seems to be that people of late, have severely forgotten that the power of seduction was genuinely a tool of the devil; which by all means is an incredibly worrying thing to forget. Of course, the lowest setting a demon could maintain was a great amount of attraction that he could naturally elicit from any passing victim - Alfred, being the good rascal he was, tried not to draw too much attention to his otherworldly skill, or at least attempt to not use it to sway over his new human companions. Now that he thought about it, Matthew could have made it easier for the both of them if he had just flirted with the real estate agent…but of course his twin’s attempt to ‘get used to mankind’ got in the way of easy living, as if creatures like them could be apart of this whole ‘humanity’ thing.

It just didn’t make sense to have demons residing on Earth.

Not that he wasn’t used to earth, he had been overloaded with useless duties and tasks of tricking people into convoluted sins before, however whispering into a teen’s ear to lie or persuading a priest to lust was entirely different to actually interacting with their former victims. There would no longer be any more retreats back to the underworld.

“Why the FUCK did we agree to this again?” he groaned out to his fellow being who had been mulling over their belongings. Matthew had sighed, answering uninterested as he unpacked a cardboard box which had bluntly been labelled ‘Ritual Candles’. “ I didn’t agree to anything. You got us stuck up here. If you hadn’t complained about our last assign-” Alfred whined once more, his new body heaved in a grumpy manner. Ruffling his new golden locks of hair he lamented his past decision regrettably.

He didn’t mean he found things boring, he had only complained to Arthur that hovering around unemployed youths and deranged psychopaths was…too easy. His brother and himself were young demons capable of changing the world, of creating more chaos! And his complaints absolutely did not mean transfer the duo to the Hell on Earth Task Agency (HETA for short). The green-eyed devil who had been their handlers decided that this ‘small complaint’ of his deserved unfair treatment - a sentence to a 200 year assignment based in the worst conditions: Living among man and playing pretend human to conduct more research into integration programs. Recently the underworld has become open to the idea of placing task forces onto earth long term in order to proceed with mischief in a localised constant area - HETA was notorious for making talented demons die of overwork as it seemed that to create long-term issues through small factors was apparently harder than people thought.

One thing that was strange about working with HETA was they weren’t allowed to use cloaking anymore and instead were given human forms to fit in - no one would trust horned winged monsters if they saw one anyway. It was fitting that he and Matthew looked similar, ‘twins’ even in these bodies, but the differences were more prominent in the new forms - while he had been clad in a bomber jacket the other was given a red hoodie, his brother was given a pretty shade of strawberry-blonde hair while his shone like gold in light, both charming in their own ways. Honestly, Alfred felt guilty as he had dragged his brother into this mess and could hear the clear disgruntled murmurs of ‘I miss my wings’ or ‘Fuckin-why did they give us glasses?’ but they had always been a duo. It didn’t make sense for them to be split up so Arthur had allowed the request for both the boys to be transferred.

As if a miracle (Did God even grant miracles to demons?) Alfie had struck solid luck as his assigned victim- er ‘Research Candidate’ was a 24 yr old Japanese man destined to ruin betray his friend’s business. Sounds fun. According to the profile given, Kiku was not exactly innocent but not clearly sinful to the point where he had already been given a ticket to hell.

You Have Been Assigned to:

Name - Kiku Honda

Age - 24

Sexuality - Unconfirmed (Pending)

Summary -

Business and Tech Grad, Recently moved to America to work with his friend’s expanding company, HyperTech. Has conceived thoughts of deception and thievery via betrayal, Set to go. Quiet and reserved.

Task -

Assist Honda to claim control of HyperTech within 20 years in order to allow for corruption scandal in year 2XXX.

Alfred hummed contently, his target appeared relatively interesting, not to mention the photo of the guy was good-looking, although the report’s statement in terms of the man’s preference was a blur. That didn’t matter, sometimes if lust couldn’t convince then greed surely coaxed humans into silly games. Besides, this man was a typical businessman….yawn. Had he to follow an overzealous money muncher? Did Matthew get a better pick?

“Yo Mattie, who did Artie assign you?

Nonchalantly Matthew recalled the info from this folder: “A banker and his personal assistant. Siblings too.”

“Yikes. What’s your end goal? I’m guessing it’s not petty thievery..”

“Nah they’ve committed that already- the brother has contemplated murder, his younger sister’s also in the same boat. Apparently, it ties into your case.” Alfred looked at his brother in awe, envying how he had been given 2 targets with a higher chaos rating, way cooler than his pitiful 1 target corruption. Tutting with annoyance he got up from the woven couch and assisted his brother with unpacking their materialised goodies they had brought from the afterlife.

Mornings- contrary to popular belief- always sucked, Nevermind the fact it was an unusually bright clear New York city morning. Usually, Kiku was organised enough to leave his apartment full on a good breakfast and a mind ready to sit down over paperwork his fellow co-workers dumped on him yet today was just not vibing well with him. He wondered if he should just call in sick, deciding not to as he realised Yao would skin him alive for trying to lie (they’ve known each other long enough to tell when one is acting). Call it the ‘friday spirit’ or whatever he managed to get up. It took every ounce of motivation to roll out of bed and change into a pressed suit for an early morning meeting. Leaving his clean and immaculate apartment, The Japanese man had fumbled into the hallway with distracted disinterest over a handful of business documents. Bumping into a tall yet less than a graceful figure who had been carrying a heavy box, they had both been caught off guard.

Just as the Asian nearly fell face forward to almost crumpling his nice suit, the mystery man had grabbed him by his satchel, quickly pulling him back before he touched the hallway floor. Kiku turned to say a polite thank you, only to find what must be the biggest and goofiest grins he had ever witnessed. Introducing himself, the American man, now known as Alfred, explained he was to be a new neighbour along with his sibling and that he would expect to ‘see each other around’. Kiku hoped his monotone face and his friendly hum in reply would suffice as he was already running late. Yao was gonna kill him.

Hastily he bidded farewell to the new occupants and made his way to the elevator, dusting off his shirt and readjusting his satchel. it was only then he realised his cheeks were warm. There was something interesting about Alfred. Shaking his head, Kiku huffed and somehow got to the office with five minutes to spare. A small smile and slight of the head towards the secretary, he entered the meeting room just in time to face his childhood friend, rival(?) and boss all in one.

“ おはようございます, Yao before you interrupt me: Yes I’m later than usual. Not Late though.”*

That teasing smug face melted into an expression dipped in familiarity. The Chinese man always looks incredibly different in a western suit, as if the red tie was the only thing that reminded Kiku of Wang Yao’s Chinese heritage. Pre-meeting conversations such as plans for the weekends, or that co-worker’s new promotion bored him but his respectful nature kept the black haired male nodding, feigning interest as Yao spoke about his new intern he was mentoring. Suddenly out of nowhere someone had asked about his morning - clearly not aware of his unresponsive behaviour this morning.

“Got new neighbours. Hoping they aren’t loud, they look quite young- like those millennial types.” he answered quietly, Yao stifled a laugh before commenting on how Kiku could accidentally be mistaken as an old man if he kept describing them like that. Finally, the meeting began, along with his drifting head which was not in tune for a morning discussion.

Offhandedly, towards the end just as he was packing up to leave back to his office, the Chinese man reminded Kiku: “Don’t forget on Monday you’ve got people coming in, you need to interview them for that personal assistant job soon.” Grimacing, he did not look forward to that. He worked well alone. Looking on the bright side he considered that at least he’ll have someone else to deal with schedules and admin work, this could be a little bit of a break- It’s not like it could be that bad.

Besides, there would be hell to pay if Yao had drafted any annoyances for the job.

#hetalia #ameripan #aph america #aph japan #america x japan #hetalia axis powers #fanfic #hetalia fanfiction #alternate universe #demon!au #heta #multichapter

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